Today I'm grateful for...

Whoever domesticated the first pig.

Whoever first smoked and salted a dead pig.

The inventor of the frying pan.

Dr. Robert Jarvick, the inventor of the artificial heart.

The Special Collections

Today, for class, I went down to Special Collections. I love that place. It's heaven on earth. I love having an excuse to go down there with all those old books. I guess its the antiquarian in me. But, really, aren't all humanities/English people just closet antiquarians in some way?



But I got to see and handle first editions of Ivanhoe, Waverly, and Emma. Cool, huh? Each had their own thing that touched the geek within. With Ivanhoe, it was owned by a friend of Sir Walter Scott's, so I like to imagine that it was a gift. Scott might have touched it. Yeah, I know.



With Waverly, it exuded the strongest old book smell as soon as I opened it. I don't know what it is about the smell of books, and especially old ones, that I find so....something. I can't explain. If someone were to bottle that smell, I'd buy it. And love it. But that book smelled GREAT.



Seeing a first edition Emma was nice because Emma was the first book I read of Jane Austen's. It was probably the first book I had read of that time period. I loved that book (and still do--I've worn out at least 2 paperback copies). In a way, Emma was the foot in the door of British Romanticism.

So, now my hands have that dusty feeling from touching old books. It's delightful.

So, I forgot to grab a sweater today...

So I was a little chilly all day. Not really enough to be truly uncomfortable, but cold enough to be aware of it all the time. But that's not the point. The point is I kind of like it.

When I'm this kind of cold, I am very sensitive to any change in temperature around me, even in the slightest way. That means I can feel the body heat of those around me, and I like that. I am always aware of the people around me in a very physical way, and that's comforting in its own way. Like getting a hug or holding hands or cuddling all the time. And who doesn't like those things?

But not only that, there is a weird attraction to these warm bodies, like magnets. I can't help but turn towards the source of warmth, to steal some of it. I don't like being a warmth vampire, but I do like the idea that this impulse is something cosmic--that the universe is trying to establish an equilibrium of sorts, to return to the center. I like that. Maybe because I like order, balance and symmetry. Or maybe because I like to be warm. I don't know.

Orff: Derrida:: cheese: apples

This past weekend, I had to read a ton of theory. Part of this delightful experience was my first encounter with Jacques Derrida (Sign, Structure and Play). I had heard tale of this guy, that he was super difficult (like unto Isaiah) and he would make my brain feel all stupid. I can't tell you how much I was looking forward to that reading. I actually read it 3 or 4 times before I started understanding.

My favorite piece of classical music is Carl Orff's Carmina Burana (a scenic cantata...). I love it. A lot. Have the thing memorized. It's sometimes a soundtrack to my dreams (and childhood memories, oddly enough). This is an epic love for epic music.

So, to make my foray with Derrida more bearable, I decided to play Carmina Burana while I (re)read. Thank you YouTube and UC Davis. But then something miraculous happened. I understood what Derrida was saying! I got it! And I don't think it was necessarily that the fifth time was the charm, it was the magic of Orff.

As different as these things are (post-structuralism/deconstruction and a 20th century rendition of medieval poetry) they complimented each other perfectly. One helped me understand and enjoy the other. Like eating alternating bites of apple and cheddar cheese--a weird combination but they compliment each other in a mind-blowing way. Or like bacon and chocolate. MMM.... bacon...

But anyways, I am always amazed at the real serendipity of life, and especially how contrasts line up in contrary and yet constructive ways. (And if you were hoping for more on what I think of Derrida, I let you know once it's percolated for a while.)

The greatest thing you'll ever learn...

So, I just watched Moulin Rouge with some of my roommates over the weekend (by the way, watching a romantic/ lovey-dovey film does NOT make you feel any better about your love life. Just FYI). When the film ended, one of my dear roommies kept saying "Love doesn't exist." This made me kind of angry. And it took a little bit for me to figure out why her blanket negation bothered me so much...

It was because her absolute denial of even the existence of love cheapened and denied my own experiences. If love didn't exist, then the feelings I've had for other people where something else, something less. Like, affection, lust, whatever. Not love. Now, I've had some rough times with love in the past, especially recently, and my love has caused me a great deal of pain, but I can never deny what I felt for those men. I have loved, and even though this roommate has not have this experience, that doesn't mean it doesn't exist, that it won't happen.

I think too many people are hopeless. They may be like my roommate, who, because they have never experienced love can not believe it exists. They refuse to see beyond their own lives, to hope in something beyond their own memories and surroundings. I think this view is too narrow, and not only denies the holder of such views hope for something more, for something better. All they have is what they have and what is given to them, and they do not look for anything more. Its a kind of life-apathy, a lack of ambition.

The other group has experienced love, but because they got burned or spurned, they doubt the veracity of their experience. I have one friend in particular who falls into this category. They lash out at love's reality or meaning become bitter and cynical. It's not necessarily that love doesn't exist, but that it doesn't exist like everyone says it does. Love is a farce, a fake, an unrealizable ideal. These people reject love, although at one point they would have done anything for it, and I think, deep down, still would. They are callous and pretentious, ignoring what they have felt, shutting themselves off to further possibilities and experiences.

I heard somewhere that to love someone unconditionally is to see the face of God. And I believe that. One of the most poignant and moving movie lines I've ever heard comes from M. Night Shyamalan's Lady in the Water, when Paul Giammatti's character says, talking to his dead wife a children, "I miss your faces. They remind me of God." Love is something profoundly spiritual, an ability that enables us to move beyond the constraints of our humanity. If love doesn't exist, then so much of what empowers us to be more than what we are is lost, nothing more than empty hopes.

I'm not trying to idealize love, or romanticize it. I know that love is work. Hard work, and lots of it. I know that love isn't always great, that sometimes you have to love the unlovable, that sometimes love isn't reciprocated. And love and the pursuit of love can cause a great deal of pain that some people would rather do without. Yes, love is hard, but perhaps that's part of why its so important.