tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/008/606 2007-12-11T03:12:16Z Movable Type Enterprise 1.02 tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/008//606.5879 2007-12-09T23:23:45Z 2007-12-11T03:12:16Z

Wow, so the end of the semester is finally here. I was going to write something emotional and nostalgic here, but then realized I didn't have anything in that vein to say. So instead I leave you with a very...

Arielle S Baer Wow, so the end of the semester is finally here. I was going to write something emotional and nostalgic here, but then realized I didn't have anything in that vein to say. So instead I leave you with a very poignant conversation I had with my friend Mike Sanders online a few days ago (and my fellow MFAers will know that Mike Sanders matters). So enjoy and discuss! Mike Sanders: im still in disbelief that this is our last week of the semester Mike Sanders: seemed to go by way too quick Me: well at first it was painfully slow Me: but looking back it does seem like it went by fast Me: but as you get older everything seems that way Me: or so ive been told Mike Sanders: im not sure if thats good or not Me: well as you get older there is less life left so i think i'd rather have it go slowly Mike Sanders: also its a percentage game Mike Sanders: when you're 10 years old each year is 10% of your life Mike Sanders: but when you're 20 it's only 5% Mike Sanders: by the time we're 50 a year will only be 2%, which would be the equivalent of about 10 weeks for a 10 year old Me: wow Me: thanks for putting that into perspective Me: and making me horribly depressed Mike Sanders: oh please Mike Sanders: like you werent horribly depressed already tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/008//606.5877 2007-12-09T20:06:07Z 2007-12-09T20:32:30Z

How do I manage to miss the two classes where we talk about my favorite books of the semester? First I was out for Lying, now I miss Never Let Me Go. Definitely a dissapointment that I didn't get to...

Arielle S Baer Lying, now I miss Never Let Me Go. Definitely a dissapointment that I didn't get to hear what everyone had to say about the novel, but it's been interesting reading your posts. ]]> I have to say that Maryellen hit on exactly what I was thinking while reading the book. It was completely enjoyable until that last part with Kathy, Tommy, Madame and the teacher. For some reason I found myself whole heartedly believing the premise of the novel, only until it was fully explained. Then I just seemed to...lose it. I'm not sure if I was expecting something more and was dissapointed with the final reveal. I know that a part of me knew what to expect. It was being hinted at so much during the novel that I couldn't help but not be surprised when the reason for the children was finally revealed. But I think there was another part of me that was hoping maybe there was more to the story. Like Maryellen, I found it just a little unbelievable that such a controversial practice could be created so quickly without any real discussion. I was really heartbroken when I started losing belief in the novel. I really wanted to like it, but this all seemed like such a letdown. But then I got to thinking - I'm able to read sci fi and fantasy and completely suspend my disbelief there, why can't I do it here? Is it because this story is based so much more in reality? Then I started being more honest with myself. While reading the ending I kept wondering to myself - if these kids are only being raised as organ donors, why bother giving them a life at all? That thought alone made me really uncomfortable. I never imagined I could think that way about someone's life. But I'm supposing that's exactly what Ishiguro wanted. And I applaud him for doing so. It's really hard to make me uncomfortable. So I have to wonder - was I really disappointed with the ending? Or was I so uncomfortable that I just told myself I was disappointed? tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/008//606.5876 2007-12-09T19:47:06Z 2007-12-09T23:34:40Z

Reflecting on my final project I've realized that I haven't written a paper in a really long time. And I think I might have almost forgotten how. Is that even possible? I suspect it might just be my natural laziness...

Arielle S Baer Reflecting on my final project I've realized that I haven't written a paper in a really long time. And I think I might have almost forgotten how. Is that even possible? I suspect it might just be my natural laziness coming out. And my complete disbelief that I decided to do a real paper over a fiction piece. I feel bad for my group-mates who'll have to read the jumble of thoughts that is my first draft. I'm not really sure if I have a clear thesis yet, which is probably a bad thing to admit this late in the game, but I'm stuck with this topic now so I'm going to try to make the best of what I've got. The research has actually been really fascinating. Being someone who's always had an interest in dreams, forcing myself to read all of this psycho-babble on them has given me an insight on my own night terrors. I've also thrown in some Jung to balance the Freud. It's so weird to read an essay on the collective unconcious only to stop and realize - this is the first time that phrase had ever been used! Maybe I'm just a huge dork for thinking that? But you've got to admit it's kind of cool. I'm also considering throwing in some bits on Neil Gaiman's Sandman, because, well, how could I not? It's almost too perfect! Dream's siblings are Destiny, Death, Destruction, Desire, Despair and Delirium, and there's even a section where Dream visits Shakespeare who has just written A Midsummers Night Dream for him. I don't really know how I'm going to be able to get this in, but I'll do my best to force it in without sounding too ridiculous. I haven't even touched Fight Club yet, which is odd because it's my favorite piece in the bunch. But maybe I'm just unconciously leaving the best, and easiest, for the end? Let's just say I'm very curious to see how this all turns out. And a warning to my group - my first draft probably won't make sense. But bear with it! (I almost wrote Baer with it, but I couldn't bring myself to do it) tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/008//606.5723 2007-12-03T01:58:30Z 2007-12-03T02:43:32Z

So I've been doing a lot of research, reading a lot of different books in new areas I've never really explored before in any of my other english lit classes (literary psychology - who knew?) and this are starting to...

Arielle S Baer So I've been doing a lot of research, reading a lot of different books in new areas I've never really explored before in any of my other english lit classes (literary psychology - who knew?) and this are starting to take shape. Sort of. Fight Club and Jekyll and Hyde. The use of dreams/sleep to create dual consciousness in the main characters, Freud's Interpretation of Dreams (which was in the self help section of the library, can you believe that!) which changed the way people were able to understand and discuss consciousness openly. I know I want to show the progression of these topics in literature from the 19th century to the present, where it's going in the future since many people find Freud's theories to be pretty outdated at this point. I've been reading a couple of books by J Allan Hobson, a book on experimental literary psychology by Leon Edel, obviously Freud's Interpretation of Dreams, I skimmed through some literary crit books on madness in literature which weren't as helpful as I originally hoped, but it did give me the idea to maybe add a section in my paper on authors who are mentally unstable - like our good friend Virginia Woolf. I definitely want to bring up her and James as they're both good examples of late 19th, early 20th century writers that were able to capture consciousness in a new, intricate way. Yeah I realize I don't really have a motivating question yet and maybe my topic could still use some fine tuning, but it's definitely improved since last time so I'm feeling pretty positive about it. ]]> tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/008//606.5624 2007-11-28T03:33:29Z 2007-11-28T03:54:04Z

Aleksey Dumer's post really hit home for me. I was diagnosed with Crohn's Disease when I was about 14 and now coming up on my tenth year of diagnosis I can definitely see the changes I went through with how...

Arielle S Baer post really hit home for me. I was diagnosed with Crohn's Disease when I was about 14 and now coming up on my tenth year of diagnosis I can definitely see the changes I went through with how I was able to deal with the disease through the years. ]]> To start, I say ten years of diagnosis because I know I was sick for a few years earlier. But being young and probably very awkward, ok who am I kidding I was an awkward tween, I didn't want to admit to the fact that I was sick. So instead I just sucked it up and went on feeling like crap when I was playing with my friends. For all I knew they were feeling the same way. No one else was saying anything why should I? Eventually when I hit my teens I realized that this was much more than I could handle on my own and went to a doctor. Oh maturity. But still even with a diagnosis and treatment plan it took me years to accept that this was something I would have to live with for the rest of my life. How do you tell a 14 year old that they can no longer eat most of their favorite foods? Girls have enough body issues at that age. I was told I could never drink before I was legally allowed to touch alcohol. It was a lot of stress for a kid and looking back my adolescent angst makes a lot more sense. At the time though I just went the always applicable "I don't care." Aleksey makes a really good point when she says that it's not just about the patient or the disorder but also the outside factors. I had a very, very supportive family. My mother learned how to cook amazingly well with completely new ingredients. My brother and sister understood that sometimes I would just be feeling really crappy and to leave me alone. My mother explained to me that even though I hated taking the pills prescribed to me I still had to. (We even had an experiment where I went off them, wow those were an unpleasant couple of days. It's sort of like when a parent says ok you wanna smoke, smoke the whole pack! Yeah I never went off my pills again) Meeting other people with Crohn's has helped me realize how lucky I am. Some people have no clue what they're doing and don't have anyone around to help them out. So yeah Aleksey, as someone suffering from a chronic illness, specifically one that hits you at a young age, I think that making psychology visits mandatory or at least highly suggesting them is an excellent idea. I can't speak for those patients diagnosed older, maybe we can assume the older you are the easier it is for you to accept major life changes. But I think for a child, who is already going through so many "life changes" (cue cheesy 70's sitcom music here) having that disrupted by an illness makes it much more than just medical. tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/008//606.5464 2007-11-20T22:33:56Z 2007-12-03T02:44:02Z

So even after our workshop I didn't really have any clue what I was going to write about. I decided to go to the central library in Jamaica (I know an actual library! how very 1995 of me) and just...

Arielle S Baer So even after our workshop I didn't really have any clue what I was going to write about. I decided to go to the central library in Jamaica (I know an actual library! how very 1995 of me) and just kind of stroll around until I found some books that interested me and consequently create a paper out of that. Amazingly it worked. I'm going to stick with the whole dream/sleep idea but lose the Jew bit (sorry, I know you were all so fascinated by it). Instead I was thinking of writing a paper/literary essay on sleep, dreams, and insanity in literature. There are so many great examples out there from classics to contemporary - Fight Club, Macbeth, Hamlet, ok almost any Shakespear play, Alice in Wonderland, Yellow Wallpaper (maybe?), Jekyll and Hyde, and so many more Basically I want to discuss the connection between dreams, sleep (or lack thereof) and insanity and how this is used as a literary tool. An example that popped into my head right away was from Macbeth when he can't sleep and he goes outside and sees the dagger. But is it a dagger? Is he dreaming? Is he crazy? Either way this is the point in the story where he makes the decision to kill Macbeth and alters his life forever. Also, he doesn't know for sure if the weird sisters are real or a dream. Ah, too many ideas! Ok I realize I really need to focus this in a bit. I figure once I start writing it a more focused theory will take shape. tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/008//606.5298 2007-11-11T23:50:03Z 2007-11-13T03:23:21Z

I had so much fun writing the autobiographical lie that I figured I'd keep going on with it. I really wanted to write something on sleep/dreams, or I guess what I called the unconscious consciousness. Main things I need help...

Arielle S Baer I had so much fun writing the autobiographical lie that I figured I'd keep going on with it. I really wanted to write something on sleep/dreams, or I guess what I called the unconscious consciousness. Main things I need help with: Is my language too, uh, "flowery?" Be honest! At points it really sounds that way to me, but I have a problem re-reading things I've written and not seeing it all as trite. Is the piece too tangential? Does it seem to have a point...I'm not sure if I really did. That's probably a big problem no? I guess my major concern is can this be turned into a longer piece? I'd love to use it as the basis for my final project. ]]> Modah Ani (“I am praising”) every morning before we get out of bed, to thank god for giving us back our souls and allowing us to wake up. We also wash our hands and say Netilat Yadaim because it is as if we have spent the night with a dead body, which makes us tamei (impure). I wish this part was an exaggeration. Death, Sleep’s half-brother. Is it any wonder I’m so scared of it? Ok eyes, you want to be open? Then let’s stay open. Let’s watch the shadows that play all night long on the white walls of my apartment. Let’s imagine what they could be, instead of what they are. Let’s listen to creaking of the floor boards above me. Or did that one come from my hallway? In an old building like this, sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference, isn’t it? Let’s try to peer through the darkness as we create monsters out of mole hills, so to speak. They hide themselves in your peripheral, only chancing to move once we’ve looked away. Let’s sit up to get a better look. Twenty-four years old and still scared of the dark. My eyes can’t play tricks on me if they’re closed, I tell myself every night. I lay back down; waiting patiently for sleep, but it only comes in swells. That’s not a shallow attempt at being poetic. I can literally feel the waves of sleep slide over my body at night. You even could say that it has the distinct feeling of being dipped into the ocean on a warm summer’s day. But I won’t. The waves start at the tips of my toes, slowly making its way up and over my calves, my knees, to my thighs. Some night’s are stronger than others. If I’m lucky it is quick, like a flash flood if we’re keeping with the water metaphors. The wave is over me before I have time to take a last gasp of air and I’m under. If that night’s is a particularly strong wave, I’m suddenly struck with the sensation of lifting. Then my legs will shudder. I’ve seen commercials for restless leg syndrome. Does everything have to be a syndrome these days? The shudder always wakes me up from this sad crack at sleep; I can feel the wave dropping me. But I always wake up before I hit the bottom. And so we start again; toes, calves, thighs, torso, fingers, arms, chest, head. Eventually sleep will come, but in a twisted form. I’m asleep but very aware. Unconscious consciousness. My body may be motionless but my mind is as active as ever. My brain, still mostly awake, forces me to take into account every gentle sound that surrounds my bed. It takes these interruptions and incorporates them into the stream of nightmares I am barraged with nightly. I am Morpheus’ plaything. Each one more heinous than the next. It is only when we sleep that we realize how much we don’t deal with during the day. Each night is like our own personal therapy session. Unfortunately mine is led by Tim Burton, M.D. My dreams can be as theatrical and preposterous as Burton’s storylines. They can also be as beautiful. I am amazed at the terrifying details my mind is able to create in such a short period of time. It is during these moments I am grateful for how lightly I sleep. A loud raindrop on my air conditioner can bring me back into consciousness. Pull me back into a world of suffocating darkness somewhere between dream and reality. Every night dims the line a little more. ]]> tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/008//606.5292 2007-11-11T19:47:14Z 2007-11-11T22:04:33Z

I don't know what's up with that cheesy 50's horror flick title, it just felt right. So here's my attempt at an autobiographical lie. I'm a horrible sleeper and to make it worse my dreams are usually terrifying and extremely...

Arielle S Baer I don't know what's up with that cheesy 50's horror flick title, it just felt right. So here's my attempt at an autobiographical lie. I'm a horrible sleeper and to make it worse my dreams are usually terrifying and extremely realistic. My sleeping problems are really important to me, so much so that sometimes I find myself exaggerating when it comes to how little sleep I get. Though that's a difficult thing to pinpoint in general. So maybe I'm not exaggerating? Either way we haven't really touched on sleep or dreams too much this semester and like I said it's something I'm really interested in, something that I'm constantly thinking about so I figured I'd go with that. I haven’t slept in days. No, that’s too much of an exaggeration. I’ve had moments of rest here and there during the night. Rest, ha. What’s so restful about this sleep imposter? Every night it’s exactly the same. I lay my head down on the pillow waiting for Hypnos, God of Sleep, to come and take me away. Do something. Anything! But I just lay there with eyes wide open. Often sleeps eludes me to the point that my eyes don’t even understand that they should be shut. I try to close one. Then the other. I slowly count myself into slumber. One…two…three…It’s torturous to keep them closed for so long. They spring open and here we are back at stage one. Is it any coincidence that Death is the half brother of Sleep? Maybe Torment is their second cousin. I lay down, waiting patiently for sleep but it only comes in swells. That’s not a shallow attempt at being poetic. I can literally feel the waves of sleep slide over my body at night. It starts at the tips of my toes and slowly moves its way up and over my calves, my knees to my thighs. If it’s a particularly strong wave, my legs will shudder. This shudder always wakes me up from this sad crack at sleep. We start again; toes, calves, thighs, torso, fingers, arms, head. I’m asleep but still aware. My brain, mostly awake, forces me to take into account every gentle sound that surrounds my bed. It takes these interruptions and incorporates them into the stream of nightmares I am barraged with nightly. I am Morpheus’ plaything. Each one more heinous than the next. It is during these moments I am grateful for how lightly I sleep. A loud raindrop on my air conditioner can bring me back into consciousness. Bring be back into a world of darkness somewhere between dream and reality. Every night that line dims a little more. tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/008//606.5285 2007-11-11T17:41:15Z 2007-11-11T18:21:25Z

CONSCIOUSNESS REPORT #7 Well, I was trying to come up with something to write about for this thing when I decided to just go with what's right around the corner: my birthday! (woohoo!) Tomorrow I'm turning 24. There are so...

Arielle S Baer CONSCIOUSNESS REPORT #7 Well, I was trying to come up with something to write about for this thing when I decided to just go with what's right around the corner: my birthday! (woohoo!) Tomorrow I'm turning 24. There are so many things to talk about when it comes to birthdays. Growing up I always made such a big deal out of them, I guess I still do. But more in the sense that I make sure everyone knows that it's coming. I don't generally do anything for them, I just like to have people be aware. Then I've always had friends who basically hid in a dark, warm corner for the duration of their birthdays. I could never understand what they were afraid of. Ok, getting older can be a bit of shock but I'm completely looking forward to it. I've always been friends with kids who were older than me, everyone I work with is substantially older than me (and they make sure to remind me of it, often) so I've never been afraid of age. I actually always remember embracing it. ]]> tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/008//606.5177 2007-11-07T02:19:38Z 2007-12-11T19:21:11Z

Well, I was going to write about Metallica's video for One but since Dominik completely stole my thunder I guess I'll have to go in a completely different direction with this post. The idea of the "authenticity" of the autobiography...

Arielle S Baer Well, I was going to write about Metallica's video for One but since Dominik completely stole my thunder I guess I'll have to go in a completely different direction with this post. The idea of the "authenticity" of the autobiography really struck me. Maybe because as an autobiography we are led to believe that this is the most authentic account we could be getting. It is the author's personal story being told, through eye witness accounts. What else could be more authentic a story? Yet a few examples were brought up in class where we see that maybe we could be giving the author too much credit on this front. Or are we? Lying may not be considered an authentic memoir, it can be seen as an authentic portrait of a troubled childhood. She even explained at the end of the book that she had to fight with her editors over the genre the manuscript fit in. Fact or Fiction? They weren't sure, and I don't think she was completely sure either. Even though a perfect genre may not exist yet for Lying, I still think Slater's account was completely authentic in that she reached her intended goal. So while Bauby's memoir might not be completely true, I do believe it is authentic in that he was trying to show his readers the deep despair he was in, and what he made of it, something he completely succeeded at. Ok somehow this post shifted towards Slater, to bring it back to Bauby I'll bring up another example of questionable authenticity. When John brought up the fact that the reader is distanced from the book because it was translated, I couldn't help but think of Gabriel Garcia Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude translated by Gregory Rabassa, who actually teaches at QC and spoke to one of my classes...which I unfortunately missed. But one thing that I was told about his speech was that he told the class how Marquez had said that Rabassa's translation was actually better than the original text. That completely blew my mind - One Hundred Years of Solitude is one of my favorite novels of all time and to think that this entire time I had been contributing this genius on the page to Marquez when it all might belong to the guy who took it from Spanish to English? So hard to wrap my mind around. Now Bauby's book was technically translated twice, you could say. Who knows what each of these people added to the work? And if I was Bauby, in the condition that he was, basically writing my last will and testament, and I saw that this person who was helping me was actually helping me to the point where my prose was improved upon...I'm not sure if I would actually say anything, I might just let it happen.]]> tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/008//606.5043 2007-11-03T19:20:56Z 2007-11-03T19:55:23Z

CONSCIOUSNESS REPORT #6 (so I just remembered that last night I dreamt about posting in this blog. I can't at all remember what though...) Last weekend I went to go see 30 Days of Night the horror flick about vampires...

Arielle S Baer 30 Days of Night the horror flick about vampires that prey on an Alaskan town during the month when they have no sunlight. Actually it wasn't really typical horror. There weren't moments where things jumped out at you or you were wondering what was behind the door. It was suprisingly good and very beautifully made. Yeah there was a lot of blood, which I'm never good with. Like I say my sister's the doctor in the family not me. She used to watch those televised surgeries, like while she was eating dinner sometimes. I never understood her. I just get really lightheaded when I see blood and ugh, just not my thing. ]]> I guess thats why I always found it weird that I liked horror movies so much. I really hate blood but I love a good bloody flick. I actually took notice while I was watching the movie last week that I was really grossed out and nauseous but laughing at the same time. It's also like my fear of heights yet love of roller coasters. The part right in the beginning of the ride, when you're going up high to be dropped, agonizing for me. I have a panic attack, I freak out, I start bargaining with god not to kill me, and I don't even believe in god. Yet once that part is over and we're flipping around, I'm loving it. I'm so scared I literally start laughing. And once it's over I just want to go again. It might be a nervous habit, laughing when I'm scared. But I get a lot of enjoyment out of it too. I don't remember what I was watching but I saw something on horror flicks on tv and they were saying that people like to be scared because we live in such a comfortable society but still have our natural fight or flight behavior. So I guess subconsciously we're still looking for that animalistic part of ourselves and horror movies is a good place to find that. Did that make sense? Sort of...well as much as that explanation makes sense I still find it completely odd that I get so much enjoyment out of fear. During the movie I would grab at my friends arm, completely terrified, then start clapping and laughing after someone's throat got ripped out. Later he told me that my reactions were almost as entertaining as the movie. tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/008//606.4859 2007-10-28T22:28:02Z 2007-10-29T00:09:08Z

OK I know that title is kind of disturbing, but keep reading and you'll understand...maybe...hopefully...either way I loved that book growing up so let's just pretend it's all about that... Reading Slater's Lying was incredibly enjoyable, probably my favorite book...

Arielle S Baer OK I know that title is kind of disturbing, but keep reading and you'll understand...maybe...hopefully...either way I loved that book growing up so let's just pretend it's all about that... Reading Slater's Lying was incredibly enjoyable, probably my favorite book so far this semester. I loved it so much I called up my mom mid-read to recommend it to her. I was giving her a brief rundown of what I had read so far and when I got to the part about the phantom smells Slater got right before seizures she stopped me and goes "Oh yeah I get those sometimes. I'll smell something and a very strong memory will be attached to it." I was completely shocked. I hadn't told her anything about the smell being attached to memories. Truthfully it was a piece of the story I couldn't really understand, I guess its just one of those things you have to experience to understand. My mom's had really bad migraines ever since she was a child. I remember growing up she would just be in bed for days unable to open her eyes, or just passed out from painkillers. They've always been severe and most treatments were completely ineffective. I remember that she used to get phantom smells when she was having particularly bad migraines. Sometimes she'd come down to the kitchen and ask us what was burning and we'd all kind of just stare at her. The closest I ever got to that was when I'd have really bad allergy attacks and everything would be so stuffed that my senses were all confused and I'd either smell things that weren't there or have things smell very wrong. Migraines, seizures it's all up there in the noggin so I guess it makes sense that they would have these things in common. Then when we got to the auras it just got creepy. My mother always used to say that she would get waves of creativity when she was having a migraine. In fact she wrote most of her Masters English thesis during a migraine. I was in high school then. I remember learning in French class that one of the Lumière brothers had intense migraines and had invented the machinery behind moving pictures during a particularly bad migraine. Now my mom never had any form of Muchausen and she's never made up wild stories, but these small similarities are still kind of eerie in and of themselves. tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/008//606.4836 2007-10-27T02:10:31Z 2007-10-27T02:37:32Z

(That line is a quote from a Tegan & Sara song - it came on just as I was pressing save. Freaky!) Memory is a funny thing, isn't it? I spent so much time in high school (and hated almost...

Arielle S Baer (That line is a quote from a Tegan & Sara song - it came on just as I was pressing save. Freaky!) Memory is a funny thing, isn't it? I spent so much time in high school (and hated almost every minute of it) and now I can barely remember any part of it. Friends will bring up stories, even just mention old classmates and a lot of the time I find myself completely lost. I can't connect names with faces, teachers with classes, brief memories with the grade in which it occured. The few friends I kept from high school are always shocked and confused at my complete lack of memories from those four years. Not that they enjoyed it (I live by this theory: never trust anyone that liked high school) but at least they still remember it. I don't remember forcibly erasing my memory on purpose. I can just picture myself sitting on my floor, shaking back and forth repeating "forget! forget!" But, no, not at all that dramatic. It just kind of happened gradually. People would mention things and I started to realize that if I tried to think back to those specific moments I just had nothing. I never really thought it was weird, well ok I thought it was a little weird, but I didn't really care. I had hated those times anyways, I wasn't missing anything. I chocked it up to post traumatic stress or something. I had such a horrible time there tha my brain just did me a favor and locked those memories away in a filling cabinet. Has anyone seen the sorta good adaptation of the Stephen King book Dreamcatcher - basically there is this scene in one character's head which is basically like a giant office and there is this monster trying to get to some of his memories so he is running around trying to hide them. Yeah like I said, only sorta good. So that's how I kind of imagine it. While reading The Lost Mariner I couldn't help but let my mind wander to these thoughts. If I remember correctly, no specific reason was ever given for why Jimmie G lost all of these memories. While I'm sure it was more complicated than my high school memory loss story, I kept wondering what was happening the exact moment that Jimmie lost his memory. Let's say it really is some kind of psychotic episode and not a result of brain damage, how horrible must that experience have been to force someone to lose all those years, and never allow to gain anymore. That was in the back of my mind the entire time reading - what was that exact moment? Was it an exact moment? Was it gradual? I'm leaning towards the former...just because it's so much more dramatic!! tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/008//606.4524 2007-10-20T23:33:50Z 2007-10-20T23:49:42Z

I went the traditional route and chose one of the blogs Prof Tougaw suggested. I went with the Mixing Memory blog. It must have been the "occasional side of whatever the hell else I want to talk about" bit that...

Arielle S Baer Mixing Memory blog. It must have been the "occasional side of whatever the hell else I want to talk about" bit that got me. I wasn't really sure what I'd find there but I was presently suprised when I found this post entitled "Women in Math, Science, and Engineering, and Playing Video Games." Now that sounded interesting. The post discussed the idea that females always perform worse than males on spatial reasoning and spatial attention tasks. He ties in a study done with first person shooter video games proving this theory but also proving that if both genders played long enough, the difference in their abilities disappeared. While I felt that the author made a lot of interesting and valid points I couldn't help but feel like he had left out a huge one. If all of these numbers are correct then doesn't this prove that women are able to learn more, faster? Not only that - but they are able to learn things they naturally have a disadvantage at extremely fast and extremely well. Both genders started playing the video game with the little to no first shooter experience and after playing for ten hours, both genders spatial reasoning improved greatly. But what was interesting is that the female players improved at a much greater rate. The males improved 10% while the females improved 17%. If they both started with the same amount of experience we can only assume that they would improve at the same rate, but they don't! Chicks are better at learning things that they are naturally worse at! How cool is that! Girl power!]]> tag:blogs.qc.cuny.edu,2007:/blogs/0907N_1599/008//606.4464 2007-10-18T21:28:19Z 2007-10-18T21:54:43Z

CONSCIOUSNESS REPORT #5 All of this constant change in weather has got me thinking about SAD (seasonal affective disorder). In general, I'm not a fan of light (natural or not) or heat (though dry heat has had its moments), but...

Arielle S Baer SAD (seasonal affective disorder). In general, I'm not a fan of light (natural or not) or heat (though dry heat has had its moments), but with all these gloomy days, and my windowless hell of an office, I've noticed a definite change in my moods.]]> Brazil (I'm so link happy today!). Recently one of the poor saps in here was moved to a different office. He had prime location, right by the door. I snapped it up as fast as I could. So now I get a view of two windows through the office across the hall from me. Wow, my life sounds sad at this moment. I moved in the summer so I don't think I actually noticed how much sun I was getting. I just assumed there was always this much light here and I just had a bum rap staring at a corner. But now that it's perpetually gross and foggy outside we (meaning myself and the guy who's office I stare at) don't quite get the sunlight we used to. I sit at a computer all day, 8 - 9 hours a day, usually without anytime for lunch. So my time outside each day is a short 15 - 20 minutes while I run out for food. Who knew that this tiny sliver of sunlight would actually make that much of a difference. Yet somehow it has. Now that it's been gloomy for...how long has it even been like this? I find my days dragging more, I'm much more lathargic during the day. We also have horrible ventilation in here, so with 4 computers, 3 tvs and one printer we tend to generate A LOT of heat throughout a day. I was talking about SAD wasn't I? Well, mostly what I was thinking is that I never really believed in it before. Or maybe it just seemed to obvious to be categorized as a "disorder." It's like what Maryellen said about over medication in this country - people are sad when it rains...well I'm not I love the rain, how about fog? I went to Seattle once for 4 days, rained the entire time, with fog so thick I could barely see my hand. Made me understand the '90's a lot more...but back to SAD! It's like creating a disorder for people who are saddened by the image of a puppy being slaughtered. Wouldn't that be the normal reaction? I should hope so. It's a puppy for god's sake! So yeah there's less sunlight in the winter and it makes some pple down, but what about those poor fools in Alaska where there's no sunlight (or only sunlight) for months at a time! That has to destroy you mentally. I'm not sure where this tangent was actually leading to, but I guess that's the beauty of consciousness reports. (I LOVE GOOGLE IMAGES)]]>