"pretty isn't beautiful. pretty is what changes. what the eye arranges is what is beautiful."
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
life is still being lived
i felt inspired to post on this little blog by my good friend luc, who is currently being amazing over in spain (which is ironically a lesser distance than how far apart we lived in california at a measly five countries away). my poor blog has been so neglected since my life commenced here in denmark. however, instead of making grand apologies followed by promises i don't intent to keep as i usually do, i will just leave it be. ya know? i'm out there living with as much energy as i can muster and it's hard when there's not so much to say. i'm currently in the midst of intense project work and all i can hope is that by december eighteenth there will be words on paper that i'll be proud to put my name upon. i guess this is the life of a self-taught master's student. anyway, here are some photos to jazz this place up along with a quote from a musical that won't stop continuously echoing in my head.
"pretty isn't beautiful. pretty is what changes. what the eye arranges is what is beautiful."
"pretty isn't beautiful. pretty is what changes. what the eye arranges is what is beautiful."
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
velkommen to RUC
Okay, buckle your seat belts while you embark on another ride aboard my crazy train. I'll start from the beginning.
Two Fridays ago was my first encounter with my new school, Roskilde University, also known as RUC. Now, RUC is in a far away land outside of the city where apparently this magical music festival happens. It's really not very far, but I love to exaggerate. It takes about 20 minutes from the city center. Anyway, I really wanted to get off on the right foot with school to ensure the fruition of a great relationship. Obviously, I planned ahead. I made myself directions as I always do. I left basically an hour early to make sure I get there with plenty of time to spare. You'd think I learned from the whole apartment incident to actually read the directions I made myself, right? Of course not right. On my first journey to this new university I didn't bother to find the paper with the directions in my backpack. Instead, I successfully navigate the bus to the station to the platform to the train to the stop and VOILÀ! I'm at the school and I'm even early. Painless. RUC is pretty impressed by me at this point. So, I find the building and I go straight to the classroom. On the projector is a powerpoint with a big "Velkommen ISG!" Which means "Welcome ISG (Society and Globalisation)" in Danish. I'm definitely in the right place. I pick a seat towards the center of a row in the middle of the hall. After about 20 minutes the "welcome day" finally begins. And it's in Danish. I mean like TOTAL DANISH. And I'm stuck sitting there, in the middle of a row with people on both sides of me, wondering if the program I'm enrolled in is taught in a language of which I know not one word. After two full hours of making up dialogue in my head to match their Danish selves, we finally have a break. I let go of my anger and work up the courage to ask one of the professors if I'm in the right place. "Oh, English is in the room directly below us." OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Okay. Mmhm. Yeah. Sure. Turns out I'm a floor above where I need to be. Of course I am. And which room did I write down on my trust sheet of directions I failed to look at? The English room.
In short, the answer is no. I learned nothing from my old man in his underwear experience.
However, since then RUC and I have gotten along rather well. Let me elaborate. After the first actual Global Studies department lecture, we were served complementary wine and the professors hung around to chat with us. Definition cool, I know, but it gets better. Last Friday was our department's "kick off" party.
Here are the reasons it was awesome:
1. What kind of university department has an actual kick off party? Mine.
2. They put up a large circus-like tent outside to make sure the party happened regardless of Denmark's notoriously fickle weather, so we felt exclusive like we we're in fashion week.
3. They hired a band. And not an old people band, but a hip band.
4. They brought in beer on tap along with giant vats of chips, hummus, weird guacamole cheese sauce, and sausages.
5. This is the absolute best reason. The professors poured the beer on tap and served the students to get to know us better. Alright, if that's how you want to get to know me, by all means, please keep pouring.
RUC knows what's up.
Some shots of the campus. I'm proud to call it my university and call myself a nothing because mascots are socially constructed western hegemonic devices and we don't have that here.
Two Fridays ago was my first encounter with my new school, Roskilde University, also known as RUC. Now, RUC is in a far away land outside of the city where apparently this magical music festival happens. It's really not very far, but I love to exaggerate. It takes about 20 minutes from the city center. Anyway, I really wanted to get off on the right foot with school to ensure the fruition of a great relationship. Obviously, I planned ahead. I made myself directions as I always do. I left basically an hour early to make sure I get there with plenty of time to spare. You'd think I learned from the whole apartment incident to actually read the directions I made myself, right? Of course not right. On my first journey to this new university I didn't bother to find the paper with the directions in my backpack. Instead, I successfully navigate the bus to the station to the platform to the train to the stop and VOILÀ! I'm at the school and I'm even early. Painless. RUC is pretty impressed by me at this point. So, I find the building and I go straight to the classroom. On the projector is a powerpoint with a big "Velkommen ISG!" Which means "Welcome ISG (Society and Globalisation)" in Danish. I'm definitely in the right place. I pick a seat towards the center of a row in the middle of the hall. After about 20 minutes the "welcome day" finally begins. And it's in Danish. I mean like TOTAL DANISH. And I'm stuck sitting there, in the middle of a row with people on both sides of me, wondering if the program I'm enrolled in is taught in a language of which I know not one word. After two full hours of making up dialogue in my head to match their Danish selves, we finally have a break. I let go of my anger and work up the courage to ask one of the professors if I'm in the right place. "Oh, English is in the room directly below us." OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Okay. Mmhm. Yeah. Sure. Turns out I'm a floor above where I need to be. Of course I am. And which room did I write down on my trust sheet of directions I failed to look at? The English room.
In short, the answer is no. I learned nothing from my old man in his underwear experience.
However, since then RUC and I have gotten along rather well. Let me elaborate. After the first actual Global Studies department lecture, we were served complementary wine and the professors hung around to chat with us. Definition cool, I know, but it gets better. Last Friday was our department's "kick off" party.
Here are the reasons it was awesome:
1. What kind of university department has an actual kick off party? Mine.
2. They put up a large circus-like tent outside to make sure the party happened regardless of Denmark's notoriously fickle weather, so we felt exclusive like we we're in fashion week.
3. They hired a band. And not an old people band, but a hip band.
4. They brought in beer on tap along with giant vats of chips, hummus, weird guacamole cheese sauce, and sausages.
5. This is the absolute best reason. The professors poured the beer on tap and served the students to get to know us better. Alright, if that's how you want to get to know me, by all means, please keep pouring.
RUC knows what's up.
Some shots of the campus. I'm proud to call it my university and call myself a nothing because mascots are socially constructed western hegemonic devices and we don't have that here.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
this one time i moved to copenhagen
.............................
If we thought I didn't make a fool of myself enough in France, it's a good thing I moved to Copenhagen. It didn't take me more than an hour from the airport to be perceived as completely crazy. Here's the story of my arrival:
I had found a temporary place to live on the internet, so I had written the address down along with some vague directions from the airport. Side note- my directions are always vague, because naturally I consider myself gifted and don't ever read what I wrote down. Anyway, from the airport I'm suppose to take the metro into the city and then hop on a bus which is suppose to magically drop me off outside the door of the apartment. There is only one metro leaving the airport for Copenhagen, so this shouldn't be too hard. I get my little ticket with the correct number of zones I have to travel through then head down this moving sidewalk to the platform. There's already a train there and it looks to me like I have impeccable timing. The people around me are running to board, so obviously I start running, too because it's a big deal to miss a train. Here's the thing though- it's not a big deal to miss a train, because as a wise man once said, "there's always another train." PS: the wise man is my dad. So, I'm running with 2 suitcases and a giant backpack, I make it right up to the doors and turn around. I stop. I look. I READ. Reading really is the most important part. I read the board with all the stops and realize, "HEY. This is not the metro. This is the train and it's going to Sweden." With that, I grab my bags and head back upstairs to find the metro. One disaster adverted at a time. At this point, I'm pretty proud of myself for not blindly boarding a train to Sweden. I find the metro and blah, blah, blah I'm in beautiful Copenhagen. Now, it really is beautiful, except I'm tired and can hardly see anything at all. I walk the streets with my large suitcases and get on the bus. I remind myself that this is the hard part and soon I'll be where I need to be, which is in a bed in a random apartment I found online. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that throughout all of this I haven't actually looked at the paper upon which my directions are scribbled. Only when I forget the name of the bus stop do I pull out my trusty paper. I locate the name of the stop and the address of the apartment. I get off without hassle and find the street. Now, I'm looking for number 13. Aha, number 13 appears and the name of the girl is Christensen. I see E.A. Christensen and push the button. I hear a man's voice, but I'm not too worried because she said someone would be there to let me into the apartment. I tell the man, "It's Noelle" and he hits the buzzer. The door opens and I go in looking for TH, which I guess is how these Danes distinguish one apartment from another. The first floor has nothing with Christensen, so I climb the stairs. I get to the second floor and I see the name E.A. Christensen again. I haul all of my heavy belongings up the stairs. Beginning to sweat, I knock on the door. And who answers?
A man. An old man. 75 - 80 years old. In nothing but his underwear and a pink long sleeve button down shirt.
Of course. Hoping it's the man who's suppose to let me in, but knowing it's absolutely not him, I say again, "I'm Noelle". And he speaks Danish. And I laugh. And he laughs. And we're both confused. I pull out my trusty paper hoping he can read the address and tell me where I went wrong. Upon pulling out the paper, I glimpse at the street number. 17. SEVENTEEN. 17. NOT 13. I'm at 13 and she lives at 17. I pretend I'm not freaking out inside and give him the paper. He leaves the doorway and comes back 2 minutes later and points at the 17. He then proceeds to use hand motions to explain that 17 is 4 away from 13. I smile, apologize, say thank you, and swiftly exit. Feeling like a complete crazy, I walk the 20 feet from 13 to 17 and greet the young girl with the keys to the correct apartment. Inside is a nice, lovely bed for me to sleep the whole day away and think about the lesson I've learned. The lesson being read or be crazy or be in Sweden.
One adventure at a time. Welcome to Copenhagen.
If we thought I didn't make a fool of myself enough in France, it's a good thing I moved to Copenhagen. It didn't take me more than an hour from the airport to be perceived as completely crazy. Here's the story of my arrival:
I had found a temporary place to live on the internet, so I had written the address down along with some vague directions from the airport. Side note- my directions are always vague, because naturally I consider myself gifted and don't ever read what I wrote down. Anyway, from the airport I'm suppose to take the metro into the city and then hop on a bus which is suppose to magically drop me off outside the door of the apartment. There is only one metro leaving the airport for Copenhagen, so this shouldn't be too hard. I get my little ticket with the correct number of zones I have to travel through then head down this moving sidewalk to the platform. There's already a train there and it looks to me like I have impeccable timing. The people around me are running to board, so obviously I start running, too because it's a big deal to miss a train. Here's the thing though- it's not a big deal to miss a train, because as a wise man once said, "there's always another train." PS: the wise man is my dad. So, I'm running with 2 suitcases and a giant backpack, I make it right up to the doors and turn around. I stop. I look. I READ. Reading really is the most important part. I read the board with all the stops and realize, "HEY. This is not the metro. This is the train and it's going to Sweden." With that, I grab my bags and head back upstairs to find the metro. One disaster adverted at a time. At this point, I'm pretty proud of myself for not blindly boarding a train to Sweden. I find the metro and blah, blah, blah I'm in beautiful Copenhagen. Now, it really is beautiful, except I'm tired and can hardly see anything at all. I walk the streets with my large suitcases and get on the bus. I remind myself that this is the hard part and soon I'll be where I need to be, which is in a bed in a random apartment I found online. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that throughout all of this I haven't actually looked at the paper upon which my directions are scribbled. Only when I forget the name of the bus stop do I pull out my trusty paper. I locate the name of the stop and the address of the apartment. I get off without hassle and find the street. Now, I'm looking for number 13. Aha, number 13 appears and the name of the girl is Christensen. I see E.A. Christensen and push the button. I hear a man's voice, but I'm not too worried because she said someone would be there to let me into the apartment. I tell the man, "It's Noelle" and he hits the buzzer. The door opens and I go in looking for TH, which I guess is how these Danes distinguish one apartment from another. The first floor has nothing with Christensen, so I climb the stairs. I get to the second floor and I see the name E.A. Christensen again. I haul all of my heavy belongings up the stairs. Beginning to sweat, I knock on the door. And who answers?
A man. An old man. 75 - 80 years old. In nothing but his underwear and a pink long sleeve button down shirt.
Of course. Hoping it's the man who's suppose to let me in, but knowing it's absolutely not him, I say again, "I'm Noelle". And he speaks Danish. And I laugh. And he laughs. And we're both confused. I pull out my trusty paper hoping he can read the address and tell me where I went wrong. Upon pulling out the paper, I glimpse at the street number. 17. SEVENTEEN. 17. NOT 13. I'm at 13 and she lives at 17. I pretend I'm not freaking out inside and give him the paper. He leaves the doorway and comes back 2 minutes later and points at the 17. He then proceeds to use hand motions to explain that 17 is 4 away from 13. I smile, apologize, say thank you, and swiftly exit. Feeling like a complete crazy, I walk the 20 feet from 13 to 17 and greet the young girl with the keys to the correct apartment. Inside is a nice, lovely bed for me to sleep the whole day away and think about the lesson I've learned. The lesson being read or be crazy or be in Sweden.
One adventure at a time. Welcome to Copenhagen.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Friday, September 28, 2012
21 and fun
Wednesday. Jen turns 21. Holding her glass of wine about to taste alcohol for the first time in her life. "No one told me it was going to burn. I don't like it."
Thursday. "To dissemble your feelings, to control your face, to do what everyone else was doing, was an instinctive reaction." - 1984, Orwell. First day of school. "Science will explain the phenomenon, but art captures the way it feels." Just another reminder that art is completely necessary in this world.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
the start
Started the day at 4:27 AM, 7 minutes before my alarm. I thought it would be entertaining to listen to the Scissor Sisters on full blast. Nothing like a Kiki wake up call to get excited about life before sunrise.
Ending the night with Rufus Wainwright's Across the Universe. In conclusion, nothing is going to change my world. Although, maybe I want it to.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
being stark, being blank
when you know you're just suppose to feel anything at all.. and you can't."Maybe that’s why I’ve stayed in passive voice — to avoid deciding. Whom to tell, when to tell them, what to do now. I’ve thought more than once in the past two days that the numbness isn’t healthy. “Cry,” I will myself, using the imperative. “Collapse in a sobbing heap next to your bed and exorcise the anger and the fear and, most of all, the overwhelming, hateful, puncturing guilt.” I even sat in my apartment making a pooping face, trying hard to disintegrate into anguish, which seems like what a normal person ought to do. But, passively, nothing is felt. Even though so much (and indeed, frighteningly little) is known. No tears are produced, no shame lamented." - the tc, Sean Risse
Friday, September 21, 2012
when you're an addict
a short and in no way comprehensive view into the various cups of coffee i've enjoyed. sometimes shared, sometimes alone, but always a moment to be present and breathe.
the tragic art of coffee and addiction:
L'épicerie, Lyon
Broc, Lyon
the tragic art of coffee and addiction:
Aix-en-Provence
Time Donuts, Lyon
Little, Lyon
4éme, Paris
4éme, Paris
L'épicerie, Lyon
San Remo, Italy
Nice
Broc, Lyon
Four Barrel, San Francisco
Blue Bottle, San Fransisco
Monday, June 25, 2012
Saturday, February 25, 2012
causing a scene in luxembourg
Photos by Sanazle
Just how obnoxious is this extraordinarily large red (velvet) bow atop my head? Well, when you multiply your answer times 73, you can begin to understand the french population's disdain. Whateva, I just really enjoy roaming around Paris in a huge red bow and a paint-splattered Mickey Mouse t-shirt. Speaking of the t-shirt, I received this from my best friend's mother last summer and I became obsessed with it. I mean I still am, I wear it under all of my clothes. Anyway, when I was packing to move to France, my new yet old beloved t-shirt was nowhere to be found. I freaked out and frantically tore apart my house, only to be forced to leave without it. Convinced my older brother stole it (he likes Disney way too much), I wept like a baby daddy finding out he's a baby daddy. Until I went home for break and pulled down my bathrobe from a shelf in the closet. There, hidden in the bathrobe, gleaming like treasure, was this faded Mickey Mouse shirt. I then wept like a baby daddy finding out the baby isn't his. Needless to say, this isn't the last time you'll be seeing this shirt.
That awkward moment when you carry an extremely heavy metal chair across the beautiful Luxembourg gardens and have a really tough time carrying it because your hands and legs are numb from the cold.
That other awkward moment when you start having a dance party while singing show tunes in the quiet and calm Luxembourg gardens.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
blog rant complete with outtakes
Here's the deal- I'm just a little over the whole fashion blogging sphere. I spent a lot of time yesterday cleaning out the list of blogs I follow, because frankly I'm not interested in the high paid bloggers who look models, have zero personality, and literally get all of their "fashionable" clothes for free. There's a huge secret to blogging, we choose to represent ourselves the way we want. When choosing which photos to put up, I become my biggest critic and begin to point out faults with every picture. I don't like that. So in an effort to prove I don't take myself too seriously as a blogger, I have compiled the most ridiculous photos of myself I can find. This is the stuff that didn't make the cut the first time around. Enjoy:
I'm not perfect and I don't want anyone to think I am; being relatable and entertaining as a blogger is everything to me. I definitely don't believe in the "follow me, I'll follow you" mentality. I guess I'm just blogging for the sake of blogging, because it's something I really enjoy. Now, I won't deny that I am trying to persuade you to stop wearing leggings in public. I definitely am. It's all about subtext.
I'm not perfect and I don't want anyone to think I am; being relatable and entertaining as a blogger is everything to me. I definitely don't believe in the "follow me, I'll follow you" mentality. I guess I'm just blogging for the sake of blogging, because it's something I really enjoy. Now, I won't deny that I am trying to persuade you to stop wearing leggings in public. I definitely am. It's all about subtext.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
obligatory valentine's day post
1. If you're in love or whatever. Boring. This song is beautiful, "So, this old world must still be spinning round and I still love you."
2. If you're feeling like me, maybe need a little encouragement. This song is unbelievably beautiful as are the performers, though the camera is a little blurry with tears. "Who made the rule that 2 is better than one, I bet that fool is alone by a phone, coming undone."
3. If you want to just forget about it, you want me to stop talking about it, and you want to dance your little heart out OR you're still in mourning for beloved Whitney Houston. I highly recommend this new jam from Sir Gavin Creel. I know you can dig it. "Oh, I wanna dance with somebody, anybody get me out of this town."
4. If you're crying and you need a mix of classical music and Cee Lo Green, then this is for you. "And I'm like f&@cK U (Valentine's Day)."
When I asked Paris to be my valentine, I was actually asking these beauties above. I've already assumed they'll say yes. 2 more days.
What do you say? 2 more days.
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