REVOLUTION

Living is easy with eyes closed

I find myself feeling increasingly frustrated with the complacency of our generation. It's probably one of those perpetual feelings anyone in any generation feels toward their peers, but nonetheless, here it is.

We just don't seem to care much anymore. Or we care, but don't do much about it. We have become hardened by cynicism and apathy.

My advisor is that feminist from the 70s. Listening to her stories of having to fight for all that women have today is humbling and inspiring. She picketed on Capitol Hill; she wrote to the APA. She removed sexist disorders from the DSM; she made sure female psychologists received their recognition. And here I am, a future female psychologist receiving my recognition. I have the road paved for me by women like her, but will I pave it further for others? What will I have to tell my advisees?

We live in such interesting, such ebullient times. The Gay Rights movement is gaining momentum across states; we are about to elect our first non-White, (possibly) non-Christian president! Not to mention we are still fighting a pointless war! We are making and breaking history here; why can't we get passionate about it? Isn't life, isn't progress worth something to fight for?...

...said I, and rolled over to take a nap.

Mostly for shits. I mean, scheitz.

You know how you've seen most of these on various shirts and mugs. Well, I decided to search for as many as I could find, and compile a comprehensive list. Because I find our classifications and understanding of the world amusing. Here is what I came up with:

Optimist: The glass is half full.
Pessimist: The glass if half empty.
Realist: Yup, that's a glass, alright.
Idealist: One day, cold-fusion from a glass of water will provide unlimited energy and end war.
Capitalist: If I bottled this and gave it a New Agey sounding name, I could make a fortune.
Conspiracist: The government is fluoridating the water for mind-control purposes.
Sexist: The glass isn't gonna refill itself, honeybun.
Engineer: The glass is twice as big as it needs to be.
Cynic: It doesn't matter, as the glass is going to break, anyway.
Nihilist: The glass does not exist, and neither do I.
Alcoholic: I'm sure I emptied the glass.
Kleptomaniac: I stole the glass.
The government: The glass is fuller than if the opposition party were in power.
The opposition: It is irrelevant because the present administration has changed the way such volume statistics are collected.
The philosopher: If the glass was in the forest and no one was there to see it, would it be half anything?
The economist: In real terms, the glass is 25% fuller than at the same time last year.
The banker: The glass has just under 50% of its net worth in liquid assets.
The psychoanalyst: What did your mother say about the glass?
The physicist: The volume of this cylinder is divided into two equal parts; one a colorless, odorless liquid, the other a colorless, odorless gas. Thus the cylinder is neither full nor empty. Rather, each half of the cylinder is full, one with a gas, one with a liquid.

Any others you know about?

Хочешь за окошком Альпы?

Things I have recently missed, or will surely miss in the near future:

1. Apple-picking (at Bishop's Orchards)
2. Apple cider (in abundance)
3. Making spiced apple cider on the stove
4. Making fall-themed dinners of baked chicken and roasted vegetables, harvested in a nearby field
5. Hay rides and corn mazes
6. Oktoberfest in Boston
7. The crisp air and beautiful colors in Central Park
8. The crisp air and beautiful colors
9. The harvesting spirit
10. Fall/Halloween decorations, especially of the natural kind, complete with dried corn, various fall vegetation, and pumpkins

Needless to say, fall in California is just not the same. Or maybe it's the combination of grad school and California that makes this time of year harder to deal with than even winter on the Mediterranean. Here, the sun is still bright and relentless; the trees are green and cheerful. Candy is sold, but the spooky spirit is lacking. The air does not chill my cheeks and I have not yet worn a scarf.

Someone send me a dried yellow/red leaf or two? So I can cuddle with it in bed?

true story.

After class, I put on my sunglasses from the setting Californian sun, turn up the music and dive right into the evening rush hour commuter crowds. With Bjork blaring over my headphones, I hold on tightly to the cold metal pole of the moving train car and close my eyes. I groove to the beat, move my head in rhythm, and think of lingering psychological concepts. These thoughts, they race like shooting stars. Sometimes I open my eyes to find a tall punky guy staring at me amused, but then he turns to let some people through and hugs his skateboard closer. Other times, I am pressed against a girl's neckline, her curls in my face. Everyone around me is reading, standing, sitting, dozing, looking, thinking, breathing, squeezing. I already know when to start to pay attention, to start making my way toward the automatic doors.

I only wish I could come home to enjoy a nice minty hookah.