Dear Followers,
A year ago, I was sitting with a girl named Emily, studying for chemistry, talking about our Desktop Design class. She gleefully exclaimed that she was going to start a blog. I determined I would as well, and my blog would be better than hers. She did, I did, and it was. (I mean, hers was lovely, for the two weeks she had it, but we weren't all born to be bloggers. See First Post: The Inspiration.)
It's really been a year, you guys. And this is the 80th post.
Thank you all for following Insipid Rants on Insipid Things. I've loved writing here; in the past year, it's been incredibly fun, and an awesome way of distracting myself from my chemistry (now biology) homework. Shout-out to my dedicated followers, especially Carolines, Tofer, Mommy, Papa, Martha, Amelia, Tora, etc. Thank you, stay posted, and please comment.
Love,
All of us here at IRIT
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Rant or Rave?: Gifts
I love receiving gifts.
Now, before you think I'm a horribly shallow person, let me explain. It's not about the gift; as cliche as it is, it's all about the thought and the wrapping paper. Knowing that someone was thinking about me, got or made me something, and then remembered to give it to me makes me genuinely happy. Though of course lovely, thoughtful, personal gifts are always the best, it doesn't really matter to me what the gift is. And yet, I'm not a mature gift recipient, since it's about quantity over quality for me. Unwrapping is my favorite. Stockings are my favorite part of Christmas, because they contain so many little presents. I would find it ideal if, instead of a small package consisting of a pack of hair-ties, each hair-tie were wrapped individually. Or if each sock were wrapped individually.
I love wrapped presents. I like admiring the neatly wrapped package, thinking of the time my family (mother and grandmother) spent hunched over the dining room table, tucking away the glossy ends, slicing their fingers on the tape dispenser, and wrapping the presents. There's something so aesthetically pleasing about a neat red package with a silver bow. I appreciate a nice wrapping job. I'm not a very good wrapper myself (I wrote "rapper" first, and corrected it, though I'm not a very good rapper either), but I like wrapping. It makes me feel like a good person, slaving over something people will destroy. (It's sort of like one of those sculpture-paintings monks make in the sand.) I also love unwrapping presents. Even when I know exactly what it is, it's the act of tearing off the paper that makes me delirious with delight. It's this savage, ungracious pleasure, the act of destroying the wrapping paper.
My problem is that I realize the vast majority of the world doesn't see gift-giving like that. I think most people would prefer to receive a connected pair of socks over having each individually wrapped. Since I love stocking gifts so much I struggle over what to get other, more mature people, who prefer useful gifts.
Some people are easy to buy gifts for. For example, my brother appreciates art supplies or materials to turn into sculptures. (For his sixth birthday I gave him Scotch tape. It was his favorite gift.) I also have made an executive decision to not get presents for my parents, since, you know, I'm a teenager without a job, so it seems kinda silly to use their money to get them presents. (I make them cards, as I've done from the age of 6. Pop-up cards are my specialty. I think they really appreciate it.) Children are easy to shop for, since they, like me, go for quantity over quality (though in general their parents feel otherwise). As you all know, however, it's pretty much impossible to find presents for some people. We all know those sorts.
And so, while I don't especially enjoy shopping for presents, I do it anyway. I like giving gifts, and wrapping them, and so it's really just the act of shopping I dislike. I also understand the concept that if I want to keep receiving gifts I have to give people gifts. I'm not unreasonable. I both give and receive. (At this stage in my life, I receive more than I give, but in principle I give too.)
Some people hate gifts, both giving and receiving. (My father is among that type, that being another reason why I don't feel guilty not getting my parents gifts.) And it is a real argument: a grown adult should buy himself anything he really wants. So it's hard, the question of gifts. Where do you, my dear readers, fall? Love 'em? Hate 'em? Ambivalent towards 'em? Take it up in the comments.
Now, before you think I'm a horribly shallow person, let me explain. It's not about the gift; as cliche as it is, it's all about the thought and the wrapping paper. Knowing that someone was thinking about me, got or made me something, and then remembered to give it to me makes me genuinely happy. Though of course lovely, thoughtful, personal gifts are always the best, it doesn't really matter to me what the gift is. And yet, I'm not a mature gift recipient, since it's about quantity over quality for me. Unwrapping is my favorite. Stockings are my favorite part of Christmas, because they contain so many little presents. I would find it ideal if, instead of a small package consisting of a pack of hair-ties, each hair-tie were wrapped individually. Or if each sock were wrapped individually.
I love wrapped presents. I like admiring the neatly wrapped package, thinking of the time my family (mother and grandmother) spent hunched over the dining room table, tucking away the glossy ends, slicing their fingers on the tape dispenser, and wrapping the presents. There's something so aesthetically pleasing about a neat red package with a silver bow. I appreciate a nice wrapping job. I'm not a very good wrapper myself (I wrote "rapper" first, and corrected it, though I'm not a very good rapper either), but I like wrapping. It makes me feel like a good person, slaving over something people will destroy. (It's sort of like one of those sculpture-paintings monks make in the sand.) I also love unwrapping presents. Even when I know exactly what it is, it's the act of tearing off the paper that makes me delirious with delight. It's this savage, ungracious pleasure, the act of destroying the wrapping paper.
My problem is that I realize the vast majority of the world doesn't see gift-giving like that. I think most people would prefer to receive a connected pair of socks over having each individually wrapped. Since I love stocking gifts so much I struggle over what to get other, more mature people, who prefer useful gifts.
Some people are easy to buy gifts for. For example, my brother appreciates art supplies or materials to turn into sculptures. (For his sixth birthday I gave him Scotch tape. It was his favorite gift.) I also have made an executive decision to not get presents for my parents, since, you know, I'm a teenager without a job, so it seems kinda silly to use their money to get them presents. (I make them cards, as I've done from the age of 6. Pop-up cards are my specialty. I think they really appreciate it.) Children are easy to shop for, since they, like me, go for quantity over quality (though in general their parents feel otherwise). As you all know, however, it's pretty much impossible to find presents for some people. We all know those sorts.
And so, while I don't especially enjoy shopping for presents, I do it anyway. I like giving gifts, and wrapping them, and so it's really just the act of shopping I dislike. I also understand the concept that if I want to keep receiving gifts I have to give people gifts. I'm not unreasonable. I both give and receive. (At this stage in my life, I receive more than I give, but in principle I give too.)
Some people hate gifts, both giving and receiving. (My father is among that type, that being another reason why I don't feel guilty not getting my parents gifts.) And it is a real argument: a grown adult should buy himself anything he really wants. So it's hard, the question of gifts. Where do you, my dear readers, fall? Love 'em? Hate 'em? Ambivalent towards 'em? Take it up in the comments.
Rave #29: Retirement
Unfortunately, I have not yet had the opportunity to experience retirement. However, I'm confident that it's going to be fantastic.
My last blog post was on teenagehood, which I argued is nice. I'm not too worried about being an adult; while some aspects, like being able to vote, sue, and buy "As Seen on TV" products, I'm looking forward to, and others, like taxes, working, and it not being socially acceptable for me to watch "Gossip Girl", are less exciting, I think I'll do fine. I remember enjoying early childhood, and while I don't really remember being a baby in retrospect I'm sure it was lovely. However, one stage of life is the best, and that's retirement.
My maternal grandparents, Nana and Big Bear, are retired, and they love it. They live in a college town, and fit right in. They have way more fun than my middle-aged parents or my stressed adolescent friends. They are not the type of grandparents to stay at home, baking cookies to send to their grandkids (although, ahem, their eldest granddaughter wouldn't object) and watching soap operas on television. They're quite busy. They're both very active in their town's Learning in Retirement program; Bear's also very involved in Habitat for Humanity. They go on cool vacations, have dinner with friends, go to concerts, visit their family, and go on nature walks. Their lives are awesome.
My paternal grandfather, Papa, is not retired, but he's still enjoying life. While he's not involved in LIR he's been in school for as long as I can remember. It makes me happy, actually, because it's clear that he values learning for the sake of learning. (At this point, he's, what, 75ish, so he's definitely not defending his thesis so he has another thing to put on his resume.) Papa's very social, and has lots of friends. His life seems pretty awesome too.
Many of my peers are afraid of getting older. I don't quite understand why. I mean, sure, those in their golden years don't always understand technology, but so what? I'll use technology I like, and disregard the rest. (For example, Nana's cell phone is for out-going calls only, and we don't call Bear on his since he once answered it while he was on a ladder working on a Habitat house, but they love receiving emails with updates or pictures of their grandchildren, and are avid participants in the mass family emails when, for example, there's a lice epidemic at someone's school that must be mocked.) And sure, when you're older you get a little softer around the edges and a little rounder around the middle, but so what? You don't care by then.
I think the best part of getting older is that you learn what makes you happy. You're more confident, and you know yourself better. And when you're retired, you have time to pursue whatever makes you happy. Why not be excited?
My last blog post was on teenagehood, which I argued is nice. I'm not too worried about being an adult; while some aspects, like being able to vote, sue, and buy "As Seen on TV" products, I'm looking forward to, and others, like taxes, working, and it not being socially acceptable for me to watch "Gossip Girl", are less exciting, I think I'll do fine. I remember enjoying early childhood, and while I don't really remember being a baby in retrospect I'm sure it was lovely. However, one stage of life is the best, and that's retirement.
My maternal grandparents, Nana and Big Bear, are retired, and they love it. They live in a college town, and fit right in. They have way more fun than my middle-aged parents or my stressed adolescent friends. They are not the type of grandparents to stay at home, baking cookies to send to their grandkids (although, ahem, their eldest granddaughter wouldn't object) and watching soap operas on television. They're quite busy. They're both very active in their town's Learning in Retirement program; Bear's also very involved in Habitat for Humanity. They go on cool vacations, have dinner with friends, go to concerts, visit their family, and go on nature walks. Their lives are awesome.
My paternal grandfather, Papa, is not retired, but he's still enjoying life. While he's not involved in LIR he's been in school for as long as I can remember. It makes me happy, actually, because it's clear that he values learning for the sake of learning. (At this point, he's, what, 75ish, so he's definitely not defending his thesis so he has another thing to put on his resume.) Papa's very social, and has lots of friends. His life seems pretty awesome too.
Many of my peers are afraid of getting older. I don't quite understand why. I mean, sure, those in their golden years don't always understand technology, but so what? I'll use technology I like, and disregard the rest. (For example, Nana's cell phone is for out-going calls only, and we don't call Bear on his since he once answered it while he was on a ladder working on a Habitat house, but they love receiving emails with updates or pictures of their grandchildren, and are avid participants in the mass family emails when, for example, there's a lice epidemic at someone's school that must be mocked.) And sure, when you're older you get a little softer around the edges and a little rounder around the middle, but so what? You don't care by then.
I think the best part of getting older is that you learn what makes you happy. You're more confident, and you know yourself better. And when you're retired, you have time to pursue whatever makes you happy. Why not be excited?
Monday, November 1, 2010
Rave #28: Adolescence: Let's Enjoy It
As a self-professed expert on adolescence -- or, if you don't accept my expertise, as a real live adolescent -- I get it. Teenagehood is certainly not all swishy hair, square-jawed boyfriends, and perfect SAT scores. But is high school really a hellish place designed for the elevation and worship of the swishy-haired and to brutally stomp on you misunderstood, creative types? In a radical move, I argue not. I argue that we should appreciate our angst-ridden youth for what it is.
Right now, you might have zits and puffy hair. Your hair might be greasy, your face oily, and your braces humiliating, but you have to look on the bright side. Your metabolism will never be better than it is at age 15. The consequences of eating 7 bags of cheez-doodles will never be as minimal as they are right now.
Right now, you might think all other adolescents are worthless, fake, drama-ridden shells of humans. Only part of that is true. What I have found from my vast observations is that teenagers are far less fake than they pretend. Even with all that dark poetry of how they hide, hide from the world and keep all their pain inside, their misery -- all their deep pain, if you will -- is really very obvious. Not at all hidden. (I recently read an article in November's issue of Vanity Fair about various comedians' books; among them, Jim Norton's. In it, he recounts his time in rehab, and some of the poetry he wrote, intermingled with his later commentary: "I hid my pain down deep inside, I tucked it all away. Apparently I thought slicing my wrists and calling the FBI at 3:00am were exercises in subtlety. Not only did I not keep the pain inside or tucked away, but I wore it on my sleeve and irritated people until they acknowledged it.") Many an adolescent spends far too much time discussing her innermost secrets and the mask she wears to really be wearing any mask at all -- that is to say that her facade, when she bothers with it, is not very good. Now, this may seem to be a disparaging comment about my peers, but really it's something I appreciate, that nobody can keep up a good facade. It's really a positive thing. At adolescence, it's easy to tell what's going on in everyone's lives.
Right now, you might be miserable. I assure you, everyone else is as miserable as you, and that's a good thing. Adolescence is the only stage of life in which the vast majority of people are in the same nervous, awkward boat. As people get older, they tend to get happier and more self-confident, and misery loves company. It's better to be miserable with a pack of teenagers than to be the lone kill-joy at age 40. Right now, in fact, it's expected for you to be miserable! Go with it. I complain all the time about how tired I am, how stressed, how disappointed in the futility of life, and I totally get empathy. My friends are so with me, because they're tired, stressed, and despondent that this is all life has to offer too. When I'm older, I won't be able to do that anymore, because I'll be expected to be reasonably content with my life. How tragic. (Sarcasm, of course, because I too fully expect to be reasonably content with my life when I'm older.)
Right now, you might be desperate for love, and spend hours upon hours dissecting the minutia of every encounter with your object of affection with friends. Now, forget about the whole relationship drama (because the vast majority of teenage relationships just don't work) and think about these friends who are listening to you wail. As my mother has said, only in adolescence do you get hours upon hours of free therapy. (It might not be very good therapy, but the fact remains that you have people who are willing to listen to your analysis of the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled at you.) Once you're an adult, nobody cares.
In fact, this is a good way to look at your teenage years: once you're an adult, nobody cares. Nobody will care about what you wore to the homecoming dance, and nobody will care that your boyfriend didn't like your favorite movie. Nobody cares, and nobody wants to hear about it. For now, however, they do.
And so, I invite you to tell your friends all about the way your object of affection's eyes crinkled up when he smiled at you, because for now, they are genuinely interested. In return, listen to your friend's concerns about the shape of her knees and console her that they are as normal as anyone's joints. Let's enjoy adolescence while it lasts. See the humor in your lives, but don't step too far back to see it. Laugh at your life while being involved in it. Don't be too cool for teenagehood, because it's awesome.
Next post: Why Being an Adult Stinks and Why I Can't Wait to Retire.
Right now, you might have zits and puffy hair. Your hair might be greasy, your face oily, and your braces humiliating, but you have to look on the bright side. Your metabolism will never be better than it is at age 15. The consequences of eating 7 bags of cheez-doodles will never be as minimal as they are right now.
Right now, you might think all other adolescents are worthless, fake, drama-ridden shells of humans. Only part of that is true. What I have found from my vast observations is that teenagers are far less fake than they pretend. Even with all that dark poetry of how they hide, hide from the world and keep all their pain inside, their misery -- all their deep pain, if you will -- is really very obvious. Not at all hidden. (I recently read an article in November's issue of Vanity Fair about various comedians' books; among them, Jim Norton's. In it, he recounts his time in rehab, and some of the poetry he wrote, intermingled with his later commentary: "I hid my pain down deep inside, I tucked it all away. Apparently I thought slicing my wrists and calling the FBI at 3:00am were exercises in subtlety. Not only did I not keep the pain inside or tucked away, but I wore it on my sleeve and irritated people until they acknowledged it.") Many an adolescent spends far too much time discussing her innermost secrets and the mask she wears to really be wearing any mask at all -- that is to say that her facade, when she bothers with it, is not very good. Now, this may seem to be a disparaging comment about my peers, but really it's something I appreciate, that nobody can keep up a good facade. It's really a positive thing. At adolescence, it's easy to tell what's going on in everyone's lives.
Right now, you might be miserable. I assure you, everyone else is as miserable as you, and that's a good thing. Adolescence is the only stage of life in which the vast majority of people are in the same nervous, awkward boat. As people get older, they tend to get happier and more self-confident, and misery loves company. It's better to be miserable with a pack of teenagers than to be the lone kill-joy at age 40. Right now, in fact, it's expected for you to be miserable! Go with it. I complain all the time about how tired I am, how stressed, how disappointed in the futility of life, and I totally get empathy. My friends are so with me, because they're tired, stressed, and despondent that this is all life has to offer too. When I'm older, I won't be able to do that anymore, because I'll be expected to be reasonably content with my life. How tragic. (Sarcasm, of course, because I too fully expect to be reasonably content with my life when I'm older.)
Right now, you might be desperate for love, and spend hours upon hours dissecting the minutia of every encounter with your object of affection with friends. Now, forget about the whole relationship drama (because the vast majority of teenage relationships just don't work) and think about these friends who are listening to you wail. As my mother has said, only in adolescence do you get hours upon hours of free therapy. (It might not be very good therapy, but the fact remains that you have people who are willing to listen to your analysis of the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled at you.) Once you're an adult, nobody cares.
In fact, this is a good way to look at your teenage years: once you're an adult, nobody cares. Nobody will care about what you wore to the homecoming dance, and nobody will care that your boyfriend didn't like your favorite movie. Nobody cares, and nobody wants to hear about it. For now, however, they do.
And so, I invite you to tell your friends all about the way your object of affection's eyes crinkled up when he smiled at you, because for now, they are genuinely interested. In return, listen to your friend's concerns about the shape of her knees and console her that they are as normal as anyone's joints. Let's enjoy adolescence while it lasts. See the humor in your lives, but don't step too far back to see it. Laugh at your life while being involved in it. Don't be too cool for teenagehood, because it's awesome.
Next post: Why Being an Adult Stinks and Why I Can't Wait to Retire.
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