Hahaha….best thing ever.

 I’m sitting in the library with Rich, griping about my test grades. Rich smells like Philly Cheesesteak, which reminds me of the first time we kissed. Anyways, this girl just gets up, screams to a guy (whom I later found out she wasn’t even dating) and says a string of things ending with a loud “FUCK YOU AND YOUR DOUBLE STANDARDS!!!” Way to bring an entire group of studyers together to talk about shit.

And I thought I was wearing my own ovaries on the outside.

 On a (majorly) sadder note, they are shutting down Letchworth Village. I know that doesn’t mean a lot to you, but it’s the only abandoned asylum in my area. They are turning it into, you guessed it, high-volume housing. Not that I protest high-volume housing, but it really is a beautiful piece of history. Carl Solomon stayed there for quite some time, and it was lobotomy and ECT centeral. It makes me wonder why we didn’t follow Long Island’s method of turning abandoned crap into parkland for kids to get high in. Oh well, I still have Pilgrim (kinda cool), King’s Park (majorly cool), and Old Main at Utica State (majorly majorly orgasmically I might have an orgasm talking about it unlike most of their patients in 1836 cool). My goal is to: a) get into Old Main and photograph it before they destroy it; and b) get into Building 93 of King’s Park and make it to the top floor (you can clearly see CT and MA from there) without crashing through all 12 floors, getting arrested, or being attacked by some of the “left-behinds” that are still roaming (I kid you not, it’s only been on the market ten years and there are several police reports of this…especially in buildings 105-106 [medical/surgical] which are still in perfect condition). Definitely a daytime, maybe winter project for those short Long Island days.

Anyways, I am off to read important stuff and gripe about Letchworth. Or maybe to read Poe and look at Kirkbride architecture.

By the way, Frank is the cause for everything bad in your life. It’s not what he’s done, it’s what he failed to do. But he’s still a cool guy.

 I am totally wearing my ovaries on the outside today. Nevermind the fact that I feel sick and it’s probably my mother the elementary school worker’s fault, but I can’t stop crying. Like raccoon-like crying (have you ever heard one of those things cry?) to the point I missed my favorite-ist class in the entire world.

And I have 20,000 things to do tomorrow.

AND my weekends are booked:

• This week: Tour of Franklin, Cooperstown, Sharon Springs, etc. with the family.
• Next week: 200 Nights, The Masquerade at New Windsor (ironic since I’m reading “The Masque of Red Death”)
• The week after: Going to Sag Harbor to get a verrrrry important parcel; My brother’s birthday luncheon
• The week after: Ft. Tryon Park
• The week after: Ft. Lee
• The week after: Thanksgiving
• The week after: Dave’s birthday

My life is insane.

As a side note, it seems that reenactors have a knack for putting knives through their hands. Bravo.

It seems that everyone has somehow forgotten about me since my several extended leaves of absence. This is because: a) I have no internet in my dormitory due to a broken port on the boyfriend’s Mac; b) I have been spending more time in the gym than blogging; c) I have not had a single free weekend to myself since, um, Labor Day weekend; d) I am overloaded with work; e)  I am going through a MAJOR life change; or f) All of the above. Which one? You guessed it: f!!! F as in “Fucking work”.

Yeah. So I am really busy. So cut me a break, and I do promise that I usually take five minutes out of the day to read your blogs.

I’m watching Save the Last Dance and yes, I know it’s cheesy, but it was my life. For thirteen years, being in front of the stage was my life. The pointe shoes, the costumes, the makeup. It was a love affair I didn’t get when I was five, but I couldn’t live without when I was eighteen. I grew up in the world of The Dance Workshop, and I never was unfaithful to it. I stuck with it from my first dance and my first costume (“My Heart Belongs to Daddy” in a red sequin spaghetti-strap leotard with lace trim and a lace bow on the butt) to my last dance and my last costume (“Mein Herr” in spandex shorts and a midriff, velvet top). Actually, the last recital was dedicated to me. Me, with the best bourees and the worst case of timing and clumsiness you’ve ever seen. God, how I miss it.

I want to go back so badly, but right now I need my cash for other things, like rent, health insurance, money for college, and whatever else comes ahead. It’ll be a couple of years before I learn. I figure that if I go back, I want to learn hip-hop, since I never got to learn that. It’ll be good if I go live in Boston or New York.

Okay, back to crying about ballet…

So, get this, my doctor recently switched me to YAZ (you know, that new wonder drug that everyone says is amazing?). And I was skeptical at first because I had taken Yasmin two years ago and went psycho on it. I mean, like absolutely paranoid to the point I was considering committing myself as a schizophrenic, but she goes “oh, YAZ has no relation to Yasmin whatsoever.” Which it doesn’t, on a technical level. Yeah, okay.
So anyway, I took YAZ three weeks ago and it has thus been the worst possile three weeks of my life. All I do is cry hystericallly and yell at people. I’ve become depressed to the point where I don’t want to get up in the morning, eat, or go to class. It’s been Hell, and it keeps getting worse. This isn’t like my normal behavior at all.
So, at first, I went on the YAZ website and read the consumer packets that come with the pills. All the packets keep saying that symptoms I am experiencing (such as depression, fatigue, anxiety, mood swings, irregular vaginal bleeding, inability to heal after infection, etc.) happen in >1% of those tested. Bullshit.
Yesterday, I went on the FDA’s website and some other sites written by patients themselves and I found out that YAZ is THE EXACT SAME DRUG as Yasmin. They had to pull Yasmin off the market because it literally made people suicidal to the point they acted on it. So what the makers of Yasmin did was change the package, change the parent corporation, change the coloring, and keep the same exact level of the active ingredient (the entirely synthetic hormone dsrp). I hate to say it, but I highly doubt that changing the pill coloring from yellow to pink will stop people from being depressed.
I then went on to read patient reviews of the drug. The majority (I read well over 100 reviews on several forums and sites) said the same things:
- “makes me feel like I want to kill myself”
- “my boyfriend continually asks ‘what’s wrong? you were fine a minute ago’”
- “I’ve never felt depressed a day in my life; that is, until I took YAZ”
- “It is great birth control, that is, because it entirely wrecks your sex drive”

Yeah? I mean, I highly doubt that out of all the people in the control group for the drug company (which I believe is Glaxo-Smith-Kline) only >1% felt that way. I also read that it is worse for those with a low BMI.
And the sad part is, the FDA approved it because GSK is the one doing the lab tests. I blame the Regan administration for that. Apparently miliraty spending is more important than the welfare of others.

I have currently thrown out the last week of my perscription and I have no desire to take any more forms of the Pill for a long long long time. I can live with using condoms if need be. At least it will save your relationships with others.

“Music is certainly a very great Accomplishment to the LADIES; it refines the Taste, polishes the Mind; and is an Entertainment, without other Views, that preserves them from the Rust of Idleness, that most pernicious Enemy to Virtue.” – John Essex, The Young Ladies Conduct: or, Rules for Education, Under Several Heads (1722)

- Music was an important component in both aristocratic and bourgeois living. Many women had at least some knowledge in either singing or instrumentation.

- Musical ability was seen as a sign of femininity.

- The most common instruments in general were violins, fifes, English Flutes (recorders), flagoletes, and German flutes (tranverse flutes). There is little evidence of organs, glass ‘armonicas, violas, hammered dulcimers, clarinets, oboes, and bassoons, but it is known that there were a few in the Americas.

- The most common musical instruments among women were the harpsichord, English guitar (a ten-string instrument), and flageolete. Women were careful to not choose instruments that would potentially hurt their reputation due to their phallic symbology (e.g. English horns, oboes, and cellos).

- The preliminary instrument of fashion for wealthy women was the harpsichord (later replaced by the piano-forte after the Revolution). The harpsichord began to fall out of fashion as Marie Antoinette began to learn the harp. In 1773, Marie Antoinette wrote a letter to Maria Theresa speaking of the lessons she would take daily.

- Eventually, the harp began to strike controversy as an autoerotic symbol due to the positioning between the females’ legs. This did not stop its popularity though.

- Many aristocratic women hired maitres de musique (music masters) for their daughters. Since many of these were men, parents often chaperoned these events. A depiciton of this can be seen in Choderlos de Laclos’ Les Liasons Dangereuses (1782) with the interaction between Chevalier Darceny and Cecile Volanges.

- Music around camp would have varied for women. Campfollowers most likely would not have carried large instruments (such as the violin or guitar with them). If anything, a smaller flageolete may have been taken along, but it is not sure how long something of that value may have lasted in camp.

If you have any questions, feel free to ask myself or any of the other musicans and ladies during the event!

Sources:
Koda, Harold and Andrew Bolton.  Dangerous Liaisons: Fashion and Furniture in the 18th Century. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006.

Hildebrand David K. “About Early American Music”. The Colonial Music Institute. 18 September 2001. <http://www.colonialmusic.org/Resource/DHessay.htm> 20 September 2007.

Unknown Author. “Make Your Way as a Woman in the Eighteenth Century”. University of Michigan. 30 April 2002. <http://www.umich.edu/~ece/student_projects/make_your_way/index.html> 20 September 2007.

Mainly for me:

- Find out about writing assignment for AMS
- AMS writing assignment
- HIS writing assignment
- ENC writing assignment
- HIS bibliography
- Read The Crucible
- Finish Salem Possessed
- MATH Derive Assignmnet
- Catch up on ENC readings
- Plan talk for tomorrow (damnit where’s my purse???????)
- Mail in rebate
- Take exam

This weekend I went to Geneseo, NY (about an hour south of Rochester) to drive Rich’s sister, Melissa, up to SUNY Geneseo so she can see her boyfriend. It was a long drive up Friday afternoon, but I actually got to go through Pennsylvania for about five minutes. I’ve never been to Pennsylvania before. Kelly, I’ve got a question for you since you’re busy in Pennsylvania reviving Insulin Schock Therapy and all: what do you know about the Guthrie Clinic? There are a lot of signs for it, but I couldn’t see it from the road. I’m guessing it has something to do with epilepsy since Woody Guthrie (you know, the “This Land is Your Land” guy?) spent time at Greystone (in New Jersey…now beautifully abandoned and apparently haunted but you can never really trust the people in Weird NJ. That’s a tangent for a later date). Anyways, I got up there Friday night and Rich and I went to Wal-Mart. People in Wal-Mart (and later, Wegman’s) up there are really dumb. We were like “where do we eat?” and the cashier goes “try the Country Club two miles down the road”. So we go, and now, when I think Country Club I think of pink and green and Long Island Iced Teas. Nope, it was one shack (and quite literally, shack) for golf balls and another shack for snacks. Yeah. We ended up in a crappy Chinese buffet, but it wasn’t too expensive.
Saturday went like this: get up, eat breakfast, shower, eat at Denny’s (my request), nap, eat at Pizza Hut, go back, sleep. Yeah, I have a heavy chest (and now head) cold and I feel like crap. I can barely breathe. I think a hot, steamy shower is in order after this to open up my lungs.
Sunday was easy. Get up, eat breakfast, get dressed, pack, and head back. We stopped by to see mumsie and daddy on the way back. Then Lynn (Rich’s mum) came to get Melissa and we all went out for Sushi in Mamaroneck. Then Rich got me a Frosty (Oh yeah, I kicked and screamed to get one). I love that boy.
Anyways, how about that shower?

It’s like watching a car crash. A really amazing car crash that you can’t turn away from. Watching things: people, hotels, legacies, etc. go down is kind of sad. But also kind of interesting. Oh, I remember when I wanted to be Britney Spears. I also remember being a lot dumber back then.
I really hate people who can’t tell the difference between “your” and “you’re”. It really pisses me off.
The Oxford Comma is real, goddamnit!
I haven’t checked out Married to the Sea in the longest time. I am going to do that now, actually. Hahahah, I just posted one on Rich’s MySpace too.
Classes are going well. I really enjoy Greek and Latin Roots and American Places I. Magical Realism and History of Mexico are tolerable (Latin America doesn’t really interest me much). It’s only Intro. to College Math that kind of kills me. Basically, it’s Math A (for my NYS Regents friends that know what I’m talking about) for college kids. We spent the first week and a half learning how to FOIL. FOIL. You heard me right. Now the only problem with this is that there are some exceedingly stupid kids that don’t know what FOIL is, and that’s slowing me up. Also, the professor doesn’t know how to teach. Literally, I am sometimes like “huh?” when he explains things. And to make it worse, I still can’t do word problems. At all. Sorry, my rant is over. I am kind of excited (I know, weird) for my twenty page paper on the Pastry War.
I applied for my NYC Public Library Card.
I’m addicted to Brand New. It sounds a lot like a mellowed version of Taking Back Sunday, and is a must-listen if you are into emo at all.
New Paltz was okay for the most part, and the full story will be on my other blog.
Taylor is going to be my *almost* neighbor in a couple of weeks.
Okay, now I actually have to go do work.

Sorry, guys, I’ve really sucked at blogging lately. I’ve just been really busy with school and Richard and other things. Not to mention that my internet seems to be defunct (AND…my laptop battery seems to be dead. I damn this IBM-Lenovo merger all to Hell over that). So yeah…
This passed Sunday I was in the hospital again. I’m on, let’s see, day 25 of continous heavy menstrual bleeding. And after four hours of poking me, prodding me, and doing ungodly things to me (really, why did they feel the need to do a saline drip?), they were like “well, nothing appears to be wrong.” Excuse me, but what? I want to be like, “bleeding from an area for 25 days to the point where you can barely get up and are doubled over in pain so badly to warrant a second hospital trip is not normal”. Fucking male gynecologists.
Oh, and I dealt with the singlehandedly snobbiest receptionist ever:

Receptionist: Doctor’s office.
Me: Hi, I was wondering if I could speak to Dr. C.
Receptionist: Dr. C. is not an actual doctor but a CPN. Don’t give her the title of doctor.

My response wanted to be “fuck you, bitch” but that would be rude. So I told her that I would like to speak to the doctor (Oh, sorry, CPN) and that I was in the emergency room and all that. That was Tuesday. It’s Thursday. Yeah.

On a good note, though, I went to the gastroenterologist. And I have delayed digestion. But that is not harmful, requires no treatment, and that makes me happy.