Thursday, August 30, 2007

French Romanticism - don't cry, emo kid!

Upon doing my readings today for French class #1 (my French lit class), I have discovered that French romanticism, especially poetry, is just so...emo. Seriously. If you read it, it's just a predecessor to emo music as we know it; what with the crying about getting dumped, and the meaningless of life, and the poor state of one's soul. Looking through what defines "Les Idées Romantiques" (Romantic Ideas) as we dicussed in class, I come up with such things as: emotions focused on the "me", religion, tension, terror, politics, solitude, individual expression, "le mal du siècle", love/death and the relationship between the two...starting to sound familiar? It is to me, and it's starting to get positively unbearable. It's almost as obnoxious to read in mid-19th century French as it is to hear on the radio in 2007...so why won't it go away?

Perhaps I should join in the movement. I'll cut off all of my hair, put it in silly, choppy layers, dye it black, and trade in my brown, oval librarian glasses for a pair of thick-framed, black rectangle classes. I'll trade in the nose piercing for a lip and eyebrow, and wear much, much, much more black eyeliner than I ever do when I'm going out...every single day. In fact, to make it easier, I'll just draw it on with a Sharpie. I'll make sure to shop at Hot Topic or in chic little emo-y boutiques in Wicker Park, because I'm just wayyyyy too not mainstream for that.

Or, better yet, we'll just do the emo movement a favor and give it some credibility by adding a respected French Romantic poet to it:











+


















=








(yes, that was a worthy 3 minutes spent in MS Paint)




My Chemical Romance welcomes its newest band member: Alfred de Musset!

Lord, I hate this crap. It's almost as bad as existentialism, but too bad I have a whole night's worth of reading about it...except for the solace of my French grammar book later.

I'm gonna go cry in a corner now. Anyone have a black Sharpie?

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

I hate banks.

I think I've decided that banking and banks are the devil. Seriously, so many things go wrong with banking that it's almost asinine; if it were feasible, I'd just hide all my money somewhere else (like under a mattress).

For example:

I opened up an account for work through Chase. I hadn't really put money in it, then got a bill for $50 for the $25 they were automatically withdrawing from my checking monthly. To me, that's kinda silly...if there's no money in my checking to put in my savings, how about just not putting anything in there? Yeah, apparently not. So that was stupid, but I took care of it...so I thought. Now, I apparently just got another bill for $65...for the same $50, but now with a late fee. The thing is, I sent them a check and paid it before. I have absolutely no idea why or what I'm even getting billed for, and the last time I called customer service, they told me that it was for my savings account, explained nothing further, then attempted to convince me to add some other stupid service on my account.

I'm starting to think that I'm going to just close the damned account and just open up a savings account with Washington Mutual, where I already have my checking, and apply for a credit card there. Seems like a much more logical thing to do than all of this ridiculousness with Chase...

Yeah, that's banking for you, I guess. They're in the business of storing your money for you, but also trying to finagle as much out of you as possible - just short of downright theft, actually. Maybe it's just my recent experiences with banks (however, I have never actually had a problem with Washington Mutual, hooray), but my opinion of them is rather low.

Oh, if only massive in-the-wall safes were to come into vogue again...



And here's a link to someone's blog who asks the same, eternal question:
http://www.sweeting.org/mark/blog/2004/12/06/why-do-banks-suck



UPDATE: Apparently, that's some overdraft protection nonsense that they're withdrawing, and I can only fix it by going into a branch, all of which are in very far walking distance. So, I'm gonna knock that idiocy and just close the stupid account. A word to the wise: piggy banks are far more reliable, and even better, they charge no fees. I think I'm gonna make a sound investment in one now...

Monday, August 27, 2007

Sounding off about being pale.

So, I felt that it was necessary to sound off on a particular issue that bugs me every summer, and seeing as summer is now coming to a close, now is a great time to address it. I’m talking, of course, about being pale.

Yeah, I know. I’m sure everyone reads that and goes, “Oh come on, shut up and worry about some real issues, Michelle,” and I’m well-aware that there are indeed more important things in the world which I also concern myself with, but this is something that personally affects me and millions of others out there to at least some degree, so I feel entitled to write a bit about it.

Way back in times of lore (read: the 19th century), being pale was considered ideal. In fact, women would do anything they could to keep their skin as white as paper, from bleaching it to avoiding the sun at all costs to literally poisoning themselves to achieve a color now known today as “pasty”. All of this was in an effort to look more affluent, as the bourgeoisie did not have to do any sort of manual labor, and thus the paleness was a mark of a life free of any sort of work, and thus (ironically?) a sign of richness. This of course reflects that pale skin in most Western cultures has almost always been valued for a very good portion of history, as it also reflects the “purity” of the woman. Skin tones in Renaissance poetry were referred to as “alabaster”, and the poet would reflect on his love’s skin, pale as the moon. It has seemed, however, that the value of “pale” has changed since then.

As a quick study as to what is considered synonymous to pale by modern-day literary standards, I right-clicked on the word in my Word Document. From this, I found synonyms found by your friend and mine, Microsoft. They are as follows:

-light
-pastel
-soft
-whitish
-insipid
-watery
-wishy-washy
-dark (Antonym)

Wow. They just keep getting worse as they go along, don’t they? At first they sound girly, then lame, then…well, I guess my skin tone can now be described, using further synonyms, as dull, ashen, tame, spineless, squashy, and irresolute. The only good one that I found was radiance, but I suppose that can be associated with the way the sunlight reflects off of my skin and blinds passer-by at the beach.

Speaking of the beach, that brings me to my next reason for being angry at the treatment of pale in the twenty-first century. God forbid I actually go out in public, let alone go to a beach without a golden hue. On a spring break trip to Florida a few years ago, first I found all of the searing stares amusing, but after hours worth of them, they really started to get on my nerves. But, it of course only got worse from there because I then brought out the Coppertone, which really seemed to push people over the edge. “Being offensively white isn’t enough!” they’d exclaim to themselves. “Now she insists on being whiter!” Yes, after first offending every single person around me with my flashing whiteness, I then go on to affront the rest by daring to put on SPF-45 – the horror! I might as well be killing puppies, apparently, as everyone openly gawks at me when I do so. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that not wanting to look like a leather purse when I’m 40 was a criminal offense – I’ll make sure next time to let my skin fry to an ever-attractive tomato red and ensure that I won’t be able to sleep comfortably for the next two weeks. Because oh yeah, that’s right, I don’t tan, either.

Now, it’s one thing to have an isolated incident (read: every time I go out with skin exposed in the summer), but it starts to get downright infuriating upon reading about it in the media. In fact, today I was perusing AOL today, and found every college kid’s jackpot of a photo gallery: Celebs Without Makeup! I eagerly clicked on the link, getting ready to openly guffaw and feel just a little bit better about myself, when I was affronted with the appalling commentary of the so-called “journalist” who wrote the article (what kind of article is a photo gallery with snippy comments? Oh well, that’s another time…). Not only does she degrade every single woman on there, because it was, of course, all women, but she makes a point to tell almost every single one to stop looking so pale. She tells each of these women that they should know better than to go out in public like that, they will frighten onlookers, or that, in the case of Nicole Kidman, their natural looks are what drove their husband to divorce them.

Allow me a brief moment of anger: What a bitch.

Anyway, to me, most of these women looked perfectly fine. I noticed that many of them were indeed rather pale, and I was happy to see that not everyone in the world was tan. However, commentary aside, I was also upset to see that yes, many of them were quite pale, but not a single one of them allowed that to show anywhere near the red carpet. There are a few exceptions, including the lovely and talented Drew Barrymore and again, Nicole Kidman, but for the most part, it is profusely frowned upon. Why is this? Why are those of us who happen to have very light skin told that we should go tanning, or use self-tanner, or go outside?

Yes, we are aware that it can be unflattering. Any blemishes, acne, veins, or food that gets on our faces are readily available for public viewing – I’m sure anyone who does not tan well can attest to that.

Yes, we are aware that it can look unhealthy. Caucasian people in hospitals generally look like ghosts, and paler skin is associated with illness, and in the worst cases, death.

Yes, we are aware that people think we look “weird”. We tend to get used to being called pasty, gingers (in the case of those with red hair), and freaks, because it tends to make us stand out in a crowd. But, when has that been a bad thing?
So tell us something we don’t know.

Personally, I’m proud of my heritage. I’m Irish and German, and thus have inherited pale skin, which I am also proud of. However, to become an object of social ridicule because I don’t want to look like this:





in 30 years is asinine. Respect people, no matter what their skin color…even the gingers.