The therapeutic power of blogging

Earlier today Lemon asked me to take a quick look at a text she'd written, still unsure whether she would publish it or not. Which led us into a quick exchange about the therapeutic power of blogging.

I wish I could explain this better. I wish I could provide some rational explanation of what it is about blogging that makes me cherish it so much. How come it's the only hobby of mine that has kept me interested for as long as it has. Is there a logical justification for why I spill my heart open here, in public? Is there a way to know why this has become the only place to act politically? As I am saying this, peio is rolling his eyes, the way he does every time I try to explain myself. It's the curse of being a social scientist, I tell him. And, unfortunately, I think I am right.

So, instead...I will just tell you what writing here feels like.

I keep writing because this place makes me feel like the little girl in the sandbox, you know. With her mom, around, letting her play and be adventurous but always watching her back, even when she doesn't act like she's watching. Writing here makes me feel just like that. I play and try things out. And you watch out for me. You sometimes talk. Sometimes just let me babble on. But I know you're around. It feels really really nice. Soothing and invigorating at the same time. But mostly, just, really really nice.

And for that, I thank you. :)

Music and life...

If I were using tags on this website, I would have tagged this entry with 'lyrics' and 'life'.

This life has been insane
But today has been ok.

Artist: Emiliana Torrini
Album: Fisherman's woman
Track: Today Has Been Ok

Highly recommend it.

And of course...I feel bad

Damn birds start singing at fucking 4 o'clock in the morning. And, of course, I feel bad saying that because they sound all beautiful and stuff...

***

A couple of weeks ago I am in a taxi and this car just stops in the middle of street right in front of us. The passenger next to the driver takes a while to open their door and after that takes even longer to get out. My cab driver gets really pissed. Starts cursing. "That's so rude! Can't believe that person is taking so fucking long!!!" As he says that, this reeeeeally cute OLD man slowly steps out of the car. And my driver goes, "Ooooh, guhreat! It's a cute OLD guy. Now I feel like a asshole!"

***

Yesterday I see these kids putting some ugly-ass "Welcome to Penn State" sign up over this gate. And I'm thinking...yeah, great, like we need yet another reminder that we are at Penn State...Today I walk past the same sign. Which apparently had not been completed yesterday. Today, in addition to "Welcome to Penn State" it says "Bring your sons and daughters to work day". University employees had been encouraged to bring their kids to work. Aaaawwww. I know. And the ugly sign that made me gag was supposed to welcome them. Guess who feels like an asshole now.

Best lipstick ever

Staying true to the professed mission of this website...

I might have just found the best lipgloss EVER: MILANI glossy tubes. Hooray!

Yummy colors, super-moist without being sticky, shiny without making you look like a drag-queen. The applicator is made out of felt which for some seriously scientific reason helps color to stay on longer. Oh! And all that available at your local drugstore for the stunning price of $3.49. Now is this some great news or what?!

I tried really hard but couldn't resist

George Bernard Shaw, appealing to his wife in an argument with someone else: “Isn’t it true, my dear, that male judgment is superior to female judgment?”

Mrs. Shaw: “Of course, dear. After all, you married me and I married you"

From The Little Book of Famous Insults. 1964. Peter Pauper Press. via Fran

Congratulations to me!

This website is the first to appear after you do a google-search for Why professors are assholes.

Dear curious reader,

Please let me know if you want to talk about why professors are assholes. Me and many of the readers of this website, aspiring academics in various fields, would be more than happy to share our thoughts.

Sincerely,
Petya

Self-portraiture

My taking self-portraits seems to come up a lot these days. A lot. Why take them, when, how, and, most importantly, WHY, god, WHY?. Narcissism, superficiality, and my past were discussed. Several tears were shed. Laughter ensued. Needless to say, such conversations take me a bit by surprise as they make me think about stuff I've been doing for so long that, honest to god, no longer remember how and why it all got started. Every time I explain why I blog, I find myself in a similar situation. All the emotional turmoil aside, I enjoy talking about this stuff. Nothing better than a friendly poke in the ribs. Nothing worse than doing things just out of a routine. So...today, I will try to explain my strange fascination with self-portraits. Briefly.

1. I started taking self-portraits four years ago. The reason was quite simple. I got my SLR and had no idea what to do with it. I was too embarrassed to take it out in public before I knew how it worked so I started taking pictures in my room. As you can imagine, there's only so many pictures of your desk you can take. So...I found an object that could easily change shape and form and was easy to move around: me.

2. The reason why I wanted to own a nice camera to begin with, was that I wanted to be able to take portraits of people. I appreciate urban landscapes and some good-ole macro-photography, but I mostly care to see images of people. I find the human body absolutely captivating. Come to think of it, all the landscape (for a lack of a better word) photography that I like, seems to capture the absence of people. I love pictures of empty streets or old gas-stations, for example. So, if you look through most of my pictures, the vast majority of them are portraits of my friends who are gracious enough to indulge me. My daytime job, however, often comes at odds with this picture-taking hobby of mine. When/If I do have a little bit of time and/or desire to take pictures...it's usually too late into the night when people are either in bed or wishing they were in bed. Either way, I'm usually short of subjects to photograph. Me, on the other hand, is always around. And usually, ME is pretty happy to avoid doing work.

3. I have thought about this self-portrait business many times. I know that many of you find the habit extremely exhibitionist, disgustingly narcissistic and generally objectionable. I've thought that too. Actually, I think that almost every time I'm taking pictures of myself. But, that same internal conflict, I think, somehow comes through in the photograph and gives it a sense of awkward tension that I like. I think I sense that in most self-portraits that I see, it goes something like this:

This is just me playing, you know. Nothing better to do. I guess I could find something better to do. But this is fun anyway. And my hair looks nice today so why not celebrate it. Gee, you're going to think I'm in love with myself. But I'm not. I'm really not. Actually, I hate myself most of the time. But I would love to be comfortable some day....

Well, anyway, I think that when a person is having such an involved conversation with themselves...it kinda of shows. I find that totally intriguing.

***

If I could have it my way, however, I would never take pictures of myself. I would so much rather photograph sparsely clad pretty girls and pretty boys, covered in cigarette smoke.

Recently

My favorite 'anonymous' reader: A-diddy



Orthodox Easter celebration in Central Pennsylvania. Thanks, Elena



Guess who painted the eggs



Iron-chef Bulgaria, aka Elena



One of my all-time fave models: Melanie



What could I possible say to match this picture?!...Ah, William...

.

Спокойна нощ. Където и да си.

Too old

I'm too old for this drinking-on-a-schoolnight business.

Slave of Freedom

When I was in high-school, college life for me meant: freedom, alcohol, parties, self-inflicted sleep deprivation, cigarette smoke, sex, friendship, people with bizarre nicknames (I was convinced I would have a friend that we would call Mad, just like that), inside jokes, sex, alcohol, alcohol, alcohol. Yeah. I know.

How does a 16-year-old get such ideas about student life, you wonder. Well, I'll tell you how. She reads a book titled Slave of Freedom by a guy named Jordan Bozushki. In the book, among other things, he tells the story of these two guys that everyone called The Masons. Want to know why? Well, apparently, one night these two get drunk out of their minds on their way home. As they are strolling down dark Sofia streets, they walk past a construction site. The next morning said street is closed for traffic because above mention do-gooders have built a wall across it. I loved the Masons.

I also loved the author's slight obsession with a girl named Svetla. The most beautiful woman of all. He sort of loses her towards the middle of the book. But somehow, that is never sad because the break-up sets him off on a weird path of continuous encounters with other almost-divine women. All of whom seem to be named Svetla. Case in point: Part II, Chapter 5. In English: Her name was Svetla. I really wanted to become somebody's Svetla. I have since then realized, however, that with great power there must also come great responsibility and if given the option, I would probably pass on such an opportunity. Or not. Not the point here.

***

Being a college student is very different from the way you imagine it, the same way many things happen differently from the way you imagine them happening. I know that my college experience was nothing like I thought it would be. For one, it had never even crossed my mind that I would be studying in the United States. But then you have one drink too many and a friend tells you, Why not?! (hello, George!) and there go your plans and expectations.

The purpose of this post was not to talk about what happened after all the plans got ruined. In fact, as you have probably already guessed, it is definitely a good thing that it happened that way. The purpose of this text was really not even an attempt to talk about what I wanted my college experience to be like. Rather, I just wanted to point you guys to an awesomely bad book that could give you some cheap laughs as you struggle through whatever it is you're struggling through right now. And as the book is in Bulgarian, I realize how ridiculous it is to write all this in English. But, hey, there's no such thing as too many drunk-stories. So...it's all good.

Spoiler

I was about to write a story about something...but have no time. I am too excited to just let it go though. So, instead, I will leave a little spoiler-line here. And maybe YOU could tell me what you think the story will be about.

Here it is:

Her name was Svetla.

Now, get creative already!

P.S. That last thing incidentally reminds me of a line that I saw here, which said: I'll get creative on your ass. That's NOT what I meant.

What is that smell?!

I have absolutely loved my Democratization seminar this semester: the professor, the material, the other students in the class. So, the other day I decided to show my appreciation by bringing cookies and coke to class.

I walk into class and most people are already there. I reach past Eric to place the cookies on the table. As I am doing that, he sticks his nose under his armpit and says "Dude? What is this smell?! Is it me?!". My eyes get THIS big as I assume that it is actually ME who wreaks of sweat. I run out of the classroom and to my office, where I keep a secret stash of beauty products. I clean up.

I walk back in, mildly embarrassed, and the whole class is laughing their guts out. It turns out that Eric had gone out drinking the previous night and by the time we convened for class, was still drunk. So drunk, in fact, that he couldn't remember whether he'd changed his shirt from the previous night or not. When I walked in, it wasn't sweat that he smelled. It was cigarette smoke. For reasons unbeknownst even to himself, rather than smelling his shirt, he decided to smell his armpits.

Needless to say, this reminds me of that one time when Elena overheard a girl on her cellphone telling a friend "He is a Ph.D. student after all, I thought grad students were more like grown ups and stuff".

No, honey, we are really just pretending.

Overheard...

On my way to class:

Guy on his cellphone: I'm telling you. Yankees only drink beer...pause..Aha...Dude! Seriously! They should try drinking bourbon every once in a while.

Me (thinking): No kidding...

The Love/Hate T-shirt

You love them. You hate them. Most of the time you can't tell the difference, even if you tried.



via peio via accordion guy.

Which one?

From a conversation between Elena and I from about an hour ago:

Me: Do you like my new shoes?
Elena: YES! Where did you get them?
Me: From the store on the left.
Elena: Isn't it sad that we live in a place where one buys shoes from 'the store on the left' or from 'the store on the right'?!

Undecided

So I can't decide on a title for this image.



Several possibilities I considered:

- Beachin' in my bedroom
- Fuck work, give me liquor
- Queen Procrastinator's coronation day
- Maaaaaaaaaa! How does the self-timer work?!
- Lipstick saved my life
- Do you call it deprivation if you bring it upon yourself?!

There's more. But, see, I need to continue working on a paper that's due tomorrow morning. Fuckin' hell. I say fuck a lot. Fuck.

I shot a man in Reno

Several of my friends insist that God speaks to us through Johnny Cash. The more I think about it, the more I agree.

Feel the rhytm. Eat up the lyrics. Love it.

Folsom Prison Blues. Live at Folsom Prison. 1968.

Holy Mother of God! I have a crush on a dead man!

Jamaica

Those of you who've known me for a while are aware of my strange infatuation with Jamaica. I went there forever years ago. Spent a couple of weeks in Kingston. Learned to appreciate Bob Marley and the legacy he's left behind. Refused to smoke pot because I had signed an agreement I wouldn't do it. Only to find out upon my return that I had been one of three people who didn't do it: the other two being the leader of our group and the nun that was hosting us. Got stung by a pissy creature while swimming in the ocean and had to pee on myself to make the swelling go away. It did. Learned to zip-it-up, i.e. dance, Jamaican style. The kids from the street taught me how. Drank rum and ting every night. Passed out several times...too much ting, you know.

Have not a single a picture to prove it. But God knows I still remember the smell of it. A mixture of tropical fruit, flowers, the ocean, marijuana and pure joy. Or at least that's what Jamaica smelled like to me.

Those memories get triggered by the most innocent of things. A glass of Appleton, every once in a while. A line from Redemption Songs on the radio. A reference to idyllic places...

The last time I smelled Jamaica was when Kanisha and I had an early dinner at this new place in town that serves Caribbean food. Jerk chicken and fried plantain can make the pickiest of meat-eaters drool.







See how happy we both look? Anything Jamaican does that to people. I'm serious.

On assholes and such

I absolutely disagree that trying to fuck over your fellow men is a Bulgarian thing.

Sorry Jeff. I'll explain.

I am not saying that it doesn't happen. It happens a lot. A LOT. I simply do not agree it is a Bulgarian or East European thing. It seems to me that jerks are jerks, wherever you go. Also, some high pressure, cut-throat industries or economic environments produce higher levels of all-around jerkiness. So when you populate a high-stress setting with several natural assholes, you'll get the situation that Jeff was describing. The unique thing about natural assholes is that they tend to carry their asshole-ness across circumstances. That's why you'd observe exactly what Jeff was talking about: people trying to "fuck over their fellow man, whether its business, employment, property, the bill for dinner..." The reason why I think Jeff might have noticed that type behavior in Bulgaria (and we're talking mostly about the business environment, right?) rather than anywhere else is because of the country's relatively recent encounter with capitalism and private business ownership, undefined rules of the game, nobody to teach you, no time to figure it out on your own, relative economic instability and so forth. To put it simply, high pressure boosts general asshole levels.

Seriously, though, while in gradschool I've heard so many horror stories about graduate students being evil to each other (ripping off pages from books, stealing each others project ideas, presenting papers they didn't write as their own work), professors exploiting graduate assistants and tenured professors being assholes to everyone they encounter...that I'm quite willing to bet my life that high-stress environments bring out the assholes in all of us. And here, unfortunately, I am speaking from experience.

It's like...

The kids don't know how to answer questions.
They know what the question is ABOUT. And their responses are ABOUT that. Generally. More or less. Kinda. Sort of.

Their answers usually start with:

- That's when...
- It's about...
- It's like...
- This has to do with...

And then I'm a hard-grader. I don't think so.

Spellcheck

According to my students, there are 6 ways to spell hegemonic.

Unfinished business

Several issues have come up in the past week that I have mostly left unanswered. They matter too much to me to just let them disappear in the ether...so here's a reminder and a promise that I WILL talk about:

- Bulgarians on power-trips (sounds a bit like Chicks on Speed, doesn't it?!)
- The doom of gradschool
- Features of the East European character: general remarks about Bulgarians being pessimistic and East Europeans not being particularly fun (thank Andrew for that last one)

Before that, however, I need to grade 43 exams.
Sigh.

Lemon

This woman rocks my socks!

Problem solved

I am writing a paper for my democratization seminar. It is on competitive authoritarian regimes: how they are different from democracies and full-blown authoritarian regimes, how they come about, what internal tensions they are subject to. I have to explain the author's argument, place it within the larger literature on democratization, identify which controversy it aims to resolve and...hold your breath...solve the problem. Maximum length of paper: two pages single spaced. Ha!

Sometimes I feel that being in graduate school has taught me how to ask question but has not helped a whole lot in giving me the tools to answer them. I will explain the problem with competitive authoritarian regimes and sure, then will SOLVE the problem in a paragraph or so. So what?!

I love reading the books that I read. I love writing a gazillion papers a month. Sometimes, however, I start missing the idea of political science I had in my mind when I was applying to graduate schools. We all thought we were in it because we wanted to make the world a better place, didn't we?

Ooohhh...aaah!

On Wednesday night/Thursday morning, at two minutes and three seconds after
1 AM, the time and date will be 01:02:03 04/05/06.

Fucking Bulgarians

In response to my earlier entry about boycotting New Music Agency, my dear friend Jeff Rank said the following:

It is still the single most frustrating thing here, the Bulgarian treatment of other Bulgarians.
The moment they achieve any power, they seem to immediately attempt to fuck over their fellow man, whether its business, employment, property, the bill for dinner...
Is this an Eastern European post-communist thing, or is this just Bulgaria?
I am generally not affected, but as a Republican this still drives me up the wall. It's so sad, so counterproductive.

I clearly have my own opinions on this one but thought that maybe you guys would have something to say about this too.

Fetishists of the world...

The other night at the bar I noticed this old guy because of the t-shirt he was wearing. It was your regular black fruit-of-the-loom piece...but there was an interesting line on the back saying: Jesus is coming. Look busy. Ha!

My attention was drawn to him for a second time later that night as I noticed he was walking around the bar carrying a huge stuffed whale and making people kiss it.

I saw him again this afternoon. He was sitting in front Webster's, the freakshow coffeeshop in town, with a cute white puppy on his lap. I did the obligatory double-take...it was a really really cute dog after all. And then I noticed it wasn't really a dog. Or, rather, it wasn't a REAL dog. It was a plush dog-toy.

Hmmm.

I'm a fool for you

Photo by Kanisha
April, 2006

Weird and weirder

Yesterday Kanisha and I took photographs of each other in an empty parking lot. It was cold and super windy. She was wearing tight jeans and a black tank top. I was sporting my newly-purchased black jumpsuit and forementioned fuck-me shoes. Kanisha said that perhaps maybe she had left the curlers in for a tad too long. Both of us we wearig full make-up and on several occasions Kanisha complained that she could feel her face crack. When...

Kanisha: This guy has been driving around the parking lot, checking us out. That's SO weird.
Petya: Dude!

I don't think HE was the weird one.

Boycott New Music Agency

ONYX are playing a show in Sofia in a couple of weeks.
DRS+ were invited by New Music Agency to do the opening act. Several days later the agency refused to pay them. You can read more about the debacle here and here.

Regardless of whether you read Bulgarian or not, like hip hop or not...it seems to me that you would agree that artists are always in a disadvantage as far as money is concerned. Every time you see a musician on stage, it is so obvious they LOVE their art that you can't help but think that they would do that very same thing no matter what. Well, some people seem to take that a step too far and assume that there is no need to pay musicians because they're not doing it for the money anyway.

Now, this kind of twisted thinking makes me sick.

Political Scientist

Kanisha
April, 2006

Diamonds are forever

Kanisha
April, 2006