In 25 hours, I can legally buy alcohol in the States

And really the only thing I want is some good wine. Thanks to my parents, I can get that anyway whenever I please, and they have good taste. I still don't like beer, even after spending 4 months near Germany, and I guess the 2 margaritas I had at the Italian-Mexican restaurant in Lugano were decent. I wouldn't want them very often though. But then again, alcohol in general is something I really only drink on occasion, at dinner parties and such.

I'm in San Diego right now for Memorial Day, visiting my dear friends who are still here studying, and it still feels weird that I'm already finished with the school year. Watching Amy and Margret study makes me feel like there must be something I should be doing, but there isn't. Not yet at least. I have an intense 4 weeks of summer school coming up in about a month, so that will make up for now. And when I fly back to Eugene on my birthday, I'm tempted to buy a glass of wine on the plane, just because I can. Though it will be kind of early. I'm not sure...

I want some of Jo and Amy's recipes, I've decided. I've eaten way too many of Amy's snickerdoodles since she baked them last night. And we went to Jo's apartment last night for tofu fajitas that were undoubtedly awesome. And now I'm eating spinach nuggets and watching Hitch in Amy's living room. This weekend has been incredibly fun. I'm happy. And I'm remembering just why I decided to go to school 1,000 miles away from home, and how I can see that I'm in the right place right now. I'll write more later.

Pondering sexual frustration over a cup (or 3) of tea

So here I am, back in Eugene, on my bed with my cat Huey with a gorgeous view of Fern Ridge reservoir and trying to plan my summer. I have to take a few classes, reorganize my room, and hopefully gain some insight into what I want to study in graduate school. I composed a list of goals for myself for the summer, including creating a better fitness routine, practicing the languages, and spending plenty of quality time with my family and friends here. I also included, though, finding a date for Rachel's wedding.

Coming home has reminded me yet again that one of my best friends from middle and high school is indeed getting married in a few short months, as I know I need to try on my bridesmaid dress and buy the devilishly fun wedding gift I have in mind for her. It's a glaring reminder that we are indeed all growing up whether we're ready for it or not, and I haven't entirely digested that fact yet. As much as I am happy for her, it's still a little weird to think about my newly 21-year-old friend taking the giant leap into adulthood that is getting married in September.

And besides Rachel and her now fiance, my other close friends here in Oregon also have significant others, leaving me to be "the single one". The one always stuck at home with her cats while all my friends are spending time with their boyfriends or girlfriends. Not that I don't enjoy hanging out with the cats, because I love them all dearly, but sometime both parties want to do other things. It can be frustrating while trying to make plans for a weekend when everyone else already has plans with that special someone.

And my sexual frustration doesn't help the matter. I listen to my friends describe their romantic escapades and, while I generally enjoy said discussions, they remind me of that which I still don't have. I have yet to find that one guy who truly captures my interest, even as I keep the Object of My Worldly Lust in the back of my mind. I want someone who can turn me on in every conceivable way- intellectually, spiritually, and, yes, physically. I want someone eager to make his life mean something to the world, someone with a burning desire to leave this world a better place than when he arrived. Someone who can challenge me to become a more compassionate, more proactive, more well-rounded person and with a mind open enough to allow me to do the same to him.

Thus I've decided that I want a date for Rachel's wedding in September. Now I just need to meet some new people. But I don't just want to hang out in places with the sole goal of collecting phone numbers. No singles bars for me, thank you very much. I need a project, a way to improve this society, in which I work with other people. People with similar goals and interests, where I could meet someone truly exciting. Someone, though, who can also realize that sometimes it's fun to just watch the sunset with your cat and drink tea. Which I shall enjoy right now.

Of black dresses and worldly lust

This past Saturday was the Travies (the Academic Travel Photo Awards ceremony, for which I was a judge) and Arabic Night (essentially food and a dance party). I wore the closest thing I have to a black dress here, a black top and skirt, with my lovely stilettos that make me nearly 6 feet tall. I didn't get to show cleavage this time, but it was slinky. Yay curves. And suddenly being really tall.

So the winners of the photo awards were a bit of a surprise to me, even though I was one of the four judges. I had voted for most of the winners, but some of my favorites weren't even finalists, and some of the finalists were pictures I had barely glanced at. And funnily enough, the photo that was a finalist taken by my friend Katey was not either of the two of hers that I had picked, and while the presenter was opening the envelope, Marissa and I were trying to decide if, should she have won, we should have gone up to accept the award for her. What would we have said? Told a story about her? About our travel experiences? But alas, it was not necessary. We miss her though, as she has returned early to the States for personal reasons.

And then there was Arabic Night, with all its good food and crazy dancing. I really had missed tabouleh and hummus. Despite the open bar, I spent the whole night drinking water, especially during the dance party. It had been a while since I had had the chance to just dance around like an idiot with other people to really loud music, and I had kind of missed it. Unfortunately, said dance party was almost entirely female, as the guys were all too entranced by the shisha tent outside (and admittedly, it was really hot in there). One of these days I want to dance with not-creepy guys that are not almost old enough to be my dad (like many of the guys you will find at clubs in Lugano).

And that brings me to, yet again, the Object of My Worldly Lust (I can't believe I'm writing this in the campus computer lab). He really needs to stop unknowingly tempting me. Stop inducing, as Amy has termed them, "homicidal barber moments" (can you tell we've seen a bit too much Monty Python?), though instead of me wanting to kill him, I want to, as Amy put it, "jump his bones". Really, I wish I could turn off the sex drive when I don't need it. But then again, would I really feel like myself without it? Would I still be human if I could perfectly control myself, with no unexpected urges? Alas, it's not going anywhere, and neither is the latest object of my earthly desires.

So why is he only "the Object of My Worldly Lust", you might ask, as opposed to "The Guy I Like" or something along those lines? Because the only certain part of my attraction to him is sexual. I don't even know if I want the person that comes with that oh-so-attractive body. Don't get me wrong, he's not a bad guy. He has always been nice to me, but there is some not-entirely-known element that keeps me from falling headfirst for him. Are we just too different? Do I want someone more like me, someone who can appreciate good vegetarian cuisine, speak multiple languages, and captivate me with his brilliant wit and vision for a better world? A fellow liberal, compassionate, sexually attuned Christian also trying to make that decision of how to go about changing the world? Not that this necessarily excludes the Object of My Worldly Lust. I honestly don't know.

Lord, grant me clarity and some sort of resolution. Help me to see him for the person he really is, not just the Object of My Worldly Lust. We both need it.

Exposing myself in Barcelona

And no, I don't mean any sort of public nudity. I did not physically expose myself while visiting my friend Irene from UCSD in her European home of Barcelona, where she has been studying for the year. I can honestly say I had one of my best European experiences this past weekend while visiting her, between going to her church there, meeting some of her friends, and seeing a few of the city's most famous sights. I haven't felt so comfortable yet so vulnerable in quite a while, and it was kind of refreshing and cathartic.

It wasn't until I met the customs agent in Barcelona airport that I realized how automatic the Italian language has become in my brain. When he looked through my passport, he came across my stamps from crossing the Switzerland-Italy border at Chiasso, at which point I mentioned that I was studying in Switzerland. I was quite surprised that he asked to see my Swiss residence permit, but I assume he was just curious as he just glanced over it and handed it back to me. Then, while taking the metro with Irene, a machine ate my ticket, and I asked for help from the attendant...in Italian. However, as the weekend progressed, my Spanish became more pure, especially when I met Irene's friends from her church. I was kind of impressed with myself: I was able to communicate more or less effectively and follow all of their conversations. Not knowing their inside jokes, my participation in their conversations was somewhat limited unless they were addressing me directly. However, it's nice to know that I can still speak Spanish.

But more than anything, this Easter weekend would prove to be more of a spiritual experience than anything. It began on Sunday morning, when Irene and I went to the service at the church she has been attending during her year abroad. It felt much like a modern evangelical Protestant church in the States, much like an IV large group. The people were nice, the music was of a similar style, and the pastor that gave the sermon reminded me of a Spanish Ryan Pfeiffer. It also was interesting being able to take communion for the first time in my life, after my past in Catholic high school. At a Catholic Mass, you must be Catholic in order to take communion, so I'm accustomed to just proceeding to the altar with one hand over my heart to ask for a blessing. But this time, I was able actually partake of the offering. I guess that's one nice thing about us Protestants, though I still have my respect for Catholicism.

The best part of it however was being told, yet again, by Jose Luis, the guy who gave the sermon, that I really shouldn't worry so much. As he said to all of us, worrying really isn't healthy, and I guess that really is God's way of telling us not to worry so much and trust God more. Many of the things we worry about really are out of our control, and wallowing in misery really doesn't solve anything. Reminds me how therapeutic prayer is, offering my concerns to God even if it is hard for me admit that there are many times when I have no control. As Irene and I discussed last night after I returned to my apartment in Lugano, it really is easier to trust God with our eternal destiny than with pressing concerns in the present. Worrying is easy, but learning to trust and admitting that sometimes all you can do is pray ultimately is more productive.

My most revelatory moments came though in my late night conversations with Irene over a few glasses of cava and sangria. I guess the alcohol may have been a factor in my willingness to offer numerous testaments to my weaknesses, but I blame it more on my comfort with Irene. It was cathartic to admit to such things as having an Object of my Worldly Lust (don't get too excited, Mom) and that I may harbor a certain bitterness toward certain people from my past (especially middle and high school, as my current dear friends that I met during those times probably can understand). I basically unveiled all of my imperfections for Irene, and fortunately she didn't run away screaming. Sometimes it's hard for me to admit that I am incapable of perfection, but at the same time I'm thankful for Irene's affirmations that being unabashedly me is still a good thing. And I can certainly say the same things about her. Thank you again, Irene.

And another thing I learned: such lowering of inhibitions can also result in sending facebook messages to said Object of my Worldly Lust... should be interesting...

Things I Find Amusing Today

The weather here in Lugano is quite gorgeous today. Sunny, warm, and I'm wearing a brown tank top. It's the day before the last of our 2 3-day weekends we get here at Franklin College, so my classes have all been missing at least 5 people today. Granted, it's not like I'll be any better, as I'm skipping the Tuesday after our free Monday in order to fly back to Lugano from Barcelona, where I will be visiting my friend Irene from UCSD. I leave tomorrow morning. Should be fun.

So, for funny things. I begin to read God's Politics this morning, my favorite progressive Christian blog, and realized the Beliefnet put some really funny ads on their page today. What made them so funny, you might ask? Well, the first one was advertising the latest installment in the Left Behind series of novels, those often-lampooned apocalypse tales that have spawned a strange fascination with the Rapture theory, which many Christians of various traditions don't believe anyway, and the first Christian first person shooter video game. Fortunately for all of us, as the advertisment graciously told me, this is the last novel in the series. Thank you, Dear Lord.

And then, a little further down the page, as I was reading Diana Butler Bass's reflection on the Resurrection, I see Joel Osteen, of Texan megachurch fame, posing with a blonde woman I'm assuming is his wife, baring his signature, goofy, too white to be real smile. The ad is inviting me to spend "An Evening with Joel Osteen- Coming to a city near you!". Goody. Yay me. I have the opportunity to hear the face of the prosperity gospel tell me all about how to live "my best life now" and probably allow some second-rate worship band play a few songs while his loyal followers raise their hands and sway and possibly break into tears. Oh evangelical megachurches and the culture they have spawned. And then there is the wife, the stereotypical fake-blonde televangelist wife whose purpose seems to be to look pretty and possibly sing some mushy worship song and rave about how wonderful her husband is. And maybe appeal to other evangelical wives trying to fulfill that term that is oh-so-trendy right now: "helpmeet" to their husbands. Can you tell I'm not a huge fan of complementarianism?

In other news, I'm in the Franklin computer lab, and the computer next to me isn't letting anyone log on. It claims that it doesn't recognize your account information. I say it's just throwing a tantrum today. I'm also in the process of writing a more provocative entry with a particularly provocative title. I'll get to finishing that when I'm done eating lunch, going to my Italian conversation class, and frolicking in today's sun.

Musee Cluny- Roman Baths and Medieval Art

The exhibits in Musee Cluny encompass the primary characteristics of Medieval Europe- Catholicism, nobility, and low life expectancy. From pieces of broken statues from the original construction of Notre Dame to tapestries of noble families, this museum lended support to popular portrayals of the Middle Ages.

The most renowned exhibit at Cluny is a collection of tapestries called "La dame a la licorne", or "The Woman with the Unicorn". A teenaged princess sits among her slightly anthropomorphized animal companions, like a scene from a Disney movie, and in each tapestry they try to convey one of the five physical senses. The animals were cute, but the most impressive thing about these tapestries how much work must have been required to make them and how well they were preserved. Maybe the colors were slightly faded, but that was the only noticeable wear.

Another impressive exhibit consisted of a collection of handwritten pages from books, complete with illuminations. While admiring the calligraphy and detailed pictures, I could imagine a monk locked in his chamber copying texts day in and day out. Hand copies made by monks was how texts were printed in that era, and seeing samples made me appreciate the work that went into making the few books that were available at the time. That also partly explains the low literacy rates in Medieval France and thus the prevalence of visual depictions of stories and ideas in tapestry and stained glass.

Religion was perhaps the most important ideological force in Medieval France, and the collection of stained glass windows and broken statues from Notre Dame conveyed this. These pieces of art were often the only way most parishioners learned Bible stories, given abysmally low literacy rates. With the help of labels, I could recognize a number of the stories partrayed in the selection of windows, though I mostly admired them for their vibrant colors. Religious motifs were also used in the coffins and tombstones displayed in the museum. Death was a prevalent theme, though portrayals of the crucifixion of Jesus were the only mentions of bloody death.

Hearkening to an even earlier period were the Roman baths that formed the museum's courtyard, and the thought of standing in a Roman public space was formidable. Like the other exhibits in the Musee Cluny, the most impressive aspect is how well everything has been preserved. Being in the presence of artifacts that are so old amazes me still, especially that their physical beauty is still more or less fully intact. I first studied the Medieval period as a second grader in Eugene, Oregon, and it was amazing to see firsthand the sources of the picture of medieval life we examined, to know that there is evidence to support it.

Protesting in the Streets of Paris

I never had the opportunity to climb the hill in Montmartre to see the Basilica of Sacre-Coeur, but I did see it from the fifth floor of Musee d'Orsay. I have to agree though that it is not a particularly beautiful building. Striking it is, and it's not ugly, but it's not beautiful in the sense that most ostentatious churches built with similar motives are. It's presence, though, as this big white building on a hill overlooking the city is an effective symbol of repressing protest, something that is central to Paris' reputation.

The Basilica was built in response to the rise of the Paris Commune of 1871 over those in power at the time, no longer just the nobility but the bourgeois class. This bloody struggle, on the part of both sides, included both sides executing their opponents, much like the Jacobins during the French Revolution of 1789. The Commune was the first instance of class warfare as we know it today, as the working class, following a socialist platform, briefly seized control of Paris and attempted to destroy symbols of the old order, such as the Vendome Column.

Thus when the Commune fell, the bourgeoisie allied with the Catholic Church, that eternal symbol of old order in France, to construct something to assert their power. The hill of Montmartre was a place of martyrdom for both sides, notably two police officers trying to quell a working class uprising and not too far away, in Pere Lachaise cemetery, the last of the Commune leaders fell victim to a firing squad. The French monarchy had long flirted with a devotion to the Sacred Heart, vowing to erect a monument like Sacre-Coeur after times of hardship, but now this was to become a reality. The Basilica was finally consecrated shortly after World War I and stands today as an imposing symbol of order over an often unruly city.

However, the presence of Sacre-Coeur has hardly discouraged protest in the city of Paris. On our last day, walking through the Place de la Sorbonne, we encountered a protest led by CGT, France's largest confederation of labor unions. Like the Commune once did, CGT rallies for the interests of the working class, though unfortunately I do not know exactly what prompted this particular protest. I remembered, while watching people carrying banners down la Rue de Victor Cousin and chanting "21, 53" (I don't know the significance of these numbers), that CGT was responsible for the strike at the Bastille Opera that resulted in our ballet being cancelled. However, despite that disappointment, I do not know enough abut French labor politics to know whether I sympathize with their concerns.

Walking past the Sorbonne, France's most prestigious university, every day, I was not surprised that it would be a popular location for protests. Universities have long had a reputation as hotbeds of new and controversial ideologies, and the Sorbonne is no exception. Counting among its alumni many of France's major thinkers, from Voltaire to Moliere to Victor Hugo, whose names are also displayed on the roof of the Sorbonne metro station. It was a funny coincidence that the day after Prof. Silver gave us a mini-lecture about the Paris Commune and Paris' reputation for protest, we see protestors marching past the Sorbonne. It actually reminded me a bit of Eugene, and the University of Oregon having a similar reputation, though it had been a while since I had witnessed a particularly big protest.

Musee Carnavalet and Conciergerie- La Revolution Francaise

It was the revolution that would come to inspire countless others in just about every corner of the globe. After the commoners realized that those in power were not willing to concede their positions, they decided to overthrow the Ancien Regime, beginning with the Storming of the Bastille, which was more symbolic than anything as there were very few political prisoners on July 14th, 1789. The concentration of power into the hands of the aristocracy and the clergy permeated nearly every area of life in pre-Revolutionary France, including the Estates-General, where the clergy, the aristocracy, and the commoners each received a vote, clearly stacking the odds against the common people. The nobles tried to appease them by allowing them twice as many representatives, but this was a hollow offer, as the number of votes did not change.

Thus the Revolutionaries began to create their new order. The Conciergerie, on Ile de la Cite, was their main prison, where Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI were held before losing their heads to the guillotine in Place de la Concorde. The building now has become a museum devoted to this, with the main attraction being a reconstruction of Marie Antoinette's prison cell. Original locks and weapons are also on display, but overall it was a bit of a disappointment. The cell reconstructions feel a bit Disneyland-like, complete with dummies, and most of the pictures and documents referred to in copies are actually on display at Musee Carnavalet. The completely random exhibit about Armenian history was interesting, as I know very little about the subject, but the only thing that particularly struck me about the Conciergerie was looking around and imagining it during Robespierre's Reign of Terror, filled with countless aristocrats (and other opponents of the Jacobins) soon to meet their end at the guillotine.

The Musee Carnavalet showed a less violent side of the French Revolution. The museum presents an approximately 500-year chronology of Parisian history, from the building's origin as a palace through the Revolution and beyond. The reconstructed manor rooms were similar to those in the Loire castles, so the exhibit about the Revolution was more interesting. Large copies of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen adorned one wall, with portraits of Robespierre and other leaders of the Revolution on others, alongside depictions of such events as the Storming of the Bastille. This exhibit is more favorable toward the Revolutionaries, though not without the occasional painting of a brutal execution. It was also interesting to see examples of the outlawed large signs once displayed by shops along Rue Mouffetard and other examples of 19th and 20th Century Parisian life.

On the Palais Justice, to which the Conciergerie is attached, is engraved the national motto that was born of the French Revolution: "Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité". Utilizing tenets of Social Contract Theory, the Revolutionaries forever changed the balance of power in France and inspired many a later revolution. These ideals were implemented, but it came at a violent price, and Revolutionary leaders were not immune to their own thirsts for power either. However, they planted those three words that define Western democratic ideals to this day.

Musee d'Orsay- Sex and Impressionism

I must say I preferred the Musee d'Orsay to the Louvre. There were not as many pieces of art stuffed into each room, so it was easier to enjoy what was there. Of course the Impressionism exhibits, the museum's most famous works, were impressive. Seeing the original paintings that are so often copied for posters, purses, and just about everything imaginable was quite enjoyable. The vibrant colors of Monet's water lilies and Van Gogh's sunflowers are a visual treat, and I never knew that many of Degas' depictions of ballet dancers were done in pastels. The works in Orsay are not so much the products of thievery, and the museum does not quite have the same infamy as its neighbor across the Seine.

However, the works displayed in Musee d'Orsay show a transition in sexual attitudes that occurred over the Nineteenth Century. Female sexuality is still the most blatantly displayed, such as a painting we saw and nicknamed "Every (Straight) Man's Dream": a man dressed in an elaborate suit of armor charging into battle on a horse with a naked woman clinging to him. The Louvre was similar, with female nudity in a large portion of the French and Italian paintings. However, it was not until visiting Orsay that I saw male nudity outside of the traditional statues of naked soldiers brandishing swords, where male sexuality is directly correlated with physical power. Many post-Impressionist works displayed nude men not fighting but celebrating, sometimes with naked women and other times in vaguely homoerotic situations. The most memorable for me was a depiction of the Last Supper in which the apostles are all nude and embracing each other, in an otherwise completely platonic fashion. However, the feminization of many of their features showed a continued bias toward sexualizing the Female more than the Male, so sexual power was still not equally shared though progress was made.

According to John Baxter in his book, Orsay, after its use as a train station, became a theater for experimental plays, many of which were not all that well received. As a museum, it shows the transition between the traditional depictions of male and female sexuality as shown in the Louvre with the experimental sexuality of the expatriate authors of the 1920s. Nathalie Clifford Barney's trendy lesbianism would have been unthinkable without the cultural shift indicated by these works of art. The Musee d'Orsay provides an invaluable link between traditional Western Europe and the Paris that was a haven for eccentric authors and artists during the early Twentieth Century.