In rereading a blog from a week or so ago I came across the typo, “who’ve I’ve.” Most typos, while irritating don’t quite embarrass me, but this one’s a whopper and while I thought something was off about it, I didn’t necessarily pick it up right away. All I really can say right now is, “thank you Eastport for the fine education.”
Speaking of education (oh how I love a good segue!)… this semester may in fact lead to my untimely demise. Monday had me LOOKING FORWARD to going to German. Droll professors, ridiculous amounts of work, a sprint up 10 flights of stairs in order to make it to American Law on time… UGH! I haven’t even finished out my first week and I’m already pulling my hair out. On the plus side my 19th Century American Social History professor is pretty much me in 20 years. She’s primarily a 19th century NYC social historian and I started reading her book on foundlings and I’m in love. It’s the only class I’m super stoked about and thank god it’s the only class I have to write a gigantic research paper for. A research paper in which I can choose any 19th century topic that I want… this is not work for me, this is simply a night of curious inquiry. God, I’m pathetic.
I’ll keep this short and on the topic of education I suppose. I must depart now and go talk about the French Revolution with a professor that I’m pretty sure was, in fact at the Congress of Vienna. Then I’m going to sell a kidney on the black market so I can buy my books. True story.
All things good.
28 January 2009
19 January 2009
What's in a Name?
SCHMIDT
Surname Origin: German
Definition: An occupational surname for "blacksmith" or "metalworker," from the German word "schmied." The German equivalent of the English surname SMITH.
I need to address this growing phenomenon of my friends thinking me Jewish because I just don't understand it. This is not an 'at first glance' situation either. It's only starting to emerge years into friendship and I'm boggled. Have they simply not been listening as I've been regaling them with stories of teaching Catechism or my brief misadventures in Catholic school?
Many fall back on the old, "well Schmidt's a Jewish last name." SINCE WHEN? Yes, I know that due to persecution most German Jews changed their surnames many times over the centuries, but the closest to Jewish Schmidt has ever come is with "Goldschmidt." My last name IS NOT Goldschmidt. Is it simply because Schmidt is German? If that's the case why not think me spawned from the Nazi party? I am, after all a huge supporter of Socialism! Because that's pretty much what you're getting at, "oh well, she's got to be a Jew because she's too nice to be a Nazi." We all know that's what us Americans think about Germany; it's just the land of Nazis, Jews and David Hasselhoff sympathizers.
Then there's the ever popular "you just sound Jewish." What does a Jew sound like? Is this because I'm from Long Island? Yes, I know I have a disgusting accent and lay on the guilt whenever possible but this, I don't think, should be used as proof of my ethnic origins. I'm merely from Long Island and with that being said, why don't you think I'm Italian and Catholic? If you did that at least you'd be half right. Is it because I don't flat iron my hair, sausage my fat rolls into too tight clothing and proudly shout "JAEGAHBOMBS!!!" when I go out?
I'm also a fan of, "you speak Jewish." Oh, I do, do I? What language is Jewish exactly? Because I can tell you for certain I know naught of anything Hebraic. Is this in reference to my copious use of Yiddish? My exclamations of "OY VEY!" when I'm frustrated? Again, I must draw your attention to the fact that I use "Madonna mia!" just as frequently and I am NOT Italian. I'm from Long Island, folks, a place where both of these ethnic groups are so highly concentrated that it's nearly impossible for one to grow up in such an environment and escape untouched.
Also, my first name is Brittney. BRITTNEY. A name that didn't even become popular until the 1980's. In the Jewish faith it is customary (though not Jewish law) to name your child after a recently departed loved one or a living relative, depending on whether the family be Ashkenazic or Sephardic Jews respectively. Yes it's not law, yes there are those who don't follow this practice but, for anyone who's seen Fiddler on The Roof, you know Judaism is all about TRADITION. There is nothing traditional about the name Brittney, not even the spelling.
Perhaps I take for granted the fact that there are more Jews per square mile in NYC than in Israel and that I've grown up with Jewish friends and spent a lot of time in Jewish households but, I just don't see how so many people have mistaken my ethnic identity. Especially people who've known me for years!
Surname Origin: German
Definition: An occupational surname for "blacksmith" or "metalworker," from the German word "schmied." The German equivalent of the English surname SMITH.
I need to address this growing phenomenon of my friends thinking me Jewish because I just don't understand it. This is not an 'at first glance' situation either. It's only starting to emerge years into friendship and I'm boggled. Have they simply not been listening as I've been regaling them with stories of teaching Catechism or my brief misadventures in Catholic school?
Many fall back on the old, "well Schmidt's a Jewish last name." SINCE WHEN? Yes, I know that due to persecution most German Jews changed their surnames many times over the centuries, but the closest to Jewish Schmidt has ever come is with "Goldschmidt." My last name IS NOT Goldschmidt. Is it simply because Schmidt is German? If that's the case why not think me spawned from the Nazi party? I am, after all a huge supporter of Socialism! Because that's pretty much what you're getting at, "oh well, she's got to be a Jew because she's too nice to be a Nazi." We all know that's what us Americans think about Germany; it's just the land of Nazis, Jews and David Hasselhoff sympathizers.
Then there's the ever popular "you just sound Jewish." What does a Jew sound like? Is this because I'm from Long Island? Yes, I know I have a disgusting accent and lay on the guilt whenever possible but this, I don't think, should be used as proof of my ethnic origins. I'm merely from Long Island and with that being said, why don't you think I'm Italian and Catholic? If you did that at least you'd be half right. Is it because I don't flat iron my hair, sausage my fat rolls into too tight clothing and proudly shout "JAEGAHBOMBS!!!" when I go out?
I'm also a fan of, "you speak Jewish." Oh, I do, do I? What language is Jewish exactly? Because I can tell you for certain I know naught of anything Hebraic. Is this in reference to my copious use of Yiddish? My exclamations of "OY VEY!" when I'm frustrated? Again, I must draw your attention to the fact that I use "Madonna mia!" just as frequently and I am NOT Italian. I'm from Long Island, folks, a place where both of these ethnic groups are so highly concentrated that it's nearly impossible for one to grow up in such an environment and escape untouched.
Also, my first name is Brittney. BRITTNEY. A name that didn't even become popular until the 1980's. In the Jewish faith it is customary (though not Jewish law) to name your child after a recently departed loved one or a living relative, depending on whether the family be Ashkenazic or Sephardic Jews respectively. Yes it's not law, yes there are those who don't follow this practice but, for anyone who's seen Fiddler on The Roof, you know Judaism is all about TRADITION. There is nothing traditional about the name Brittney, not even the spelling.
Perhaps I take for granted the fact that there are more Jews per square mile in NYC than in Israel and that I've grown up with Jewish friends and spent a lot of time in Jewish households but, I just don't see how so many people have mistaken my ethnic identity. Especially people who've known me for years!
18 January 2009
Genetic Opera and a New Year Resolution
Oh what a horrible blogger I am. It's not that I don't have anything to say, it's simply that everything to say seems too inconsequential to be littering the interwebs. Oh dear, perhaps it's time for me to put on The Cure and whine some more about feeling insignificant. Where did this all come from? I'm appalled.
Let's turn this post around before I get emo about the new year and talk about something a smidge more upbeat. Friday night we bundled up and ran to the Port Authority to catch a bus to New Jersey. Why, you may ask? Well let me explain; for one night, a cinema in Rutherford was showing "Repo! The Genetic Opera" and there was no way in hell we were missing it again. So, after almost missing our bus and 45 minutes of standing in the blistering cold all while singing Vanessa Hudgens' 'Sneakernight' to keep our minds off of the onsetting hypothermia we were finally settled into the equally frigid venue and giddy with anticipation. (Yes, I'm aware that saying we were giddy makes us look like douchetools but, you can't hide from the truth.)
This movie has been on our radar for quite some time now and I'm not sure why we didn't go and see it when it was released here, but again, we're douchetools, simple as that. We may or may not have illegally downloaded it though. THAT'S BESIDES THE POINT -- point is that this movie is BRILLIANT. Do you know how you can tell? When something stirs up such a rabid fanbase that people show up in costume and begin to form shadowcasts, that's the markings of something lasting and brilliant. Like pretty much everyone else who've I've talked to about this movie, I agree that it's well on its way to being the RHPS for a new generation. It's been a while since us outcasted little freaks had something of this magnitude to cling to.
It's out on DVD Tuesday, go buy it. Even if it's just to watch Paris Hilton's face fall off.
Now on to other matters.
The holidays are finally over, the new year has begun, we get a new President this week and I feel no different than I did previously. Talk about a bummer. I should be excited or at least a bit more upbeat, no? When did I become such a cynic? When did I let the man get me down? Regardless, January is already on its way out and I only have another week before school starts up again. Let's see if I can turn this frown upside down.
As far as resolutions go, I guess I don't really make resolutions as much as set goals. Hmm, that doesn't make sence seeing as a resolution is essentially a goal so nevermind. Last years resolution was to procure and master the ukulele. I'm glad to say It was accomplished before May and I spent the rest of the year annoying and amusing all those around me. This years resolution will be learning to yodel. Why you ask? Well, why not? It's slightly more obnoxious than the uke and what a great party trick it will be!
Let's turn this post around before I get emo about the new year and talk about something a smidge more upbeat. Friday night we bundled up and ran to the Port Authority to catch a bus to New Jersey. Why, you may ask? Well let me explain; for one night, a cinema in Rutherford was showing "Repo! The Genetic Opera" and there was no way in hell we were missing it again. So, after almost missing our bus and 45 minutes of standing in the blistering cold all while singing Vanessa Hudgens' 'Sneakernight' to keep our minds off of the onsetting hypothermia we were finally settled into the equally frigid venue and giddy with anticipation. (Yes, I'm aware that saying we were giddy makes us look like douchetools but, you can't hide from the truth.)
This movie has been on our radar for quite some time now and I'm not sure why we didn't go and see it when it was released here, but again, we're douchetools, simple as that. We may or may not have illegally downloaded it though. THAT'S BESIDES THE POINT -- point is that this movie is BRILLIANT. Do you know how you can tell? When something stirs up such a rabid fanbase that people show up in costume and begin to form shadowcasts, that's the markings of something lasting and brilliant. Like pretty much everyone else who've I've talked to about this movie, I agree that it's well on its way to being the RHPS for a new generation. It's been a while since us outcasted little freaks had something of this magnitude to cling to.
It's out on DVD Tuesday, go buy it. Even if it's just to watch Paris Hilton's face fall off.
Now on to other matters.
The holidays are finally over, the new year has begun, we get a new President this week and I feel no different than I did previously. Talk about a bummer. I should be excited or at least a bit more upbeat, no? When did I become such a cynic? When did I let the man get me down? Regardless, January is already on its way out and I only have another week before school starts up again. Let's see if I can turn this frown upside down.
As far as resolutions go, I guess I don't really make resolutions as much as set goals. Hmm, that doesn't make sence seeing as a resolution is essentially a goal so nevermind. Last years resolution was to procure and master the ukulele. I'm glad to say It was accomplished before May and I spent the rest of the year annoying and amusing all those around me. This years resolution will be learning to yodel. Why you ask? Well, why not? It's slightly more obnoxious than the uke and what a great party trick it will be!
14 December 2008
I was driving behind a “Nugent and Potter” delivery truck Friday afternoon and I cannot even begin to express the mirth I got from the mental image that soon followed. There before me, in the empty white space of the door, suddenly appeared the most glorious picture of Ted Nugent and Harry Potter, arms slung around the others shoulder, bright smiles and thumbs up. I’m not quite sure what kind of business the two would have with each other but, I can only assume it would phenomenal and rather lucrative, especially since they base themselves in the Hamptons.
Now I’m sitting here on the LIRR, preparing myself for the start of another week and wondering where the past 3 months have gone. I divide my time between Gotham and Superbia, I divide my emotions between relative pleasantry and maniacally depressed, I divide my levels of motivation between little and completely nonexistent. It’s the doldrums of life at their finest, I suppose. I’d really just like to feel something other than this for a little while. I think it’s the change of season, or maybe it’s the holidays and the sinking realization that if I don’t start a family soon it’s going to just be me and my parents within a few years. I miss the big gatherings, I miss the camaraderie. Maybe it’s my own fault though, I’m very good at self imposed hermitry after all.
I always thought I’d do big things, make a name for myself and change the world but, now none of that seems important. I just want a home life, a spouse, a bunch of children and a couple of cats. I want the neighborhood kids banging at my door to see if my children can play, I want block parties, PTA bake sales, soccer mom carpool duties. I want Superbia and everything I’ve continually tried to run from and that scares the pants off of me.
That being said:
Dear Santa,
Please return me to my proper state of mind this Christmas. This is getting a bit ridiculous. If this isn’t enough notice please forward my request to the Easter Bunny.
All things good.
Now I’m sitting here on the LIRR, preparing myself for the start of another week and wondering where the past 3 months have gone. I divide my time between Gotham and Superbia, I divide my emotions between relative pleasantry and maniacally depressed, I divide my levels of motivation between little and completely nonexistent. It’s the doldrums of life at their finest, I suppose. I’d really just like to feel something other than this for a little while. I think it’s the change of season, or maybe it’s the holidays and the sinking realization that if I don’t start a family soon it’s going to just be me and my parents within a few years. I miss the big gatherings, I miss the camaraderie. Maybe it’s my own fault though, I’m very good at self imposed hermitry after all.
I always thought I’d do big things, make a name for myself and change the world but, now none of that seems important. I just want a home life, a spouse, a bunch of children and a couple of cats. I want the neighborhood kids banging at my door to see if my children can play, I want block parties, PTA bake sales, soccer mom carpool duties. I want Superbia and everything I’ve continually tried to run from and that scares the pants off of me.
That being said:
Dear Santa,
Please return me to my proper state of mind this Christmas. This is getting a bit ridiculous. If this isn’t enough notice please forward my request to the Easter Bunny.
All things good.
29 October 2008
STOP THE H8
I'm really getting tired of California and its Indian Giver ways (sorry for the slightly racist colloquialism). How many times are they going to grant everyone the right to marry then take it away a few months later? Something's got to happen, something's got to change and while I applaud their forward movement in the realm of GLBTQ rights it's just absolutely mean to dangle what should be a basic civil and human right in front of us. I really hope enough people turn out to vote down Prop. 8. More importantly I really hope enough people open their eyes and realize that marriage for everyone isn't threatening anyone's way of life, it's merely improving the lives of so many who aren't protected by the legal benefits that the government grants married couples.
I'm too angry with society to continue right now. I'll post a substantial blog later.
I'm too angry with society to continue right now. I'll post a substantial blog later.
11 October 2008
FAITH
I received a monthly email from an old acquaintance that has left me remarkably torn. Since I’ve started taking religion courses for my major in college I find myself unable to grasp religion on a personal level. I am culturally Catholic and I always will be but, beyond the cultural aspects I’m a religious void.
This email is from someone who knew me when I was a born again Christian. She is one of the most dedicated and spiritual people I’ve ever met and was that way even when we were 13. She’s traveled the world as a missionary and her faith is absolutely inspiring. Even though our ideals drifted from each other I’ve never lost my respect for her.
Now to my issue. I never thought much of missionaries and mission trips until I started studying tribal cultures and their religions this semester. With a recent focus on the Sambian tribe of Papua New Guinea (oddly enough the locale of Friend’s mission work) I’ve come to realize how much culture and history has been lost by the Christianization of the world. Hundreds of years of tradition shunned, traditional lifestyles completely discarded for another mans god.
Now, I’m a strong supporter of free will and I can’t help but think that Westerners showing up in a tribal village with new clothing, toys, candy, medicines and stores of food doesn’t offer an unbiased plain upon which the indigenous people can decide what to believe. I know if I was in their position I’d jump right on board their train after my first lollipop.
I’m not saying that Christian missionaries are trying to buy followers (well, maybe I am a little), I think it’s admirable that they believe so strongly that they want to save the world but, their methods of doing so are in dire need of examination. These people don’t have the luxuries that we’ve come to take for granted, I don’t think it’s right that they’re given them and then preached to. It’s a positive rewards system, they listen about your God in exchange for things they need or desire. Isn’t that how we train animals? “Let me tell you a story about a man named Jesus and while I do that let me feed your malnourished children and give you some quinine for that malaria you’ve been suffering with since birth…”
Maybe I’m only attacking this because I’m jealous. I’m jealous of people who have faith, faith of any kind. Faith in God, faith in their friends, faith in themselves … I’m not sure when I lost faith, I imagine it was around the time I lost the innocence of childhood though.
Children, in their purest form are so remarkable. What happens when you’re sitting next to a child on the train or the bus? It smiles at you, it engages you, why? Unconditional love. They haven’t been corrupted or tainted yet. To them; why shouldn’t they engage you or like you? Why wouldn’t you want to do the same? They have complete faith that you’re good. My god! Could you imagine the type of world this would be if we never lost that? Instead, we now walk into a room and think “I hope they like me” instead of “why wouldn’t they like me?”. We’ve lost the capacity to love unconditionally, to trust all but a select few and ultimately we’ve lost faith in each other. What a horrible world to exist in.
This email is from someone who knew me when I was a born again Christian. She is one of the most dedicated and spiritual people I’ve ever met and was that way even when we were 13. She’s traveled the world as a missionary and her faith is absolutely inspiring. Even though our ideals drifted from each other I’ve never lost my respect for her.
Now to my issue. I never thought much of missionaries and mission trips until I started studying tribal cultures and their religions this semester. With a recent focus on the Sambian tribe of Papua New Guinea (oddly enough the locale of Friend’s mission work) I’ve come to realize how much culture and history has been lost by the Christianization of the world. Hundreds of years of tradition shunned, traditional lifestyles completely discarded for another mans god.
Now, I’m a strong supporter of free will and I can’t help but think that Westerners showing up in a tribal village with new clothing, toys, candy, medicines and stores of food doesn’t offer an unbiased plain upon which the indigenous people can decide what to believe. I know if I was in their position I’d jump right on board their train after my first lollipop.
I’m not saying that Christian missionaries are trying to buy followers (well, maybe I am a little), I think it’s admirable that they believe so strongly that they want to save the world but, their methods of doing so are in dire need of examination. These people don’t have the luxuries that we’ve come to take for granted, I don’t think it’s right that they’re given them and then preached to. It’s a positive rewards system, they listen about your God in exchange for things they need or desire. Isn’t that how we train animals? “Let me tell you a story about a man named Jesus and while I do that let me feed your malnourished children and give you some quinine for that malaria you’ve been suffering with since birth…”
Maybe I’m only attacking this because I’m jealous. I’m jealous of people who have faith, faith of any kind. Faith in God, faith in their friends, faith in themselves … I’m not sure when I lost faith, I imagine it was around the time I lost the innocence of childhood though.
Children, in their purest form are so remarkable. What happens when you’re sitting next to a child on the train or the bus? It smiles at you, it engages you, why? Unconditional love. They haven’t been corrupted or tainted yet. To them; why shouldn’t they engage you or like you? Why wouldn’t you want to do the same? They have complete faith that you’re good. My god! Could you imagine the type of world this would be if we never lost that? Instead, we now walk into a room and think “I hope they like me” instead of “why wouldn’t they like me?”. We’ve lost the capacity to love unconditionally, to trust all but a select few and ultimately we’ve lost faith in each other. What a horrible world to exist in.
27 September 2008
PIGHEADED
Pigheaded: stupidly obstinate; stubborn.
…how fitting. I am horribly pigheaded as is much of my family, the only difference is that I’m completely aware of it, while they live in denial. I almost wonder if it’s not them being pigheaded so much as being set in their ways. I suppose the two go hand in hand, though.
I find myself questioning the origins of this adjective. Are pigs really stupidly obstinate? I feel as though, under normal circumstances pigs would be rather jovial creatures ala Wilbur in Charlotte’s Web but, by god I’d be stubborn too if I was being fattened up so that my flesh could be shredded into bacon and my body turned into a ham. So who are we to say that pigs are stubborn when we only generally deal with them under less than savory circumstances? Well, I suppose the outcome is savory for us just not for them.
---
It’s rainy and overcast again today, just like yesterday and the day before. I never used to mind days like this much but, now they just make my head hurt. I looked at weather.com and we’re not supposed to have a nice day until Thursday, the day I go back to school. Great.
…how fitting. I am horribly pigheaded as is much of my family, the only difference is that I’m completely aware of it, while they live in denial. I almost wonder if it’s not them being pigheaded so much as being set in their ways. I suppose the two go hand in hand, though.
I find myself questioning the origins of this adjective. Are pigs really stupidly obstinate? I feel as though, under normal circumstances pigs would be rather jovial creatures ala Wilbur in Charlotte’s Web but, by god I’d be stubborn too if I was being fattened up so that my flesh could be shredded into bacon and my body turned into a ham. So who are we to say that pigs are stubborn when we only generally deal with them under less than savory circumstances? Well, I suppose the outcome is savory for us just not for them.
---
It’s rainy and overcast again today, just like yesterday and the day before. I never used to mind days like this much but, now they just make my head hurt. I looked at weather.com and we’re not supposed to have a nice day until Thursday, the day I go back to school. Great.
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