Moving On

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This Place Will Last.

Dear Vanderbilt,

First and foremost, let me put out there that I realize you're moving on. You’ve made it clear to me via an extended and anticlimactic series of speeches that you are ready to say goodbye, and that’s fine. I know you've found a whole new class of someone elses now, and this letter is not going to be a plea to take me back.

We've had a good run. I can’t honestly say that I’m ready to bid you adieu, but for the sake of my pride and my well being, I'd rather remember our relationship and all the amazing times we've shared together in a positive light than dwell on the fact that you're ready to be happy without me. So I'm telling you from the getgo--I'm moving on too. I won't Facebook stalk you and obsess over photos of you and yours, I won't text you at inappropriate hours of the day and night (although, as you may remember, during your farewell speech you encouraged me to do so if I needed anything, even money), I won't resent that your feelings towards me have changed.

The four years I spent with you have been the best of my life. You've made me laugh, you've made me cry, you've made me laugh till I cry and cry till I laugh. I never realized when I stepped foot on your campus (a national arboretum! Things I won’t miss: allergies) that I would be meeting the place I may want to spend the rest of my life with.

When I first opened the door to my tiny cinder-block framed Kissam room (things I won’t miss, part II: The Office of Housing and Residential Education), my initial thoughts included: “Ooh, a lofted bed just like in college movies…sweet!,” “Why is the chick across the hall in a sundress, full makeup, and cowboy boots to unpack?”, and “Mommmmm can I have money to buy things to decorate?” My wee freshman mind didn’t even ponder the realm of events that would, until I called said office of Housing and Residential Education whining enough to be switched to a room in Branscomb, unfold in the 10X10 space on the fourth floor of Kissam Hall. That inhumanely small space was where I fell in love with my first college boyfriend, met some of my best friends, shared memories I will never forget and some I will never remember (Momma B, I know you told me over graduation that you read my blog, so apologies in advance).

Sophomore year was an upgrade. Oh, Peabody Commons, with your glorious and spacious lawns, the Commons Center that could be utilized for everything from studying to eating to inconspicuously pregaming. Sophomore year brought me closer to my campus, my sorority house, my classmates, my friends, and myself. Days were spent gallivanting from HOD classroom to HOD classroom and from fraternity porch to fraternity porch, nights were spent consuming food and wine on the Vandy card, dancing around downtown, and often holed up in the reading room of the Peabody Library, which does have both a fireplace and a glorious collection of children’s books (spare me, A+S).

Junior year was a series of ups and downs for you and I. I became fed up sometimes with more of the same—didn’t you have anything to offer me but fun? Entertainment was good and well, of course, but I was ready to get serious and I wasn’t sure if you could make the commitment. But meetings with advisors, long talks with friends, and yes, gallivanting from HOD classroom to HOD classroom and from fraternity porch to fraternity porch and from honky tonk to honky tonk proved to me that you really did care about me, and were in it for the long haul. I took on an extra major, made the decision to spend a semester abroad, and was forced to choose between adventure and stability in the worst way possible. Nonetheless, I came out stronger, more sure of myself and my goals and values, and with a plethora of wonderful stories to tell.

And then we got to senior year. I’ve always believed that one can’t properly reflect on something without the passing of time, and it hasn’t truly been long enough for me to decide how I feel about senior year. All I can say is that it was the best of times and the worst of times. The most amazing things that have happened to me during my time with you occurred this year, as did the worst. What I can say with certainty and definity is that I don’t regret a single choice, a single night, a single element of the string of events that led me, and us, to where we are now. You told me on our last day together that “this place will last,” and I truly believe it will. So here’s to: A traditional called raging. Waking up at 8 am for tailgates. V-U(!). 903. Sunset Grill. Dan McGuiness. The Stage. Costume parties. Towers. Pregames. Postgames. Taking beach vacations at least once a month. Formals. Informals. The Porch. Speeches. Crawfish. Late nights in Peabody, Stevenson, and The Dungeon. Gordon Gee. Nicholas Zeppos. Dolla Beal. Kristin Torrey. Jay-Z. Being young forever. The pursuit of happy-ness. CMSB. And finally, me and you.

Thanks for everything, Vanderbilt. I will always love you. Maybe, in the future, when we’re both more mature, we can give it another try.

Until then, with love, yours truly,

NB

Thing of the Day: Senior Week

Things I learned at Senior Beach Week:

1)I never want to live anywhere near Spartanburg, South Carolina. Above picture was taken in the parking lot of a Spartanburg McDonalds. Case in point.

2) All beach towns are basically identical. Some may think this is a mark of corporate capitalist America taking over all that was once good and pure, but I think it is really awesome. Reasons why include Senor Frogs, and souvenier shops. I have come home from Myrtle Beach several hundred dollars poorer but one hermit crab richer. Speaking of...

3)Responsibility sucks. I spent approximately $14 on a herbit crab, hermit crab food, a hermit crab habitat, and a nifty instruction manual at a wonderful corporate/capitalist America establishment called Wings (which also sold useful things such as chandeliers made out of shells, neon tanks, water balloon launchers, and shotglasses boasting "I got tipsy in Myrtle Beach" (you stay classy, spring breakers). Anyhow, since acquiring said hermit crab (Jamie La-A Esteban), I have been sporadically breaking into small fits of stress about whether it has enough crab food, whether I have moistened its' drinking sponge, and whether its habitat is warm enough. Last night at midnight I text messaged one of my roommates to move Jamie from his (or her. Google hasn't been helpful in teaching me how to determine Jamie's actual gender) spot on our kitchen counter to my room because I couldn't sleep thinking of how someone might knock over his (her) cage. Further Google research has showed that hermit crabs live approximately two weeks in the care of silly vacationing owners, and I have spent at least one hour today picking Jamie up to make sure he (she) is still alive.

4)Teenagers are crazy. The second night of Beach Week, I actually took the time out of pregaming to MTV News to save a note in my Blackberry reminding me to blog about this piece of groundbreaking news: Justin Bieber fans are sending Kim Kardashian DEATH THREATS because he Tweeted a picture of the two of them together calling her his girfriend. WTF, fourteen year old girls? Maybe it is because fourteen year olds are sort of out of my age range for potential boyfriends, but I really don't see what all the Justin Bieber fuss is about. Yeah, he's kind of hot for someone who has yet to go through puberty, but first, the video of a small child crying in suicidal fits because Justin Bieber isn't her boyfriend, and then death threats to Kimmy K? A slight bias because I adore Kim Kardashian and Justin Bieber sounds like a girl when he sings and has a silly haircut, but mothers, control your teenagers. Why do teenagers even have Twitter? One really shouldn't be allowed to broadcast their opinions on the internet until they have exited puberty and can make fun of themselves/have unbiased opinions.

5)I really really really love my graduating class. Yes, you guys. I have spent today doing useful and important things such as letting Jamie crawl from my left hand to my right and emailing strangers whose blogs I admire in order to avoid packing up my apartment for my impending departure in a week. If my stuff is still here, Vanderbilt can't make me leave, right?

Thing of the Day: Sabotage

Clearly the Gods of Natural Disasters/Oil Spills have something against the Vanderbilt graduating class of 2010, since in the past two days have brought:

1. The relocation of senior beach week from Destin, FL to Myrtle Beach, SC. Thanks, BP. Although it really is extremely impressive how rapidly the senior class rallied when massive oil spills threatened drinking on the beach activities.

2. APOCALYPSE 2010. A 20 inch downpour has completely flooded the city of Nashville! The above photos are just a few of many of what is going on in Tennessee. Both these pictures were taken Monday on the exact street of bars on which we had our senior pub crawl Saturday, and are really fairly scary, considering that yesterday when my boyfriend and roommates learned that the city was on a flood warning, we rejoiced at the cancellation of Monday finals and spent the day eating at the two restaurants that weren't closed (Cheesecake Factory & P.F Chang's in one day? *Embarrased emoticon*), and spending copious amounts of money at Target on rainy day activities (Buzzword, Mancala, 750 piece GLOW IN THE DARK puzzle).

The Vanderbilt campus was for the most part unaffected by the floods, but several dorms shut down and a particularly low-rise parking lot was completely drowned. Ironically, it was 80 degrees and sunny today as we surveyed the damage and felt guilty for spending 7 hours on a puzzle yesterday when the city was in crisis. I think I'm volunteering tomorrow with Hands On Nashville to make up for assembling a 750 piece skyline instead of taking note as Nashvegas turned into Lake Nashville.

Karmic retributions complete, rain storms? oil spills? I can't help but ask--does anyone else see it as a blatant sign from above that Vanderbilt doesn't want us to leave?

Thing of the Day: Iron Fork/Vampire Weekend

Iron Fork Nashville

Good week!

My rebuttal to the CNN article on "hooking up" was published in the campus paper, which led to a huge amount of support from friends and strangers (thanks for the comments and the love, everyone!) as well as several moderately uncomfortable moments, such as a professor leading a class discussion concerning the matter as I sat blushing and awkward, my mother somehow finding the article (stop Googling me, Margarita) and BBMing me a series of messages praising my writing and scolding my opinions, and a stranger named Terri commenting on the Vanderbilt Hustler website that I will surely never get a reporting job because of my views on sexuality. Either way, the positive response was overwhelmingly larger than the negative, and I'm really glad I wrote the piece.

Eating adventures were plentiful as well. On Wednesday, my roommate and I had one of the most excellent Nashville culinary experiences of my college career. Several weeks ago, we had bought tickets to Iron Fork, an Iron Chef-esque event that takes place every year in the Country Music Hall of Fame. I had never actually been to the Country Music Hall of Fame, and to experience it for the first time in an open-bar-unlimited-sample environment while watching chefs from several of my favorite Music City eateries (Acorn, Eastland Cafe, Sunset Grill) battle it out in in a live show with an actual secret ingredient (purple sweet potato?!?) was nothing short of weekday perfection. The next day, in continuing my search for the perfect pad thai in Nashville, I had lunch in great company at East Nashville's Thai Phooket and was pleasantly impressed. Despite the hole in the wall location (trailer in parking lot), the food was both delicious and cheap--definitely the best Thai I've had in the South thus far.

The weekend brought Rites of Spring, a Vanderbilt concert with a scheduled lineup of Cold War Kids, Phoenix, Drake, Passion Pit, Ben Harper, and more. Although sake bombing caused us to miss Cold War Kids on Friday, Phoenix was amazing! Passion Pit unfortunately cancelled due to "illness" (or, "we're hungover and don't feel like playing in the rain), but the rest of the acts put on a great show.

And the perfect closing lazy Sunday: I just got back from Date Night. Tina Fey is possibly the only female I find funny ther than Chelsea Handler, and the movie was a high point on both her and Steve Carell's parts. Except for the fact that (spoiler alert, sort of) in a high-action scene, the day was saved by a Kindle. Details aside, this would clearly just never occur in real life. I wonder how much Amazon paid 20th Century Fox to have their silly gadget featured in such a heroic scene, because there's no way I buy it. An iPad, maybe, but a Kindle? Spare me, Amazon.

In other news: I can't stop listening to Vampire Weekend's Contra, although I don't really understand what a Contra is. Is it like Contra-band? Or Contra-dict? Wikipedia says it might be referring to a Japanese video game, or a Nicaraguan rebel army, so I'm really not sure what VW (Hipsters--is this an approp abbrev for Vampire Weekend?) is getting at, but I think the song and the CD are great. Also, why do hipster bands and popular rappers always think its okay to make up words and phrases? The only one other than Contra (because, apparently, Horchata is a thing) that I can think of right now is "Badonkadonkdonk" but I'm sure a quick review of this decade's hip hop songs would provide us with at least 50 more.

Thing of the Day: Hooking Up

In response to "No Hooking Up, No Sex for Some Co-Eds"

Disclaimer: I do not mean to attack Frannie Boyle’s personal choices, simply her choice and means of publicizing them.

That being said… (has anyone seen the Curb Your Enthusiasm episode where Larry David asserts that any time someone begins a sentence with “that being said”, what will follow will likely insult, upset, or judge you? It’s true), I am disappointed and confused with Frannie Boyle’s CNN piece on her decision to refrain from “the hook up culture at Vanderbilt.” Had Ms. Boyle chosen to express these choices to a few dear friends, or on her personal blog, or perhaps in her opinion column in the Hustler, I would respect and in some way admire them and leave them to exist in a realm different than mine. Boyle, however, has chosen to share this resolution with millions on CNN.com. Leaving me to ask—why?

CNN.com is not your sealed-with-a-kiss-heart-with-a-key diary, and I do not know why their reporters deemed the decisions of one Vanderbilt student’s love life (or lack thereof) news-worthy for millions of Americans. True, as far as new sources go, CNN.com tends to be trashy and emotional, which is why readers frequently do not know how many civilians have died in Iraq but do have access to really cute videos of army wives and husbands reuniting (note to those recovering from the “casual hook up” or “friends with benefit” encounter gone awry—watching these and crying into Ben and Jerry’s—the FroYo kind offered by the Munchi Mart, you mustn’t let yourself go entirely—can be very therapeutic), but nonetheless, my first question is: how did this piece go beyond the realm of the Hustler? Who does Frannie Boyle known at CNN.com that publicized this story to the point where my mom can awkwardly call me and say, “Honey? Are you friends with this girl?...ah, I thought you might not be.” And I know this is a lot to ask after this article, but whoever they are, can they possibly get me a job?

Newsworthiness and favors aside (but seriously…call me if they can), Ms. Boyle’s argument against hooking up, casual sexual encounters, and in some perverse and rather inexplicable link, day fratting (side note: I do take personal offense to Ms. Boyle’s arguments against day fratting and am moderately angry that when I hear the words “afternoon delight” I will no longer think of the charming and entertaining Will Ferrell film Anchorman but of her judgmental viewpoints against it) is faulty in several ways. Although she claims she abstains from any sort of non-committal sex because she “respects herself,” what Boyle is actually doing is disrespecting almost a century’s worth of feminist and women’s rights movements. In the 1960’s and 70’s, women practically begged for access to casual sex. They did not want to be virgins, sweethearts, or housewives, rather, they wished to claim full right of their sexuality and exercise it fully to their desire without criticism. If Boyle had kept her decision to abstain to herself or discussed it with some friends, I would not believe that she was in violation of what this movement had achieved for women. However, she chooses to not only share with millions but does so in a matter that makes those women who participate in non-committal sexual encounters seem morally and intellectually inferior to her. In saying that she “respects herself” by abstinence she implies that those who do participate in the behaviors she has left behind are not respecting themselves. And what do we call a woman who does not respect herself? A fool? A floozy? A slut? Ms. Boyle perpetuates this type of naming and stereotyping by identifying herself as the pure outsider.

A woman’s sexual choices, serious or casual, few or far between, are not to be publicized, discussed, and studied from sociological and cultural perspectives. They are her own. To criticize them is to take a dozen steps back from the heights of equality we aspire to. Furthermore, the “Bring Back Dating Facebook group cited in the article is inherently anti-feminist. “At least take her out on a date before trying to get her into bed,” the group’s motto reads. Umm…in our fight for rights and representation, didn’t we claim that we were equal to men in every way? Do we see men begging to be “taken out to dinner” before we make our moves? No, because that would inspire never-ending mockery on their fraternity list serves and rapid loss of male friends. But also, no, because if a man wants to be taken out to dinner, he will tell his woman. Not the world. In an unrelated but equally important note, claiming that Boyle has lost “male friends that don’t understand my decision …but they were probably never really my friends anyway,” makes the males that engage in casual sexual behavior seem as inferior as the females. And no, they were probably never your friends anyway. When you flaunt a BORN AGAIN VIRGIN stamp across your forehead, chances are, your f*ck buddies will likely stop calling.

And finally—what was it that happened to Ms. Boyle that so enforced this vendetta against “hooking up?” “After consuming large quantities of alcohol before a party, her night would sometimes end in making out with a stranger or acquaintance,” reads the article. After a year of this, she quits cold turkey. Honey. The best way to get over a particularly insensitive fratstar who you found locked in the tender embraces of your sorority sister at the last “GI Joes and Barbie Hoes” party is to blatantly ignore him, make a point of having a great time without him, and go home laughing when he texts you “Long time no see…where are you?” at 2:30AM (You are happily in bed with Bagel Bites and a Diet Coke, thank you). No reason to give up altogether. After all, in the wise words of the Gawker rebuttal “Warning: Celibacy Can Be Hazardous To Your Health,” Brian Moylan writes: “College is a fantasy world. It is a wonderful dream universe where children get to party their way to a degree, get graded on an easy curve, survive on meal plans made entirely of fast food, and live in comfy dorms way nicer than anything they'll be able to afford once they graduate and enter the stagnant job market. Trying to get them to give up the sexiest part of their extracurricular activities is just making it worse.”

Thing of the Day: The Motherland

I am basically the only first generation immigrant in my circle of friends and aquaintances, and I often forget how absolutely ridiculous the place that my family comes from actually is. My father is from Moscow, which is an awesome metropolitan city that I don't consider too different than New York. Of course, my views are slightly biased given that my only adult trip to Moscow was with a large group of Americans and I spent my time there eating overpriced food and gallivanting among nightclubs and casinos, but nonetheless, I don't think my Moscow upbringing would have been drastically different than my Manhattan one.

My mother, on the other hand, is from Norilsk, the Northernmost city in Siberia. Norilsk was founded for nickel mining in Gulag labor camps and is legitimately only accessable via sled in the winter months. Grandfather Bogo often used such sleds to hunt and catch deer and elk, the antlers of which we have mounted in our den despite numerous allegations from both myself and Sister Bogo that this sort of decor is really creepy and inappropriate in New York City and scares away potential non-immigrant suitors.

Momma Bogo just got back from visiting family in this wonderful place (average temperature, -10 degrees Celcius) and has sent me the above photograph. In addition to frolicking with small baby wolves like it was no big (these small baby wolves inhabit her brothers' back yard...normal), she participated in activities such as cross country ice skiing (I went cross country skiing once and threw down my skiis in a fit of rage and demanded to be carried back to the lodge...I was probably around fourteen), igloo building, and making me really glad that I grew up in a comparatively temporally climated city of tens of millions.

That aside--HOW CUTE ARE THESE CRITTERS?!

Thing of the Day: Sandra Bullock

Normally, I read celebrity gossip for two reasons:

1. Pretty things: Celebrities have really really pretty things and I want them. Often, H&M, Forever 21 and other stores I can afford to shop in make pretty things that look like the things that celebrities have, and I can buy them and be pleased at myself. Additionally, celebrities often hang out at New York venues I have been to, making me feel as if I am sort of one of them.

2. Schadenfreude: A German concept referring to "happiness at the misfortune of others." Beloved musical Avenue Q once said, "Schadenfreude...making me feel glad that I'm not you," and celebrity gossip often makes me feel this way. Who isn't glad to not be Britney Spears, or Heidi Montag, or that chick the Bachelor just picked that everyone hates (one trend I do not keep up with---reality dating shows). Reading celebrity gossip often reaffirms my happiness that I am not a celebrity, especially when really bad things happen to them or their cellulite is photographed. Of course, there are the instances where their 10 million dollar cribs and walk in closets the size of my apartment at school are photographed, and this concept fails.

Nonetheless, I never really think of celebrities as people, or identify with them. Some readers of celebrity gossip have favorite celebs, or one's whos stories they really track, but I don't. I have famous people I love to hate, but that's the closest I come to a favorite. And I never feel particularly bad when anything unfortunate happens to them.

Until now. Sandra Bullock, I want to write you fan mail. I want to send you a large basket of fruit with a card that says MISS CONGENIALITY WAS AWESOME AND SO ARE YOU! I want to hold you in my arms and eat Ben&Jerry's One Sweet Whirled (the actual ice cream, not the frozen yogurt version) and watch romantic comedies (perhaps your own) and tell you that its okay and tht your ex-husband's a cheating Nazi (which, actually, he is). Also, I haven't actually seen it, but everyone I know thinks The Blind Side was really good. And for one born in 1964, which makes you...umm...46(!!!), gurl, you look great.

Thing of the Day: Denial

Dear Vanderbilt,

If you send me another survey asking about my undergraduate experience, another PDF file informing me how many days are left till graduation, another reminder to get my cap and gown, or another prying questionaire about what I am doing after school, I will throw myself from the 9th floor window of my modeled-after-low-income-housing-yet-somehow-the-most-expensive-real-estate-in-Nashville apartment building (How satisified was I with the Office of Residential Education and Housing? Not very satisfied), leaving you with a massive PR crisis regarding why graduating seniors are not only jumping from windows but warning of this on their very public blog and not being stopped.

That being said, if I had the chance to relive my college experience, would I choose Vanderbilt again?

Yes, yes, yes, yes, a million times yes.

Wah.

Thing of the Day: Passover

Even though/especially because my roommate and I failed to go to tonight's Vanderbilt-sponsored seder, I would like to take this time to say that Passover is among my favorite Jewish holidays. I love Seders. In high school, these would involve long, wine-drenched meals at my best friend Rachel's house. Rachel's mother is Jewish and her father is not, and their Haggadah (the text that tells the Passover story and explains the Seder) was deliberately simplified and hand-illustrated with stick figures in order to teach him, (and bad Jews such as myself who learned the story of Passover exclusively from The Prince of Egypt) the stories with minimal complaint.

Last year, Passover fell during a trip to Moscow with my dear friend Stacy, and being a better Jew than I, Stacy rallied the four other celebrators in our tour group and assembled us in a Russian Restaurant that was a bizarre cross between an all-you-can-eat buffet and a Soviet TGIFriday's, where we made the best of it by arranging eggs, herbs, and assorted vegetables on a circular plate and drinking copious amounts of crappy Russian wine. We kept the celebrations pretty discreet, because I'm pretty sure they still hate Jews in the Motherland, but Stacy led some prayers and we felt rather proud of ourselves.

This year, a piling up of midterms exams and general laziness caused me to miss the Seder. I initially tried to claim that my vegetarian-ness would prevent me from eating the traditional foods, but when one thinks about it, that is a lie. The Seder is really as vegetarian as Jewish foods go. And if the Obamas can do it (awww, Barack and Michelle), so can I. In the face of midterms, TiVo, and excessive excuse making, we are going to the Vanderbilt Hillel's celebration tomorrow.

I am hoping that my efforts to keep Passover (that is, refrain from eating breads/bread products) this year will combat the fact that I spent the hours that I was supposed to be at Seder buying children's aquatic toys and warm-weather alcohol for my upcoming beach weekend in Florida.

But for serious, happy holidays and warm wishes to all those celebrating.

Thing of the Day: Chelsea Handler

I have expressed my not-so-secret aspirations to become Chelsea Handler (that is, physically morph into her in every way shape and form possible) both on this blog and in every day life, but after reading her third book, Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang, I have become hellbent on going to a filming of Chelsea Lately, charming her with my own inappropriate humor and affinity towards vodka sodas and television, and becoming Ms. Handler's intern and susequently her second in command for all time.

In Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang, Chelsea takes her 300 pound African driver to Turks & Caicos to find him a lover, adopts a dog with the same nickname as her boyfriend, steals a Cabbage Patch Kid from the neighboring teenage boy in exchange for an innocent game of doctor (here we diverge, Chels--I find Cabbage Patch Kids terrifying and awful dolls for children. They look like Chucky and cause hieghtened levels of teenage pregnancy in kids who grown up thinking that babies come from cabbage patches), and boozes her way through weddings, funerals, meetings, and casual Monday afternoons.

Furthermore, a recent episode of Chelsea Lately has clued me into this gem of a news piece--Zhora, a chimpanzee in zoological captivity in my great communist hometown of Moscow, has been expelled from the zoo and sent to rehab because of his drinking problem. Oh yes--zookeepers decided that Zhora the chimpanzee was consuming too much alcohol, and the alcohol caused him to behave erratic and aggresive. Additionally, he began to fiend for booze to the point where he would harrass innocent zoo-goers sipping on brewskis for sips of their alcohol, and sometimes accompany his liquoring habits with cigarettes.

WHAT? How does a chimp even hold a cigarette, let alone smoke one? Cigarettes are fairly fragile, I always find them irritatingly broken in half and scattering tar and nicotine onto all of the contents of my purse. Chimpanzees have big hairy clumsy hands, and if they get their hands on cigarettes without breaking them, how in the world do they light them?

Food for thought for Chelsea's next book, perhaps. Or mine.

Thing of the Day: Handicapped Restrooms

Up until seeing the episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm where Larry David is berated by a man in a wheelchair by using a handicapped restroom, I hadn't considered that the etiquette on handicapped restrooms is the same as that in say, handicapped parking spots--they are actually reserved only for the use of handicapped people.

I don't know if its because my immigrant parents didn't teach me better (because c'mon, there's no way Communist Russia attended to the public bathroom needs of handicapped people), but when it's available, I always use the handicapped restroom. It's bigger, and usually all the way at the end of the row of stalls and thus tends to have less urine on the seat. Speaking of urine on public restroom seats, I wish germaphobes everywhere would realize that there wouldn't be urine on (female) restroom seats, ever, if they could just stop squatting. It's simply unneccessary and creates a vicious cycle of pee. Sitting directly on the toilet seat is about as unsanitary as sitting on any public seat anywhere ever in a skirt. It is only the back of your thighs that touch toilet, not your genitalia or any somewhat private part. Last time I checked, one can contract no diseases via thigh to thigh contact.

But what do I know? I have full use of all my limbs and have never suffered from seizures or any other handicapping ailment and proudly and exclusively use those massive, sometimes equipped with own sink (!) last stalls.

Thing of the Day: College

Foreword: This is my last LOLcat ever, I promise.

This week/end did a fantastic job re-affirming that no matter what events occur to make me believe I am ready and willing to graduate and leave college, I would like to stay at this place forever. Reasons why included:

1. They are doing a casting call for the "Russian American" version of the Jersey Shore, to take place on Brighton Beach. The casting notice says:

"Are you the Russian Snooki or The Situation? Are you a super outgoing and fun Russian American that sometimes sneaks kalbaska, pel'meni and vodka from the fridge? Can people hear the Euro/Techno/Russian music blasting from your car windows before they can see you pull up? The cameras will roll as you do what you do best...eat, drink, and PARTY."

Umm. As someone who has spent a considerable period of time perusing job postings/volunteer gigs recently, I can honestly say that absolutely no opportunity has appeared quite so cut out for my skills and interests. This would be just a summer thing, of course, and I don't really see long term career plans coming out of it (although Snooki racks in 10 Gs for doing club appearances now and several hundred of my fellow classmates paid 10 dollars each to take a picture with Pauly D when he performed at a Nashville bar) but I think the casting call is definitely worth a try.

2. I went to my first gay bar this week. It was nothing short of a phenomenal experience, and if my life plans as being Ruski Snooki or Chelsea Handler don't work out, I would very much like to play straight female best friend to a gay man for all time. My friend Bea was writing a profile piece on a waiter from our favorite restaurant, and after telling us about his life experiences (singing for the Nashville opera, getting arrested for accidentally selling several tabs of extacy to a friend in what he thought was a favor, his brief stint as a crossdresser, his love affair with his cellmate/massuese/boss etc) over a three hour long, high point of my week/semester, very wine-filled dinner, he took us to Tribe and Play, Nashville's two gay clubs. Tribe was a cool, relaxed scene made slightly more interesting by the presence of casual music videos such as this one (Jonny McGovern Gay Pimp: Soccer Practice), afterwards, we headed over to Play (officially called Play Dance Bar) for a plethora of seven foot tall beauties dressed fully in drag, men resembling those in the above music video grinding to dance moves I would be lucky to ever even endeavor, and full on fog machine, strobe lit, techno music glory. I love living in Nashville, but one of the things I miss dearly about New York is the clubby nightlife. Play is possibly Nashville's only actual club venue, and it was made even better by the fact that no sleazy sweaty men tried to dance with me, since they were all too busy with each other. Best Wednesday night ever. Thursday hurt.

3. I spent at least an hour Friday night and at least another hour Saturday night fully immersed in a foam pit. Adults see packing peanuts and think: goodie! my new Pottery Barn matching dishware has arrived! College kids see packing peanuts and think PARTY. I don't know if I am ready to go out into a world where packing peanuts are utilized solely to prevent the new picture frame I ordered to display respectable photographs of my colleagues and myself at a work holiday party from breaking.

4. Not entirely related, but in research for a class project on prison reform, I just read about this guy--"Terrible Tommy," who has spent 27 years in solitary confinement for murdering two inmates while in jail. TWENTY SEVEN YEARS. In solitary confinement. Only one journalist has ever interviewd him, in 1988 (for reference, that is when I was born). As the most co-dependent person I know, I don't think I could spend twenty seven hours in solitary confinement, let alone twenty seven years. For entertainment, Terrible Tommy (cute alliteration, Colorado Incarceration Systems), crochets and does yoga. WTF. I want Terrible Tommy's address, so I can write him a letter, and perhaps include some recent crosswords and Sudokus. Most people will never have to spend any time in solitary confinement, but as adults, they will have to spend time alone, which I do not like to do. Luckily, in college, you never have to spend time alone! As my roommates will be sure to tell you.

Happy March to everyone--Rabbit Rabbit.

Thing of the Day: Stalking

Dear Vanderbilt Recreational Facilities,

One would think that if you have televisions at all, you would have some sort of method for the ellipticalling sorority girl to listen to them and not just see them. Perhaps an earplug in the elliptical machines, like real gyms? Or if not, an investment in subtitles for said televisions? In English, and preferably not Spanish, like today. LOST is impossible enough to understand in Ingles, let alone Espanol. After six years of Spanish, I don't even know how to say smoke monster. Actually, I totally do. Monstruo de fuma. Muchas gracias, Stuy High.

Today I discovered a really fun development from my favorite place of all time that is not New York--Scandinavia. Apparently Swedish phones have developed this new technology where you can point your phone at someone's face, take their picture, and have this software scan the internet for their picture so that you can friend them on Facebook, or MySpace, or Friendster (is Friendster still up and running? I really liked it when it was. In 2005 there was a poll on Friendster about most attractive girls at Stuyvesant High School and I think I made it in there somewhere. Ah, to peak in high school...), or Swedish Facebook. It makes connecting online much easier than searching for all the Ben's that go to UMichigan or all the Alex's that attend Indiana, and is aptly named Recognizr. Except it is also the creepiest invention OF ALL TIME. WTF, Technology.

Google Earth is cool. Anything that allows you to know who/where things/people are more than Google Earth is terrifying. This summer, a friend of mine tried to get me to install Google Latitude onto my Blackberry. For those not familiar with Google Latitude, it is a GPS Technology that allows "Latitude Friends" to see where you are at all times. To the street. No thank you, Verizon. I think Google Latitude was probably invented by a scorned housewife, who via intricate skills of gossip spread it to all her friends, who then sold it to Blackberry hook line and sinker. I can only think of how many cheating husbands' lives must have been totally ruined by Google Latitude. Honey, I'm at the office late--wait, no. I'm totally not.

Sometimes, technology is excellent. At other times, its a life ruiner. As someone whose high school "sleepovers at my best friends house!" were totally ruined by Caller ID, I'd go with the latter.

What we don't know can't hurt us...right?

On another note, just as I decided I am officially a Winter Olympics fan, they decided to suck tonight. I don't even know what this sport is...some sort of sledding? Luge? This resembles the ice luges I see at frat parties, so I will go with that. Apparently, it is the most dangerous sport of all time. Meh. Looks boring to me. But luckily, they are thinking of allowing pole dancing to be a sport in the 2012/1016 games, so things are looking up. I had no idea pole dancing was a sport and not a...job, but apparently they have events such as the International Pole Dancing Fitness Competition and those ladies are getting quite rallied up from their exclusion from the Olympic world. Now that I'd watch.

(Excuse the LOLcats. I've been thinking they're really funny lately, but am hoping it will pass).

Thing of the Day: Cheese Substitutes/The Olympics

Life updates:

1. The lack of cheese and frozen yogurt in my life since Wednesday has not only caused me to be emotionally tormented, but actually contributed to my physical illness. I have a minor stomach virus (I've always heard that yogurt has those bacteria cultures etc that prevents such ailments...hmm, Lent) and have been le miz since yesterday afternoon.

2. On a slightly happier note, Whole Foods has an extraordinarily impressive selection of cheese products that consist of absolutely no cheese. I spent an alltogether perfect Friday afternoon shopping for rice cheddar, soy mozarella, tofu ice cream, almond milk, and vegan gnocchi/ravioli. Who knew all these mediocre foods could come together to so wholly appease my desire for pizza, grilled cheese, and carbo-loaded pastas? Yummmm.

3. Whole Foods additionally offers an even more impressive list of cooking classes . Being as one of my yet-to-be-fulfilled-in-any-way New Years resolutions was to learn to cook instead of just eat, I have scheduled two cooking class dates. Yay. Prepare for dishes a vegetarian would never dream of devouring but eagerly anticipates cooking.

4. In non-food related news, Michelle Obama has invited the cast of Glee to perform at the Annual Easter Egg Hunt at the White House in April. Although my slightly more pessimistic/Republican friends (ahem, Dani), have greeted this news with "I guess that's where our tax money is going," I think this is utterly phenomenal. Someone get me to this party, ASAP. And when is this show coming back on anyway? I have had considerably less fun on the elliptical with a lack of new sick jamz every Wednesday night.

5. This semester, I am taking Rhetoric of Mass Media, a class based entirely on television and films. Other than Vanderbilt's Southern Foods class, I can think of absolutely no classroom activity I could possibly enjoy more. Taking this class has given me an opportunity to watch TV for school, I would like to present my opinions on HBO's new show, How To Make It In America. I'm going to go ahead and give it 3.5 stars from the get-go. First off, it has a really catchy opening sequence, which is crucial to capture the interest of today's 30 second tops attention span public. Second, the main character, Ben, played by a moping and gorgeous Bryan Greenberg, may or may not be my soulmate. He lives in Brooklyn, is currently getting over his bi-atch of an ex girlfriend while trying to quit smoking cigarettes, and have I mentioned that he is moping and gorgeous? Give me deep seeded emotional issues and big pretty eyes and I'm yours, HBO. Finally, the show actually seems to be moving along quite well--it's by the writers/producers of the epically bromantic Entourage, and reflects a similar sentiment in this show, without being quite so obnoxious. I look forward to seeing more cute moping/bro bonding.

6. Ever since Mama Bogo got a Blackberry, she has found that a good way to communicate sentiments to her daughters when they don't answer her BBMs is via updating her BBM status. Seeing that "Nikki Bogo" and "Violetta B" are her two only BBM friends, Mama B does this rather often with no quips about alienating other BBM contacts. Recent statuses have been "Allowance Monday :)" and "My daughters don't love me :(," but recently the Mother Ship's status read a mysterious "I Luv Johhny Weir."

Clearly I immediately Googled Johnny Wier in hopes that he was at least some sort of billionaire businessman, and found even better--

Gay ice skater.

Concerns about mothers' affair alleviated, I decided to watch some brief clips of his performances. Mama B, hailing from the motherland, has always been been Ice Skating's #1 Fan. Wee Nikki and Violetta, in addition to being given years of lessons of rhythmic gymnastics (yes, the kind Will Ferrell mocks in Old School), were given a few brief lessons in the sport of Ice Dancing. Although we epically failed, extensive You-Tubing of Johnny Weir has proved that he definitely hasn't. The man is ice skating to Poker Face and looking as fierce/of questionable gender as Lady Gaga does when she performs to it. Androgeny jokes aside, this guy makes ice skating look kind of...badass.

He inspired me to further watch Olympic ice skating/other Winter Olympic events, and may I just say, although the Winter Olympics are obviously the Summer Olympics inferior little sister, they are pretty damn impressive. My favorites thus far have been alpine skiing and ice skating. Alpine skiing because as someone who just learned the pleasures of skiing without injury/near death experience, damn, those moves are impressive, and ice skating because I think Mama Bogo (as usual) was right--it's awesome, and to be BBM Luved. This evening, in between "writing my paper," extensive Gchatting, and writing this blog post, I got the chance to catch some couples ice dancing. Sweet moves, France. Step it up, Mother Russia.

Things I'm looking forward to this week: Vanderbilt basketball, dinner at Miel, and does anyone want to do this?

Thing of the Day: Lent

When I was a wee teen, I thought Josh Hartnett was the hottest thing since sliced bread (I've never really understood that sentiment, actually. What is so hot about sliced bread? Bread is really a rather boring food and if I were a metaphor inventor I would select something considerably hotter, like spinach and goat cheese pizza, or lobster ravioli, or Ben & Jerry's Half Baked in FRO-YO form)--so I obviously also thought that 40 Days and 40 Nights was the most fantastic movie ever created.

Being a wee Jewish teen, I never really understood the concept of Lent. What the f was the point of giving up something that you liked for 40 days? The Lord didn't have a choice, we do. No thanks. But after seeing Josh Hartnett in all his hotness struggle through 40 painful days and nights (what Mr.Hartnett's character gave up was sex, and sexual relations in every way shape and form), I decided if sexy Hollywood movie stars could do it and find the love of their life in the process, damn it, so could I. So with the help of Google (or were we still using Yahoo in 2002?), I discovered that the purpose of Lent was to "give something up and take something on," and more or less followed these guidelines through the rest of high school and into freshman year of college.

As I have become older and somehow, less mature, I have stopped giving things up for Lent. True, there is nothing actually wrong with this, seeing I am Jewish, but after this weekends' celebrations of Mardi Gras in the wonderful New Orleans (beads, booze, Bourbon Street, funnel cake, jambalaya (stolen from strangers at my favorite NOLA bar, Pat O Briens, and carefully picked over for traces of meat. Somehow, I am till a vegetarian, but I may have ingested half a piece of jamalaya sausage by accident this weekend), pizza, Hurricanes, Hand Grenades, and general debauchery), I have decided that if I choose to honor Fat Tuesday quite so, um, vigorously, it is only fair that I give the same respect to Ash Wednesday.

Thus, starting today, and for the next 25 days (I am leaving for spring break in Jamaica (!!!!) on March 6--one does not fail to indulge in anything when on senior year spring break) and then the 8 days after I return from Jamaica, I am giving up dairy, and taking on writing.

Anyone who knows me knows how I feel about dairy. I consider cheese its own food group. I once ate an entire block of goat cheese alone within an hour. I get Bagel Bites/Pizza Rolls as a late snack every time I go out. And I devour those Fage yogurts like its my job. But, for the next 25 days, I will remain dairy-less. This means: No cheese. No frozen yogurt. No ice cream. No chocolate products. I obviously plan on blowing through hundreds of dollars at Whole Foods tonight buying the organic vegan lactose free versions of all of these products, but I can safely say I feel about dairy how Josh Hartnett's character in 40 Days felt about sex.

I'm not sure I can live without it.

As for writing, I plan on writing something every of these 25 days--whether it be a blog post, a story, a journal entry, a poem, or a bunch of random scribbled nonsense. My only guidelines is that it has to be non-academic.

Wish me luck.

And by the way, whatever happened to Josh Hartnett?!

Thing of the Day: The iPad

It's been a long time since I thought about my iPhone. We parted in the most devastating of ways. The story is tragic and hard to tell, but for the sake of full disclosure: it was May of 2009 when, two connections into the three connecting flights that would take me from Copenhagen to New York, I found myself in the Berlin airport starving and against all will, ordered two double cheeseburgers and large fries only to find that the McDonald's in the Berlin airport (and, as I would soon find, all establishments serving food in the Berlin airport), does not accept credit cards. Okay. I could deal with that. Hold my order, unfriendly German airport employees, as I go to the Currency Exchange window, reach for my iPhone to use my wonderful currency converter application and determine how many of my leftover Danish Kroner coins I would need to convert to Euro coins to purchase any from of sustenance, and...

...realize that I have left my iPhone on the (long gone) plane. And to make things worse, the German Currency Exchange does not accept foreign coins, only notes, which I lack, or my credit card, with a minimum exchange of 50 dollars, which, although it would have bought me a lot of double cheeseburgers, would have certaintly caused Margarita to confiscate said credit card faster than she did upon my arrival in the states (~18 hours). Oops. Hungry, iPhone-less, missing Scandinavia and with four pieces of incredibly heavy and bulky carry-on luggage, I moved on to layover number two, blocking out the memory of that awful day forever.

Until now. I love my Blackberry. I love it almost as much as these people love their Blackberries, (shoutout, Stace!) I would never even consider switching over to an iPhone as a primary cellular device (mine (RIP) was for utilized exclusively for the crucial purposes of taking snazzy pictures, playing extensive games, and utilizing the iCalendar)--but I think I am ready to commit myself to another Apple product with my whole heart and iTunes library--I need an iPad.

For those of you who believe that an iPad in any way resembles a Kindle or a Nook, you are wrong. Kindles and Nooks have made it clear that they are evil robots promoted by genius marketing. Anyone who knows me at all knows I will never have anything to do with the Nook or the Kindle (case in point, frantic BBM from recently turned 21-friend: "Nikkkkkkkkkkkki!!! My dad got me a KINDLE for my birthday! What do I doooooooooo??!"), ever. The iPad is a different story. Despite having a really poor and un-clever name (really, Steve Jobs? I preferred Apple Tablet), it is quite possibly the most useful and wonderful Apple gadget of all time. If you do not take my word for it, watch the video. Although Stephen Colbert just pulled one out mid-Grammys, the wondrous device is not available to us common folk until mid March. Wah. Although (glass half full), that gives me plenty of time to watch the video on repeat and convince Margarita why I need to own one.

In non-gadget related news: being back at school for my last semester ever is good/weird. On the one hand, everything is exactly the same, and on the other, it is so remarkably different. After a less than perfect fall semester, and a non-ideal start to this one, I have decided to make the absolute best of my final one by focusing exclusively on the things that matter and spending less time on those that don't or in the long run, won't. In the past few weeks, I have really tried to focus on that which makes me the happiest--I love 4 out of my 5 classes (Mass Media, Exploring Film Soundtrack, Fiction Workshop, and World Jewish Communities), have gotten a volunteering gig at the Vanderbilt Children's Hospital (I start next week and can't wait, although the idea of working with long-term and permanent patients is scary and devastating), have been taking fitness classes for the first time since this summer (I spent roughly a third of tonight's hot yoga class in child's pose on the floor trying not to pass out), and of course, eating my way through Nashville with my friends (brunch at Allium and dinner at Cha Chah this week were exquisite).

This week, I am looking forward to: my best friend's birthday (and subsequent dinner at Sambuca...mmm), (AH TAYLOR SWIFT JUST WON ALBUM OF THE YEAR YOU GOOOOOOO GIRL), the best TV show of all time coming back for a final season, (LOSTLOSTLOSTLOST---I would like for this to be a separate post entirely so will refrain from going into detail about my feelings/predictions for season 6), the Superbowl (I don't like sports perse but I like organized drinking activities/TV, so this will do), more potential snow days for Nashville (it snowed a grand total of 6 inches this weekend and the entire city has shut down due to there being approximately 4 snowplows total in all of Tennessee), and it being February, which is so superior to January, and contains two of my favorite holidays (Valentine's Day and Mardi Gras) in one weekend. I plan on celebrating Valentine's Day by watching the movie Valentine's Day and eating copious amounts of chocolate and wine. I plan on celebrating Mardi Gras by roadtripping to New Orleans with everyone I know at Vanderbilt and an engaging a Hurricane, Hand Grenade, and bead infused weekend of debauchery. I love New Orleans and haven't visited since Halloween 2008 and can't wait to see my Tulane bestie (hi, Emma), eat street food, and wear costumes for absolutely no reason.

Oh, and I GOT A NEW COMPUTER! Farewell forever, Inspiron...may you rest in my bottom drawer along with coasters I steal from bars, business cards from people I will never call, old Scattergories score sheets (high point of the semester thus far: playing a 12 person, liquor accompanies, game of Scattergories before we all went out mid-snowstorm on Friday night), phones/cameras that have died and are now resting in electronic limbo, assorted candies, and other things that I really should just throw out/recycle but due to some strange hoarding tendencies, can't bear to part ways with quite yet.

Thing of the Day: Avatar

Things that are embarrassing but still sort of awesome: when you are riding the subway alone listening to the Glee soundtrack loudly in your headphones and casually bopping one foot along to the beat and the blatantly homosexual and wonderfully flamboyant purple-coated man next to you taps you on the shoulder and says "Gurlllllll, that's my jaaaaaaaaaam.

I miss you, Glee. Return to my television repertoire immediately. What I was riding the subway to was the show Fuerzabruta, which was really strange, kind of cool, and would have been significantly better if I had dropped a small amount of acid or a similar hallucinogenic material prior to entry to the theater. Watch this clip. It was weird. What wasn't weird was the show that I saw last night, Next to Normal. It's choreographed and set by the guy who did RENT, and like RENT, does an excellent job dealing with depressing and serious subject matters via upbeat musical melodies.

Speaking of upbeat musical melodies--I am obsessed with the new Lady Gaga/Beyonce song. A Lady Gaga/Beyonce collaboration proves two things to me: 1)Everything is right with the musical universe, and 2)Ebony and ivory are finally living in perfect harmony. Also, how did Gaga/Miz B know how I felt about my Blackberry when out on a Thurzday night? And I cannot text you with a drink in my hand eehhhhhhhh.

And finally:

On Monday night, I finally had the opportunity to see Avatar the way it was meant to be seen, in IMAX 3D. It was nothing short of a perfect film experience. James Cameron, how did you create that wonderful wonderful planet? What I would do to frolic in the forests of Pandora and play with larger in than life glow in the dark plants and fly on the backs of magnificent creatures to whom I was connected via braid link. Although in my ideal universe, I think the creatures would be considerably cuter/less terrifying. In Avatar, Cameron does a fantastic job combining fantasy with fact. Is the brutal war on Pandora because they have a magical substance that sells for ten million per kilo ("When someone has something we want, we find a reason to make them our enemy) loosely mocking America's own war on Iraq? Um, duh. The evil lieutenant dude even says "we will fight terror with terror." Does the Na'vi's love and appreciation of their nature and their planet compare quite shockingly with our own races' constant destruction of it for our own purposes? Yeah, clearly, in IMAX 3D. If the movie had absolutely no plot at all and consisted solely of 12 foot tall blue creatures with astonishingly human facial expressions running about and blowing shit up would I still think it was the most visually stunning film I had ever seen? Abso-freaking-lutely. Avatar is, after all, the most expensive movie ever made (it is also the fastest to gross 1 billion dollars in theaters, but that may perhaps be because IMAX tickets cost me an absurdly high $16.75) and every penny poured into the special effects was worth it. I don't know when the last time I saw an IMAX movie was, but Cameron has come a long way. When you are watching Avatar you feel like you are literally in the film. Animated and sparkling flora and fauna jump out at you. You can reach out and nearly touch the lovable blue aliens really well-built torsos. When predators launch and explosions startle, the theater audibly gasps. Despite the two and a half hour running time of Avatar, I was fully engrossed for every single second.

That being said (spoiler alert) there is no way those Na'vi critters would...mate...exactly like humans do. Come on, make out scene leading to wake up in the morning spooning scene. You could have been a little more creative. Perhaps some tail binding action? Maybe some sparks flying from the tree of life? Disappointing, J.Cam. Additionally, I would have liked to see more baby Na'vi. We had a few quick glimpses towards the end and they were remarkably cute. Maybe throw in a few dozen more in the DVD version?

Overall, this movie left me thinking that humans kind of suck. For example, on Pandora, a woman would never attack the McDonald's drive thru employee because they were out of McNuggets. It should be noted that I found out about this incident via a friend gchatting me that "it reminded him of something I would do." Said friend also sent me this gem about a woman who stole an ambulance to drunk-drive to her boyfriends' house because she "really wanted to see him" and "had a pretty good time" doing it for similar reasons. I don't thank my friends enough on this blog.

As you can see, I have not done much in 2010 thus far other than see plays and movies. The reason for this is three-fold. Firstly, it is really freaking cold in New York. I've been setting up interviews for a job in Chicago, and am really not sure I will follow through due to hatred of such weather. Secondly, my dentist, who is a good family friend, removed one of my wisdom teeth on a whim the other day because once I graduate, my mother's phenomenal dental insurance will no longer cover such procedures and I "have an abnormally small mouth, so we should really do this as a precaution." Spare the jokes, and thanks, ghetto Russian medical practices. And thirdly, I have all but given up my social life via New Years resolutions. Clearly I don't expect these resolutions to last long at all (I'm thinking week after sorority rush at Vanderbilt), but I am giving it my best shot as long as I'm trapped toothless in 24 degree weather.

Till then, a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon and Sex and The City season 4 on demand (how I love being home).

Thing of the Day: 2010 (Twenty-Ten)

Full disclosure: as I write this, I am watching Jersey Shore in my Snuggie, which is actually not even a Snuggie--it is the significantly more ghetto Costco version of a Snuggie, and a disgusting mustard yellow shade. When I came home for Christmas break, I found this and a similarly ugly colored forest green faux-Snuggie resting comfortably on the section of my living room couch that is usually reserved for snacks, and ever since then my sister and I have been parading around in our new garments (these "Snuggies" also have hoods. As far as I know, real Snuggies lack hoods, which is really very silly since hooded Snuggies allow us to not only be warm and comfortable but also pretend we are dementors/Death Eaters and chase each other around the house screaming normalcies such as "Expelliarmus!" and "Give-me-the-remote-us!" If I were Snuggie Inc. I would definitely implement a hooded version. Also perhaps one that comes with feet. Although that would just be a onesie...). Snuggies aside, I'm really proud of all the characters on the Jersey Shore, especially Snooki, who really seems to have matured since she got punched in the face by a stranger. I hope she succeeds in her mission to find love with a Guido on the shore. I've been thinking lately that Snooki would be an ideal character for a reality dating show. It could be like I Love New York, but Snooki is considerably kla$$ier than New York will ever be, and I'm sure she would not have to repeat her show for a second season. When I googled "Snooki Dating Show" on a complete whim I was shocked to find that Snooki totally agrees with me. Although I was thinking of something titled "Snooki's Got Nooki" or "Nooki for Snooki," and her self-chosen potential title is the considerably inferior "Snookin' for Love." Dear MTV: If you read my blog, credit, please.

A few other thoughts:

1. New Years 2010 was...interesting (And its Twenty-Ten, not Two Thousand Ten. Come on, people). After a mediocre actual New Years Eve that culminated in having to take the subway uptown because we couldn't get a cab in the 15 degree weather, we woke up in our Times Square hotel, looked around at the confetti and glitter and eager bright eyed tourists, and decided to try again. We acquired brand new 2010 glasses (bravo to the genius who designed the 2010 glasses...before seeing them we were very concerned with how the eye holes would be placed now that it was no longer 2-eye-eye-something, but, big success!), wore them for the entirety of our family style Italian meal at Carmine's, and just when we thought the evening would culminate in wine and resolution-writing in bed, some friends saved the day by inviting us to Greenhouse. New Years Take 2 was considerably more successful, thus the only resolution we wrote was: In Twenty Ten, if at first you don't succeed, pick yoself up and try again (you can dust it off and try agaiiinnnnnnn...I miss you Aaliyah). Still working on other New Years' resolutions, but they include gems such as working out more/eating less, wasting smaller amounts of time reading strangers' blogs/StumblingUpon/other internet activities, making post graduate life plans, finding useful hobbies, running half marathons, being nicer to people, etc etc.

2. Why is Avatar 3D IMAX sold out every time I try to go see it? I am completely incapable of planning to see a movie a full day in advance, so nearly every day for the past week I have woken up and checked showtimes for the one movie theater in Brooklyn playing Avatar in IMAX and found it to be sold out every single day. Can the rest of New York City really be that much better at planning than I? All I want to do is see these blue creatures everyone has been raving about so I can blog about it, but the world seems to be against me. FOMO, Avatar.

3. Staying in Times Square for the past few days (thanks, Lauren!) has really got me thinking about tourists and tourism. As a New Yorker, I hate New York tourists. I hate their stupid I <3 style="font-style: italic;">The City. But I really don't mind other tourists. In fact, I think I like other tourists. I can only assume this is because when I am in other places, I too am a tourist, but in reality other tourists just seem more intelligent than those in New York. I was really curious about what the most visited tourist sites in the world were, so I consulted my best friend, Google who informed me that NYC, which I for some reason thought to be #1 (please consult picture on right hand corner of blog), is #5. Additionally, I have only been to 4 of the top 10 most visited cities (#1 Paris, #2 London, #5 New York, #10 Rome). I wonder what it is that drives so many people to go to the same places, and who it is that decides The Eiffel Tower or Times Square or The Colosseum is that which should be seen. But whatever it is, I would like to be a part of it. Bangkok, Hong Kong, and Shanghai, here I comeee.

4. Speaking of New York, I just finished a wonderful novel, Let The Great World Spin, by Colum McAnn, and in one paragraph it summed up exactly how I feel about the city: "New York had a way of doing that. Every now and then the city shook its soul out. It assailed you with an image, or a day, or a crime, or a terror, or a beauty so difficult to wrap your mind around that you had to shake your head in disbelief. He had a theory about it. It happened, and re-happened, because it was a city uninterested in history. Strange things occured precisely because there was no necessary regard for the past. It had no need to belief in itself as a London, or an Athens, or even a signifier of the New World, like a Sydney, or a Los Angeles. No, the city couldn't care less about where it stood. He had seen a t-shirt once that said: New York F*ckin' City. As if it were the only place that ever existed and the only one that ever would." Oh, New York. Every time I think I am over you, you reel me right back in.

5. For those who are not interested in great books, a great movie: I just saw Up In The Air. It made me think, a lot. Additionally, George Clooney is beautiful. If none of this convinces you, it is currently the highest rated movie on Rotten Tomatoes, which is the only real place to criticize movies. Go see it.

6. And finally, or those who are uninterested in great movies, great TV/great eats.
Double food porn tonight: The menu that I'm currently obsessing over, and the premiere of the White House episode of Iron Chef America on The Food Network (Bobby Flay + Mario Batali + Michelle Obama?! Leaving on the TIVO queue forever).

As usual, this blog post failed to have a concentration. So for new beginnings' sake, Thing of the Day: 2010.