Down the Rabbit Hole?

Dear Readers,

Every now and again when we're out in the big wide world we see people who look like people we know. Generally, these lookalikes are called Doppelgangers. It's always fascinating when we run across someone who looks just like our cousin, or sister, or best friend. Now this doesn't just happen with people we know. More than once, I am sure all of you have seen someone who looks just like a celebrity  or just how you imagined your favorite book character to look.

This isn't uncommon, especially when you consider how many people there are in the world. What is uncommon, though, is seeing so many Doppelgangers within a short space of time.

The other day I was on the elevator, heading back up to my room, when who should step into the box but Sam Winchester!

For those of you who don't know, Sam Winchester is one of the two main characters from Supernatural.

Now, for about 15 seconds I was about to have a major fan girl moment. But then, I realized this was real life, and that would probably scare him away. So I chose to just stare at him subtly until he got off the elevator. Because that's not creepy. Right? ...Guys...?

Only a couple of days later I was walking to get myself some coffee. As I'm walking through the crowd I am two steps away from running into the more modern approximation of Shaggy Rogers.

 It was insane. He was gone before I had a chance to say anything.

 At this point, I am seriously wondering if my campus has started to drift into some fictional dimension. Slowly, only a few characters bleeding through at a time.

That, however, is very silly. As an educated woman, I know that this is largely ridiculous (Though can we really discount the possibilities of other dimensions where these people [or approximations of these people] exist? I don't think so.).

I was willing to put this thought behind me. So I found a couple of men who looked like they stepped out of tv land. I'm sure that happens all the time.

Until this weekend. I was walking through the lobby of my building when I saw someone I never expected. I saw the Cancer Man, from The X-Files!

For a moment, I was even positive he was smoking indoors, even though that's a big no no. You also may notice something different about my outward reaction to the Cancer man. That's because that man is terrifying. I'm not sure how many of you have watched X-Files, but I wouldn't want to mess with that man.

Readers, I don't know if there really are that many Doppelgangers around here. It seems unlikely that I'd've seen so many within the a week and a half.

Perhaps this place really is slipping through a rift in time and space. If so, I only expect good things to come...As long as I don't keep running into Cancer Man.

My Little Piece of Wonderland

Dear Readers,

Today, I want you to take a journey with me. Before we start on this journey, in order to get the full effect of what I am going to describe, I would suggest listening to this: Share the magic!

For those of you who do not instantly recognize this, it is the theme for the 2010 Tim Burton version of Alice in Wonderland. I have simply fallen in love with this entire score, it is all beautiful, but this is not quite the beginning of our adventure, Readers.

Last Sunday I was in my dorm, as usual, when I got the strong urge to get up and go do something (possibly because I hadn't left my room since Friday...). As usual, when I get ready to go somewhere, I make sure I have my mp3 player, the world is always much more exciting with music in it. Generally, when I turn my music on, I pick a song at random then begin on my way. Today was no different. I chose some popular tune, perhaps "50 Ways to Say Goodbye" because I have been favoring that song lately. Anyhow.

As I leave my room, I consider going to the elevator as I usually do, but today, I am not in a hurry. Today, I will take the stairs, down 11 floors. This, Readers, is where the adventure begins.

It would be rude of me to assume that everyone is familiar with the story of Alice in Wonderland, as I am sure that, even with as many variations as there have been, someone is unfamiliar with the story. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland is a story that chronicles the adventures of a young girl named Alice in a strange, dream-like world.

Perhaps the most memorable scene from any adaptation of the story is when Alice falls into the rabbit hole, the doorway, if you will, between the real world and Wonderland. As she falls through what appeared to be a normal rabbit hole everything started changing. Around her were all sorts of peculiar things.

What, you may be asking, does this have to do with you walking down 11 flights of stairs?

If you wait just one more moment, I am getting to that part. As I had described, I had turned my music on. Whatever that initial song was, was over by the time I had made it to the stairs. By chance, the theme that I gave you before I started this recounting of the tale began to play.

Think for a moment, of a time in your life where you were filled with giddy apprehension. There is no easy way to describe what it is this music makes me feel, but I think that may be the closest. It's a feeling that builds in the chest, and no matter what you do you cannot stop smiling. Perhaps you even giggle.

The song began as I began my descent, down the rabbit hole, as it were. And, as if the Universe knew that I was already filled with the wonder of the music, something brilliant and unexpected happened.

Join me on a pictorial recreation of my journey:

The first few landings are very much the same, there is nothing all too interesting, you get the idea. 

 They start to change, just a little, becoming slightly more worn looking, slightly more old.

 And then they change completely!

The feeling of the music, combined with the changing of the stairwell was one of the most magical moments of my life. For a moment, when I had my hands on the door, I was convinced that I was going to step out, not into the city I knew to be there, but into my own wonderland.

If only this story could be filled with a little more magic, I hear you saying.

Never worry, I would never leave my readers wanting.

I must confess that I did not take these pictures on that Sunday. When I knew that I wanted to share these pictures I went to take them. To help relive the magic I felt, I turned the theme on repeat, and started my journey back down. I left through that side door to go back through the front of the building (let's be honest, it was partially to check my mail, but mostly to use the elevator).

Once I got off on my floor, I was treated with one of the most amazing sights I have ever seen. After you leave the elevator on my floor there is a small area that is called a "lounge" basically, it is a wide hallway with a couch on either side.

On each couch sat an older man, roughly the same age, nearly the same build, and looking as if they could very well have been brothers, posted as if sentries...

Is That Good for Your Teeth?

Dear Readers, 

My favorite thing to study is Literature. I don't have a preference as to when, where or by whom it was written. This includes both poetry and prose. I love it all. Luckily for me this works well with the fact that I am working on becoming an English Major. There is, however, one class I have shied away from in the past. That class is Women's Literature. "But why?" I hear people calling from the cheap seats. I will tell you why, Readers. I really have a low tolerance for people who are intolerant. "A-hahaha," I hear you calling, "That is a good one, intolerant of intolerance." It's true. Perhaps my least favorite form of intolerance comes in the form of the angry feminist. Everything that women deal is Men's fault. Everything a man says or does is some how rude and degrading. 

This is what I was wary of. However, I decided that it was high time to expand my literary knowledge and take a literature course focused on woman writers. The very first day I could tell that I was going to enjoy the class. The professor, much to my relief, is not an angry feminist, or if she is she keeps it hidden well so that her students can form their own opinions. 

Like with every class, this one is full of interesting people. Probably the most interesting is the woman who has chosen to sit by/near me. 

She really is a lovely lady. Perhaps a bit loud, but who isn't from time to time. Everyone knows that person who has a problem with the concept of whispering. This is her. 

Readers, there are somethings I just cannot stand. Some things make me so angry I just want to throw bricks through windows. I have learned to deal with these things. 

One of those things, however, is the sound of chewing. It's not fair, I know. People need to eat. But the sound of chewing drives me to a near homicidal rage. It is only made worse when that person is chewing ice. I am 90% positive that is all this woman brings in her large cup. There's no liquid in there. Just ice. That she wants to crunch. Right at my elbow. 

Now, before I go on, I want to give you a short history lesson. 

This is Sylvia Plath. You may be most familiar with her book The Bell Jar. What you may or may not know about her is that she was suicidal for the majority of her life, this eventually was the cause of her death. Her sorrow is evident in her works, as is to be expected from a writer feeling any strong emotion. 

We read a poem by her titled "Lady Lazarus" in my Women's Literature class, which I have linked there. This poem is about her suicide attempts and how people treat her because of it. This was a very controversial poem when it was published and probably would be today as well, due to some of the themes she uses to get her point across. 

I told you that story so that I could tell you this one. We read her poem aloud in class, and then were charged with figuring out just what it was the poet was attempting to get across. Perhaps one of my favorite poetic analysis moments as a student comes from this. We were on the stanza, "The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?/The sour breath/Will vanish in a day" (lines 13-15). "What is she talking about?" We were asked. Though some of us in the class knew what we thought the answer was we stayed quiet, not wanting to be mocked for our wrong answer. My Ice Crunching neighbor didn't seem to have this hesitation, however. She looks from the poem, up to the professor and boldly proclaimed, "She drunk." It took all of my will power to hold in my laugh. Not because I thought her answer was foolish. No. Because it was so simple. So true to life. Why would your breath be sour? You were drinking all night. It'll pass. 

If I get to hear more brilliantly simple ideas as to what the literature is saying, I have no problem listening to ice crunching.  

Glorious Facial Hair Choices

Dear Readers,

For those of you who may not know, I grew up (largely [that was an unintentional, but hilarious weight pun, you can laugh]) in a small, but ever expanding, town called Grants Pass. Feel free to look it up. I then decided I was done with the small town feel and jumped into Portland to go to school. It is because of this that I still find something new and exciting in the inhabitants of this city.

As I was walking to class the other day I saw something that was, in all truth, nothing out of the ordinary. It was a man who was making a questionable facial hair choice. He had, what is called, a neckbeard. This is, as you can imagine, a beard which one grows on the neck. This is not a new trend:



The very well known writer, Henry David Thoreau sported one, at least for a time.

This, however, does not make the style any less questionable.

For one man, though, my opinion of the neckbeard has changed. It was just after I had gotten off of the elevator with the woman who could not move her head. I was walking across the street, toward the building that I needed to enter. That is when I saw him.

Generally, the men you encounter sporting a neckbeard look serious, perhaps even a bit somber. Not this man, no. He had a small smile on his face, as if the universe was going his way that day. He wore a hood, as if to signify that he was part of the prestigious and glorious Order of Neckbeardedness. The smile on his face could only mean one thing. After his classes, when the sun started to set on our fair city, he became a masked hero. Oh yes, there is a smile that denotes that. Perhaps he is not the hero that this city deserves, but the one that we need. The one who keeps our children safe during the darkest of nights. 

Thank you, masked neckbeard man. Thank you

Do All People Have Necks?

Dear Readers,

The day was still young, not even yet ten in the morning. I had already left my room, ready to greet the day with my normal level of enthusiasm. I knew it was cold out, it had been for a while, but my destination was only a block from my starting point, there was no need to bundle up too much. So there I was, waiting to descend the eleven floors to the lobby of my building.

All was quiet for the first couple of floors, the elevator softly singing out as we passed each new door. Just about half way down we slowed to a stop. Of course, I have no issues sharing the elevator with people! That is what it is made for. What happened next though was far more funny to my still half asleep brain than it probably should have been. A young woman with her face hidden in her phone screen entered the little box. That alone was not the funny part.

The funny part was that she seemed to have tied her scarf in a neck brace fashion. She could not tilt her head, nor move it side to side to look around. Whenever she wanted to look at something beyond the range of her natural vision, she had to move her whole torso. Admittedly, she reminded me instantly of this (warning: there is sound attached). I had to pretend I was very busy on my own phone, too busy, in fact, to look at her any longer. 

In her defense, I am sure she was much warmer than I was.

Welcome!

01/18/13

Dear Readers,

Welcome to what will become a source of all things that I find to be amusing in any way. I think I am quite hilarious  and in the end, that really is all that matters. For the first day or so I will be adding all of the ideas I have already posted elsewhere. After that, I will, more than likely, drop my rate of posting (blogging? [musing?]) down to about twice a week.

-Kris