Thomas Gray: Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College

[...]

Alas, regardless of their doom,
The little victims play!
No sense have they of ills to come,
Nor care beyond today:
Yet see how all around 'em wait
The ministers of human fate,
And black Misfortune's baleful train!
Ah, show them where in ambush stand
To seize their prey the murderous band!
Ah, tell them they are men!

These shall the fury Passions tear,
The vultures of the mind
Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear,
And Shame that skulks behind;
Or pining Love shall waste their youth,
Or Jealousy with rankling tooth,
That inly gnaws the secret heart,
And Envy wan, and faded Care,
Grim-visaged comfortless Despair,
And Sorrow's piercing dart.

Ambition this shall tempt to rise,
Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter Scorn a sacrifice,
And grinning Infamy.
The stings of Falsehood those shall try,
And hard Unkindness' altered eye,
That mocks the tear if forced to flow;
And keen Remorse with blood defiled,
And moody Madness laughing wild
Amid severest woe.

Lo, in the vale of years beneath
A grisly troop are seen,
The painful family of Death,
More hideous than their Queen:
This racks the joints, this fires the veins,
That every labouring sinew strains,
Those in the deeper vitals rage:
Lo, Poverty, to fill the band,
That numbs the soul with icy hand,
And slow-consuming Age.

To each his sufferings: all are men,
Condemned alike to groan,
The tender for another's pain;
The unfeeling for his own.
Yet ah! why should they know their fate?
Since sorrow never comes too late,
And happiness too swiftly flies.
Thought would destroy their paradise.
No more; where ignorance is bliss,
'Tis folly to be wise.

what if this were (still) the widespread opinion:

"Nature, then, having placed the stronger mind where she gave the stronger body, and accompanied it with a more enterprising ambitious spirit, the custom that consigns to the male sex the chief command in society, and all the offices which require the greatest strength and ability, has a better foundation than force, or the prejudices that result from it. The hard, laborious, stern, and coarse duties of the warrior, lawyer, legislator, or physician, require all tender emotions to be frequently repressed. The firmest texture of nerve is required to stand the severity of mental labour, and the greatest abilites are wanted where the duties of society are most difficult. It would be as little in agreement with the nature of things to see the exclusive possession of these taken from the abler sex, to be divided with the weaker, as it is, in the savage condition, to behold severe bodily toil inflicted on the feeble frame of the woman, and the softness of feeling, which nature has provided her with for the tenderest of her offices, that of nurturing the young, outraged by contempt, menaces, and blows."

Catherine Napier, Women's Rights and Duties, 1838.

less adventurous

I made Spanish food today. A big, brilliant, acidic pot of gazpacho and two gooey, oily, delicious Spanish tortillas. My roommates wondered where the corn and flour were... and I wondered where the taste was. The taste of Spain. I concede that it was a valiant effort. The gazpacho was thick enough and the tortillas stayed together (thanks to my good friend, Cooks magazine). But it just didn't taste the same. The tomatoes are grown in different ground and the eggs are laid out of different chickens... or gallinas, I suppose, in Spain. I try to remedy the problem by using Spanish recipes, hoping that taste will just come by virtue of the fact that i'm reading in Spanish, words that were delivered with Spanish intention. But these recipes tend to be overly vague and strange to my American eyes. And if I went by memory, my señora's verbal instructions, I would put a cup of oil in to a frying pan and not know where to go from there. So instead of trying, I shy away from Spanish cooking and eating all of the exotic previously living things I ate in Spain because the air is different here in Santa Barbara, and for some reason, nothing tastes the same.

cloud cover

I ventured out of my bubble of a world today, and as soon as I got on the freeway headed away from campus, the clouds broke and it was sunny.

Funny because it's been overcast and cold for the past two days, which has encouraged all of the weekend beach bums to change into a pair of sweats and uggs and study for their finals instead of going to the beach. Turns out the change in weather from March to summer was a trick.

Well, it's sunny somewhere, right? Just like it's 5:00 somewhere at all times, it's always sunny somewhere. So the next time I get depressed and feel inactive as a result of the weather, i'm going to leave I.V. and it'll probably be sunny.

I tend to think there's a dark cloud covering I.V. for a reason, being the "den of debauchery" that it is (that is such a Nexus phrase). However, since I went to interview the Dean of Students a few weeks ago, i've been trying my hardest to love I.V. She loves I.V. in such a beautiful and articulate way, and while I tend to get annoyed by the parking problems and the idiot youth walking around in the middle of the street, she sees it as all part of the charm. The unique world that is this little town with skinny streets where the average age is 21 and the daily occupation of most is the beach.

I suppose when I sit here with my curtains closed listening to the waves, I can't help but love it here. And when i'm in my more amused moods I can't help but smirk at the shenanigans... the car that was blocking in our parking spaces all night, the raccoons who eat the trash in the middle of the night, the cats that get in fights in the construction site next door, the homeless people, the people that dig through the trash for cans, the number of people wearing flip-flops and bathing suit tops. And the guys who hit golf balls off their roofs. Only in I.V.

nice to meet you

The word for the day is pleasantry.

And i've always wondered: if humans know so well the game of pleasantries, why must we all continue to play it? The handshakes, nice-to-meet-yous, smiles, pleases, and thank-yous: wouldn't it be quicker and much less fake if we all were to go by a new game of just relax?

I'm not rude. I sometimes forget to express my pleasure at having met someone I will never see again, and I sometimes forget to thank the waiter that refills my water, but I have a good handshake, a quick smile, and a habit of saying sorry. I have been socialized well to dress up when I have interviews, sit up straight (in order to not untuck my ironed white button-down shirt), and not crack my knuckles or bite my nails. And it generally works. My charm is not infallible, but I have found for myself a good number of jobs, internships, and interviews for articles (not to mention gotten myself out of a few sticky situations) by playing several of my best pleasantry cards.

In fact, most of my everyday interactions with people would probably change only slightly as a result of me one day dropping all my remaining pleasantry cards in the lagoon. Perhaps I am, again, well-socialized in this respect, but I don't mind being nice to people. I do mind putting on a mask, a highly uncomfortable skirt, button-down shirt, and heels to go impress people I don't know. In interviews (and indeed in most conversations) we spend so much time on pleasantries and skirting around the issues that we don't ever get to the meat, the point. Much like my last English paper. Much like any encounter with a boy at a party or downtown. The real purpose to most interactions are glossed and glazed over so many times they look and sound nothing like they were intended by the end, and no one really gets any answers or makes any connections.

I met all these people today with a handshake and a smile, feeling highly over-dressed, and they all stared at my resume with a pencil in hand, asking me things they already knew the answers to. I don't know why it annoyed me so much, but when I walked out of the last interview I took my heels off, untucked my shirt, unzipped my skirt, and sang along to music at the top of my lungs. This is America. Now Spaniards are no strangers to maintaining a steady appearance in dress and demeanor, a fascade, a front, a mask, but they don't go for pleasantries. There is no please and thank you, there is only give me. And the "nice to meet you" is only a word: "encantado" or "placer" -- quick and to the point. The point is that things would be much easier if only I could say what i'm thinking instead of taking that, discarding it, chastizing myself for thinking it, and twisting the vague concept all around into a form hardly recognizable or meaningful, but into something that is acceptable to say in public.