No Bones About It . . .

I am in love.

Don't worry, you don't need to run the other direction. I'm not about to gush about my boyfriend or talk in great detail about how much I love my dog (and how much he loves me back, I know he does, okay?).

Nope, instead I'm going to gush all about my love for anthropology/archaeology and history. Basically what I'm deciding to do with my life. Beware: nerd moment(s) ahead.

A few days ago I was sitting in my archaeology class and it hit me that I would honestly like to grow up and be just like her. She clearly loves her job and her enthusiasm about anthropology and archaeology is contagious.

Recently we were talking about bioarchaeology. Think of the stereotypical scientist digging in the dirt for little pieces of bones and you basically have a bioarchaeologist. So we're discussing antemortem injuries and talking about this recently found skeleton that had a lead bullet lodged in its spine but didn't die until a number of years later during the Bubonic Plague. Then someone brings up lead poisoning and all of a sudden Dr. Birch launches into this story about the Franklin expedition and what the bioarchaeological record taught us.

For those of you who don't know (I didn't) the Franklin expedition was an exploratory expedition through the Canadian Arctic (Dr. Birch is Canadian). After a short time these four explorers were shipwrecked. Luckily, they had enough food supplies to last months because the food supplies were canned. This is possibly the earliest example we have of humans using canning as a way of preserving food. BUT guess what the tin cans were sealed with?

Lead soldering.

So, eventually by trying to simply stay alive, these unlucky explorers sealed (or should we say unsealed, rather) their fate and eventually lost their minds from lead poisoning  Years later an archaeological team found them buried in the snow, miles from their ship, in a tiny little row boat with the finest china that they'd brought and a baby grand piano.

Lead isn't the only dangerous metal found in ancient times. Iron and copper were among two of the top culprits. Dr. Birch told of us about a conference she went to one time in Ireland where they speaker did an experiment to show how detrimental weapons made of iron and copper could be. To illustrate this the speaker took a grass beach mat, you know like the $1 ones that you use to lay on the sand? Well, he took this and then rolled it up and soaked it in water. Once this is done the grass mat actually has the same density as human flesh (isn't that neat?!). Next, he took two weapons--one a copper weapon and one an iron weapon and cut through the grass mat to demonstrate the abilities and effects of pre-state society weapons.

Okay, so the density of human flesh part might be kind of morbid, but we all have our things that we think are cool, yeah?

Similarly, I think the absolute world of my history professor. He gets so excited and worked up--in his own weird and reserved way--about history. He loves relating history to film and inspiring good, scintillating discussion--such as an in-depth conversation that started off about post-World War I women's fashion and ended up being an intense discussion about androgyny, Emma Watson, homosexuality in the trenches, and the "bromance" of today. I think this is the reason I enjoy his class so much.

For example, we recently watched the movie M by Fritz Lang. A quick (and probably terrible) synopsis for those of you who haven't seen it: post World War I Germany, a vicious murderer on the streets snatching up little kids, he's caught and convicted by the underground criminals. That's it more or less. Peter Lore plays the murderer.

Now, how we related this to our history class is that there's a line where Peter Lore claims he "can't help" killing. Could it be leftover PTSD manifesting? "I don't know, but possibly..." in the words of Dr. Soper.

Basically, I love the class because it gives me an excuse to watch all these cool, old films without feeling guilty and like I'm wasting time.

Although this semester is proving to be a difficult one, it's one that I'm enjoying immensly. And, I've realized, it was one that I sorely needed. This time last year I couldn't get far enough away from history. I had completely lost my passion for it as a discipline because of one bad class. Note: the professor was amazing, it was the actual class that sucked. But now, here I am and I've changed my major back to history again! Or added it back, rather, along with anthropology.

So things are good and golden and peachy at the moment. I'm re-inspired and happy. I'm in love and now you all know. Oh, and he's also in love, but that's a different story...

The Labels of Life

When we're kids we dream of being grown-ups. We play pretend dress up in our mom's heels and jewelry and we pretend to play house, things of that nature (although, in retrospect, I can't imagine why I liked playing house. Now that I have an apartment, I hate cooking and cleaning!). When we're little, adulthood is this coveted and mysterious world that we can't wait to learn the secrets of.

As a kid, there was nothing that would make me happier than to hear the words, "you're like a little adult!" or "you're only eight? I thought you were at least ten!" etc, etc. I would literally squirm with delight.

Now, I'm in twenties (barely, but still). I'm technically an adult, not only by my age, but also by the responsibilities that I've assumed. I'm financially independent from my parents, I live on my own (with roommates) in a decent sized city, and I have a job. Yet . . . if someone called me an adult now, I would squirm uncomfortably.

A few days ago, someone called me a woman. The person who said this meant it as a compliment and the statement was attached to a really sweet sentiment, but hearing "you're an incredible and amazing woman" made me squirm a little. Woman. Not girl. WOMAN.

When I hear the word "woman" two images pop into my head. The first is an image of the stereotypical executive business woman: suit, heels, stern face, hair pulled back in a bun, and generally miserable.The second is the iconic image of Audrey Hepburn from Breakfast at Tiffany's. These are what I think of when I hear the word "woman". Not someone walking around a college campus in teeshirt and jeans. Basically, not me.

Now that I've entered that realm of where people identify me as a woman (apparently) I don't know I'm ready. I don't know I'm ready to be--or even want to at this point--a woman yet. It's the label I guess that freaks me out. It's just weird to have that realization you know?

Well, maybe soon I'll learn some of those secrets of this world we all coveted as kids, until then though, who knows?

iPod's and Introverts

I remember going to New York City on a field trip when I was in high school. Skyscrapers, insane traffic, Times Square, Ellis Island, the Statue of Liberty, and so many other wonders greeted us that first morning when we pulled into the city. You think that one of the landmarks or tourist attractions would be what I remembered most, wouldn't you?

But what resonated with me most was the amount of people that were walking around with iPod's in their ears, totally oblivious to the world around them.

At first, I was (perhaps naively) concerned for their safety. After all, New York City is supposed to be incredibly dangerous right? What if someone came up and tried to mug them? Someone listening to whatever song was popular in 2009 ("Down" by Jay-Z?) wouldn't be able to hear and fend off a mugger. They'd be so easy to sneak up on!

After my silly concern for their safety passed, then I was kind of annoyed. By popping in one's iPod one clearly sends the signal "don't talk to me and don't bother me". These people were being incredibly antisocial and missing out because they were stuck in their own little music world. And, in my opinion, these people were being incredibly rude.

I ranted about this randomly on the trip, driving my friends nuts. And still today if someone asked me what surprised me about New York, my answer would be "the amount of people walking around listening to their iPod's!" But, then I would also have to wryly laugh and add that I'm guilty of doing the very thing that most annoyed me and surprised me about that great city.

A few years after that trip I moved to Athens and started college. And again, a sea of people walking around in their own little world and ignoring people because of the music from their iPod's, greeted me. And again, I had the same exact reaction (Athens isn't New York, but there are definitely still some sketchy areas). Except, I felt like if any thing, things were even worse in Athens and around campus because people would pop their music in and get on the bus and not talk or smile or even acknowledge the person in the seat next to them. And that's heartbreaking (yes, I realize I sound like a sappy old lady).

I'm a little ashamed to admit that I succumbed to the social pressures of my peers. I had been living here maybe two months before one day while I was walking around, I decided to pop my iPod in. And it's been downhill from there. Sure, at first I felt really on edge and like someone was going to rape me because my guard was down, but then I realized why people do it: it's kind of a de-stressor to be able to chill out to the dulcet tones of Missy Higgins or Ray LaMontagne in between classes, ignore that annoying person from your hall freshman year that you don't want to talk to, avoid an awkward eye-contact moment with the guy that lives across from you that you're crushing on, and of course, it's nice to be able to quench the curiosity of what's going on on Twitter or Facebook.

Basically, since that day, thanks to technology, I've kind of become an antisocial introvert when I'm out in public.

Technology is great. It really is. Without technology, can you imagine how different our world would be? With the advent of the internet and social networks like Facebook and programs like Skype and even FaceTime (thanks Apple!), I'm able to keep in touch with friends and family in different parts of the country and even on the other side of the world. And that's pretty neat.

A side note: my dad is just discovering Skype and FaceTime and has within the last six months become obsessed. Another great thing about technology: it's responsible for giving me many laughs (and frustrations) in the last six months as my parents try and learn the ins and outs of FaceTime.

Anyways, as I was saying, iPods, Skype, Facebook (although I prefer Twitter personally at the moment) and oh! blogs of course, are great. But because of them, wouldn't you agree that while our generation is becoming amazing techies, our generation is also becoming increasingly antisocial. But only when faced with real-life situations, you know?

What I mean is that we've becoming social networking nuts. I know that I am guilty of being in the same room with my friends and tweeting at them or texting them instead of just talking to them. Now, I could play this off and say I'm tweeting because it's fun (because it IS!) or I don't want to be disruptive while we're watching The Bachelor, but that would be a lie. Or, at least it would be half a lie--being disruptive while The Bachelor is on is a capital crime. But really, sometimes I'll tweet or text because I have something to say that I'm afraid to say out loud. Or something like that. And that's kind of scary, how technology is simultaneously making us antisocial and emboldening us. Like, whoa.

So, now that I've ranted, I don't really know how to wrap this all up (this always happens to me, fun fact). But I guess I'll end with saying that having written this and remembered how alarmed and weird I felt in New York and when I first moved to Athens, I'm going to try to make a conscious effort to not be that antisocial, awkward introvert. I'm going to try distance myself from my technology. Eventually, I'm going to give it up completely, just like a toddler gives up their binky! No, now that IS a bold-faced lie. I think it's impossible to completely give up technology in the modern, globalized society that we live in. But, I am going to try to talk to that annoying girl from freshman year next time I see her. I am going to try to not check Twitter every five minutes. I'll try to give up listening to Ray LaMontagne in between classes on the bus (although, that's going to be hard). And I'm going to try to leave my iPod and headphones in my bookbag or purse, instead of having it constantly in my ears, while I'm out in public.

But I am probably going to keep avoiding awkward eye contact with the guy at my apartment.

My roommates being introverts with their iPhones and other Apple products. 

The College Bubble

You know when you're in high school and your teachers say, "When you're out in the real world, this isn't going to work" (this is presumably said after you screw up something major)? By the "real world" they mean that ambiguous grey area outside of your high school walls, they mean a time where your world doesn't revolve around Friday night football, or who's dating who.

They're talking about college, of course.

Now, a lot of this petty stuff does still remain in college. But now football games consume your Saturdays, relationships are serious and sometimes complicated, and the world is no longer an ambiguous grey area--instead it's a scary and terrifying reality that you'll be a part of all too soon.

But . . . and this is the part that kind of gets on my nerves: everyone talks about how college is the "real world", yet when you think about it, it's really not. While in college, you pretty much loafer. Sure, you might have a job, but it's a "college kid's" job--meaning it doesn't have any real responsibility and most likely it's fun and something you enjoy. During college, sure, you may pay the majority of your bills or even all of them (if you're "lucky") and you may live on your own and cook for yourself and make your own decisions and all that jazz, but it's not really the real world, is it?

Time is sort of suspended. You don't really have responsibilities (I'm generalizing here) other than to not flunk out. You're in class around fifteen hours a week versus working forty hours like you would if you were in the "real world" or being in class thirty-five like you were in . . . shudder. . . high school. Fifteen hours of required responsibility a week and that's it? That's definitely not what I would imagine the "real world" that everyone spoke of in hushed tones during high school to be like. 

And thus far, it's not. My experience thus far in college has been that while you're a student, you kind of exist in a bubble. 


For example, I spend the majority of my time on campus. The news I read is the campus newspaper. I work on campus. And I live three miles from campus. I go to school in Athens, which is THE definition of a college town (it is, you can't find a better example of a college town than Athens) and it's almost as if life here is stuck inside the college bubble as well. The college absolutely defines my--and everyone else in Athens--life. 

And this isn't a bad thing. I mean, we're in college, we're in our twenties, it should define our lives, I guess. But, it's definitely not the real world; it's a fragile bubble with an expiration date of four (possibly five) years. 

Unless you go on to grad school, of course. But I think that's probably a whole other can of worms. 

Teeth and Truth

There are two kinds of people in this world: Those who will blatantly tell you that there’s something in your teeth and those who will not. 

After Christmas break—whereupon I met one of my best friend's best friend's—I decided that I definitely prefer the first type of person to the second. 

Because, after all, who wants to walk around looking all snaggle-toothed because of a piece of spinach? Seriously, save me pride sooner rather than later and just tell me in the middle of lunch. It may be embarrassing at first, awkward even (more awkward for me than for you). But—by telling me there’s a piece of green gook in my teeth and I look like a pirate, you will have earned yourself a lifelong friend—and I’ll be really grateful and thankful to have earned one as well—because there’s one thing you can be certain of: if someone is gonna tell you about the crap you have in your teeth, they’re probably going to tell you about the crap you have going on in your life (should they have to eventually). Or something like that. And everyone needs someone like that. 

Bad Luck

It's almost the middle of January and my boss hasn't taken down the Christmas decorations at work. The little stockings she had hanging up for us were cute, sure, but Christmas is over (sadly). Doesn't she realize it's bad luck to keep Christmas decorations up after the New Year?

It's driving me absolutely bonkers. 

New Year

I rang in the new year this year at a cabin in the mountains with some old friends with high school. Isn't it funny how once you're out of high school, all that cliquey crap goes away and suddenly, you're able to all just be friends? I think it's really neat, but I digress. 

I went to Helen with one of my best friends, Candice, and about ten other people. We rented a cabin, I saw a good group of people that I used to go to school with and that was nice. You know, there's just something comfortingly familiar about being surrounded by people who've known you your whole life and who you don't have to explain anything to. And it's nice to be around people who think I'm perfect and can do no wrong again (I know, I know, that goes against what I've said before about how I hate having to live up to that standard, but it's like a security blanket . . .). 

So we got up there around two-thirty. Surprisingly, there were a lot of people--Helen was hopping! So we joined in. Helen's such an eclectic, little tourist trap of a place. But you gotta love it. Unless you're a historical preservationist, then you hate it based on merit alone. So, a little part of me always dies when we visit, but I kinda just kick that part of me to the curb for the duration of the visit.

I remember being little and my parents had friends who had hot air balloons. Every spring there's this huge hot air balloon festival in Helen. So on weekends in the spring my parents would act as chasers--that means they'd follow wherever the balloon went and meet them at the ground to help clean up and all that stuff. We'd be up at the crack of dawn, driving all over the mountains, constantly keeping an eye out for the balloons. There's this picture of me wandering around inside an actual balloon when I was like two. Pretty cool, I think. 

So there's that quaint aspect. And on the flipside Helen's also a huge biker city and has an equally huge . . . I don't know what you call it? Biker gathering? Hah. Incidentally, my parents also attended that regularly as well, I think. I don't know, I didn't tag along to that, hah. And this was for work, not pleasure, because bikers loved hearing my dad play. 

But anyhow . . . Helen is an interesting place. Oh, and did I mention the entire town is cornily fashioned to look like a town straight out of the Swiss Alps? 

After walking around for probably about an hour, we decided to grab some food. So we went to the Troll Tavern. Gunnar, Candice's boyfriend, was in absolute heaven because every TV in the place but one was playing sports. 

We got to the cabin around five-thirty. At first it was kind of awkward, you know, having to re-acclimate yourself with people you haven't seen in a few years? But it passed (especially after a few beers had been consumed) and festivities started shortly thereafter! 

LOTS of beer and a loonnnggg game of beer pong later (my team made it to the second round! Woot!) and six hours later, we all piled into the living and started the countdown. Someone yelled "Who's gonna kiss Dick Clarks wife at midnight?!" which made us all kind of melancholy. The guys on the couch next to me and informed Jenny McCarthy looked much better pre-plastic surgery which lightened the mood again. And then all of a sudden we had ten seconds. Ten seconds left of 2012 . . . 

. . . and just like that--it was 2013. 

I texted my parents and my mom sent a picture of the two of them plus my nephew at my brother's house (I later found out they'd gone over to play with my brother's cappuccino machine and wake him up because the old man had tried to go to sleep at 10! On New Year's Eve!). And then of course I texted a bunch of friends. 

The rest of the night was kind of an inconsequential blur. The couples that were on the trip got the bedrooms in the cabin and the rest of us piled up in the living room or in the basement (where it was absolutely frigid). I was supposed to share a room with Candice and Gunnar but . . . I ended up sharing the sofa bed with someone and piling in the living room with all the guys instead. You know, giving the love birds privacy and all. Hah. 

We had to be out of the cabin by eleven the next morning, so we got up around nine-thirty, cleaned--and I MEAN cleaned--and poured a LOT of beer down the drain and headed out about ten-thirty, ten forty-five. We stopped at Cracker Barrel on the way home, which was fun. We got a wee bit lost on the way home and finally got home to Winder around four in the afternoon. The trip, overall, was a success. 

So, one of my New Years Resolutions this year is to care less about what people think. I'm starting early. Another resolution is to be more proactive, with life in general. So, we'll see where those go.