I enjoy fashion about as much as I love parking tickets, which is a little tiny bit. (I like the little envelope that comes with the ticket, and I get mild satisfaction out of writing a checks with good penmanship.)
However, I love Tavi's fashion blog about as much as I love hazelnut beer and waterproof things, which is A LOT BIT. She's only 12!
Monday, March 30, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Repeat
I've been prone to spiraling into existential crises for years, but few things make me cringe more than hollow, sweeping quotes about the meaning of life.
EXAMPLE: Life is not measured by the number of breaths you take, but the number of moments that take your breath away!
Ew. Instead of going out and waiting for some special breathless moments, I suggest you read Man's Search for Meaning by Victor Frankl. Even if you're not searching for the meaning of man's life, it'll make you sort of sentimental about your species. Aw, humans. Frankl, a Jewish psychiatrist, survived four concentration camps and instead of focusing on the horrors of his experience, he writes about what makes a person want to exist without friends, family, or career, and with no end to torture in sight.
And because I want this post to exactly resemble the last time I complained about vapid quotes and then followed up with an excerpt from a WW2 autobiography, I've distilled the meaning of life into just few of Frankl's quotes.
"Life" does not mean something vague, but something very real and concrete...life is potentially meaningful under any conditions, even those which are most miserable. And this in turn presupposes the human capacity to creatively turn life's negative aspects into something positive or constructive. I speak of a tragic optimisim, that is, an optimism in the face of tragedy and in view of the human potential which at its best always allows for (1) turning suffering into a human achievement and accomplishment; (2) deriving from guilt the opportunity to change oneself for the better; and (3) deriving from life's transitoriness an incentive to take responsible action. A human being is not one in pursuit of happiness but rather in search of a reason to become happy, last but not least, through actualizing the potential meaning inherent and dormant in a given situation.
EXAMPLE: Life is not measured by the number of breaths you take, but the number of moments that take your breath away!
Ew. Instead of going out and waiting for some special breathless moments, I suggest you read Man's Search for Meaning by Victor Frankl. Even if you're not searching for the meaning of man's life, it'll make you sort of sentimental about your species. Aw, humans. Frankl, a Jewish psychiatrist, survived four concentration camps and instead of focusing on the horrors of his experience, he writes about what makes a person want to exist without friends, family, or career, and with no end to torture in sight.
And because I want this post to exactly resemble the last time I complained about vapid quotes and then followed up with an excerpt from a WW2 autobiography, I've distilled the meaning of life into just few of Frankl's quotes.
"Life" does not mean something vague, but something very real and concrete...life is potentially meaningful under any conditions, even those which are most miserable. And this in turn presupposes the human capacity to creatively turn life's negative aspects into something positive or constructive. I speak of a tragic optimisim, that is, an optimism in the face of tragedy and in view of the human potential which at its best always allows for (1) turning suffering into a human achievement and accomplishment; (2) deriving from guilt the opportunity to change oneself for the better; and (3) deriving from life's transitoriness an incentive to take responsible action. A human being is not one in pursuit of happiness but rather in search of a reason to become happy, last but not least, through actualizing the potential meaning inherent and dormant in a given situation.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Syncope Schmyncope
Well, I just finished up a solid 20 hour episode of anxiety sweats! Late yesterday morning, one of the doctors I work with asked his
Neurosurgeon BFF* if I could go to the OR to watch a neurosurgery, and he said yes. My butt clenched with delight, I canceled all of today's obligations, and then proceeded to exude a fine mist of excitement and panic that lasted until 6am this morning.
I felt pretty calm once I met Neurosurgeon BFF. He showed me CT scans of the almost-bursting blood vessel they were going to go in and clip off, which looked pretty much exactly like this:
Gonna getcha.
I acted super casual when I got inside the operating room. I picked out a pretty good place to stand and crossed my arms over my chest like I was used to standing there. Same ol'. I maintained a really nonchalant facial expression while the nurses were preparing the patient, but as soon as the surgeon sliced open the patient's scalp, I was really glad I had a face mask on because my mouth was hanging open with absolutely no inhibition.
So I hovered really close to the open head and asked Neurosurgeon BFF some really intelligent questions like, "so is that going to heal?" (Seriously.) Things were going really well until right before he drilled through the skull, because that's when I realized that he was going to actually going to drill through a skull. Suddenly, all of yesterday's anxiety sweats converged their powers. I was hot and dizzy and my vision was blurring. So as not to fall directly into someone's brain, I chose to exit quickly into the hallway.
I stood there for a second and then PLONK-- I was suddenly on my face, surrounded by nurses, and looking at 2 of my teeth on the floor. If this does not strike you as confusing, then the only analogy I can liken it to is the half-dreams you have when you're waking up from a really deep sleep-- ahhh yes...if I whap this orange pool noodle on this driveway in Southern California five times then a little portion of Mt. St. Helens will pop up, right here! wait...who? St. Helens?
Luckily, the emergency room was two floors above me, and the oral surgeon on-call was there to push half of one of my teeth back in. It went just fine, plus I was surprised with the warm reception! I was "welcomed to the club" by two doctors, and given long lists of other people who had fainted during surgery as well. Some were important.
I have a few months of root canals and fake teeth scheduled, but hopefully I'll look normal again by June. Which coincidentally, is my birthday month. I should probably revise my birthday wish list to include my two front teeth.
HA!
*At a glance, this phrase looks like Neutrogena SPF. Probably because of this. And because I'm slightly more familiar with chapstick than neurosurgery.
Neurosurgeon BFF* if I could go to the OR to watch a neurosurgery, and he said yes. My butt clenched with delight, I canceled all of today's obligations, and then proceeded to exude a fine mist of excitement and panic that lasted until 6am this morning.
I felt pretty calm once I met Neurosurgeon BFF. He showed me CT scans of the almost-bursting blood vessel they were going to go in and clip off, which looked pretty much exactly like this:
Gonna getcha.I acted super casual when I got inside the operating room. I picked out a pretty good place to stand and crossed my arms over my chest like I was used to standing there. Same ol'. I maintained a really nonchalant facial expression while the nurses were preparing the patient, but as soon as the surgeon sliced open the patient's scalp, I was really glad I had a face mask on because my mouth was hanging open with absolutely no inhibition.
So I hovered really close to the open head and asked Neurosurgeon BFF some really intelligent questions like, "so is that going to heal?" (Seriously.) Things were going really well until right before he drilled through the skull, because that's when I realized that he was going to actually going to drill through a skull. Suddenly, all of yesterday's anxiety sweats converged their powers. I was hot and dizzy and my vision was blurring. So as not to fall directly into someone's brain, I chose to exit quickly into the hallway.
I stood there for a second and then PLONK-- I was suddenly on my face, surrounded by nurses, and looking at 2 of my teeth on the floor. If this does not strike you as confusing, then the only analogy I can liken it to is the half-dreams you have when you're waking up from a really deep sleep-- ahhh yes...if I whap this orange pool noodle on this driveway in Southern California five times then a little portion of Mt. St. Helens will pop up, right here! wait...who? St. Helens?
Luckily, the emergency room was two floors above me, and the oral surgeon on-call was there to push half of one of my teeth back in. It went just fine, plus I was surprised with the warm reception! I was "welcomed to the club" by two doctors, and given long lists of other people who had fainted during surgery as well. Some were important.
I have a few months of root canals and fake teeth scheduled, but hopefully I'll look normal again by June. Which coincidentally, is my birthday month. I should probably revise my birthday wish list to include my two front teeth.
HA!
*At a glance, this phrase looks like Neutrogena SPF. Probably because of this. And because I'm slightly more familiar with chapstick than neurosurgery.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Months in advance
There are three things I want for my birthday.
1. A fancy single-speed bike
2. A knitted snake
3. A choreographed dance routine to Passion Pit's Sleepyhead that 8-10 of my friends can learn with me and then perform in formation for a large audience.
1. A fancy single-speed bike
2. A knitted snake
3. A choreographed dance routine to Passion Pit's Sleepyhead that 8-10 of my friends can learn with me and then perform in formation for a large audience.
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