friendster f*ed me

I have much more to say about this, which you all will likely read later tonight in a more coherent essay form. but eee gads, I have to write that the debacle of friendster is a huge shock. huge.

will I friendster again? eee gads. really.

see the following:

http://www.gawker.com/news/internet/friendster-sells-you-out-128498.php

in honor of my new rooms, lakshmi

as I have recently moved into a new apartment and actually had to put some effort nesting about and making it a bit more homey, this article is well-timed for my life.

from nyt


September 29, 2005
Back Off Buatta: Craig Is My Decorator
By PENELOPE GREEN

Newtown, Conn.

BRENDA CULLERTON, an advertising copywriter and an author, is a connoisseur of stories, a reader so voracious that she hides her habit from her husband, Richard DeLigter, a commercial film director, by stuffing bags of new books into the corners of their Manhattan loft. Indeed, Mr. DeLigter once had a T-shirt made for her that read, "Why Read When You Can Skim?"

And so it was that in March, when Ms. Cullerton and Mr. DeLigter bought a 1930's Cape Cod house here in southwestern Connecticut as a weekend retreat for themselves and their children - Jack, 18, and Nora, 13 - they filled the place with stories. Other people's stories, that is, courtesy of craigslist.org, the online bazaar.

With no attic or storage bins stuffed with family heirlooms to pick over, buying furnishings through craigslist was a way to fill the rooms of the house, which cost $500,000, quickly and cheaply. Since the Web site is a marketplace on the ancient model - chaotic, unruly and vividly human (you can find a lunchtime tryst as easily as a couch) - every transaction, Ms. Cullerton said, came with a yarn.

Before long she found herself on a listening tour of New Yorkers on the cusp of a life change. If eBay is merely a feast for gluttons, a groaning table of stuff, craigslist is "an atlas for life," she said. Unlike transactions on eBay, those on craigslist usually require face-to-face encounters, so each of her purchases (she spent less than $4,000) yielded a moment - or more - with someone eager to share the back story. The larger the object, the more dramatic the tale.

It was one woman's furniture sale, listed online as "My Boyfriend Is a Lying Cheat," that originally lured Ms. Cullerton into her nocturnal hunts. (In addition to having a book habit, she is insomniac.) She scanned craigslist from 3 a.m. on - most postings went up between 10:30 p.m. and 1 a.m., she said - and would be on a doorstep by 10 the same morning, ready for an earful. "They couldn't wait to tell you," she said, "either because they were so depressed or so elated."

Ms. Cullerton bought a set of delicate blue and gold Wedgwood plates with forget-me-nots on them (eight for $60) from a 40-something opera singer on the Upper West Side. He was living in a decrepit classic eight ("The ceilings!" Ms. Cullerton said. "I'd never seen a classic eight!") with his former boyfriend. They had broken up after 24 years but hadn't been able to afford to move. "They were living in this very divided space," she said. "I think they'd been very happy once."

The singer was selling everything he owned to pay for a move to Berlin. He spoke to Ms. Cullerton for over an hour, and when she counted her bills into his hand he exclaimed, "Oh man, I'm going to the movies!"

A Turkish kilim ($75) came from a young woman who told Ms. Cullerton she was poised to reinvent herself in Los Angeles. She had been making party gift bags for 10 years. "The party's over," she said.

Every surface of her tiny apartment near the Holland Tunnel was sanded, stenciled, wallpapered or otherwise worked over - as distressed as its occupant. "She really seemed at the end of her tether," said Ms. Cullerton, who noted bookshelves filled with self-help primers on anger management and toxin removal.

A woman in the midst of a nasty divorce was offloading every gift her husband, a man with a taste for antique European furniture, had given her. Ms. Cullerton bought a gilt frame ($90) and a little gilt-legged stool with a tattered embroidered silk cushion ($40). "I'm going totally modern," the woman said. "Getting rid of every trace of him."

A Shabby Chic couch was the first item Ms. Cullerton bought through craigslist, from a young banker with a loft near Wall Street. (Its owner was moving abroad.) "My sin," she called it, sounding like Julia Marchmain in "Brideshead Revisited."

Here's why. In the spring of 2005, Sam Swope, a friend of 25 years and a fellow writer, sent her an e-mail message with a link to a picture of the couch for her aesthetic approval. It turned out he didn't have the money ($900) to buy it. Ms. Cullerton did, and wanted it, badly. Decorously, she waited a week, and then pounced without telling Mr. Swope.

"It was the first piece I slipcovered," she said. "To hide my sin. Of course the first time he saw it, he knew. Every time I sit down on it I feel guilty."

One morning in early September Mr. Swope's most recent book, "I Am a Pencil: A Teacher, His Kids and Their World of Stories" (Henry Holt, 2004), was displayed on the little table in front of the offending couch. (Down-filled and covered in red and white circus stripes of heavy Donghia cotton, it was preternaturally comfy.)

Ms. Cullerton sought out rich, hot colors - in paint and in slipcovers - as an inexpensive way to add character to her new house. The master bedroom is deep purple ("The color formerly known as Prince," she called it) with grape trim; Nora's is a bordello pink watered down with lots of white; Jack's room is like a present, with wide royal-blue and white stripes and shiny oil-based red paint on the trim and doors. The "media room" is Tiffany blue with shiny black trim. (While the place is wired like crazy, Ms. Cullerton said, "we don't actually own any media.")

Mr. DeLigter wants a pool, so Ms. Cullerton painted the concrete floor of a screened porch pool-blue as a sop to his wishes. "I would prefer the real thing and am stocking up on Lotto cards," Mr. DeLigter said.

Ms. Cullerton is an unlikely homemaker, itchy to travel, suspicious of rooted spaces with things like yards and dry basements. While her children's friends spent summers on the beach, Nora and Jack have spent theirs in Mongolian yurts, on the trans-Mongolian railway, camped out in Russian dachas and on Cuban farms. Not that they've ever complained, Ms. Cullerton said.

Ms. Cullerton spent five years on her own memoir, "The Nearly Departed: Or, My Family and Other Foreigners" (Little, Brown, 2003), a hilarious and harrowing coming-to-terms tale of a gothic childhood in Danbury, Conn.: "The Ice Storm" meets "The Addams Family." Her family home there was as divided as Cold War Berlin - literally. Her mother built a cinder-block wall through the middle of the house, separating her own space from her husband's, a curious alternative to divorce. Ms. Cullerton is still stunned, after a life on the move, to be "settling" in Newtown, 15 miles from her family home.

Though Newtown comes with a good story, too. On particularly bad days, she said, Ms. Cullerton's mother would howl, "That's it kids, you're going to drive me to Newtown." Until the mid-1990's, Newtown was the site of the Fairfield Hills Hospital, a vast mental hospital sprawling over more than 180 acres.

Ms. Cullerton said she "never in a million years dreamed of going back 'home,' that is, anywhere near Connecticut."

"Here I am traveling the same road back that led me away, and I'm actually happy about it," she continued. "I have good company." She gestured inside the house, to her newly acquired furniture, each rich in provenance, and now richly colored, too.

"That's the proof," she said, "that it is possible to write the next chapter."

l'Écrevisse

as I put off putting away my clothes (from moving in still; lame, I know), I randomly did a bit of research/reading on my astrological sign. some people may only nod their heads at this as they think, 'oh yes, j. is really into that.' really, I'm not SO into the whole astrology gig. I'm just curious to see what is said about this personality sphere into which I was born. have you ever read what traits you are more likely to have because of your date of birth? in some ways, it is absolutely fascinating. like the bit about my need to make my home comfy and 'nest'-esque. until I get all of my things put away and clean the apartment for the first time, I won't feel totally settled and as if this is a place of my own. (not that it is strictly a space of my own, but at least a space that I also occupy, that I have some mark on.) there are other bits and bobs about being a cancer that struck me: the obstinateness of my personality, the wide range of characteristics that fall within the sign. one that does not surprise me in any way, shape, or form is the dominance of emotions. word. supposedly, this makes it difficult for some people to understand cancers. but this is all just another system of thought that is not fully relevant. nevertheless, interesting.

what else...just spoke with ms. conover, another stellar example of iowa & vassar in one package. she and ms. lee (aka rye) will be in chicago for the marathon! eee gads, I'm so excited. while I know that there will be a number of chicago friends out along the course (at least, I hope so. you all will be out there, right?) and a number of people at least checking in at some point on the chicagomarathon.com site to check my results, it will be super great to have two more wonderfully fantastic friends physically present at some point along the 26.2 miles. even moreso post-'thon when I'll need some sort of a reminder that I am a real person and not some empty shell after the race. (good god, I am so pumped for the race. less than two weeks away!)

now, I must get on with my nesting.

state circles

circles
Originally uploaded by jlpetersen.

okay, so one more photo. from the state capitol in austin, where I spent two full days. this building is simply gorgeous and well-preserved. another example of texan pride?

state pride

state pride
Originally uploaded by jlpetersen.

so, I was in texas this week. austin and houston, to be exact. now, granted, there is much that could be said about my time in texas: the hurricane (blah, blah; I really can't hear anymore about rita. honestly, my ears wil bleed.), the tex-mex, the friendly people (are they trying to bump midwesterners out of the top spot of 'friendliest people?'), et cetera. but I'm not going to. why? well, partly because I'm absolutely knackered from the week. (travel time from houston hotel to chicago apartment: nearly 15 hours) partly because the whole reason for going to texas was for work and, frankly, who wants to talk about work on their blog. no one. well, few people. the number of you that want to read about it is even fewer.

so, with that, I post one of my more fun photos from texas. while I'm not negating the sense of anxiety and worry that pervaded houston while I was there, I'd rather not focus on it. so, no photos of the interstate filled with cars fleeing the city. no, no...just this little tidbit.

yes, I am in houston.

when you've got the material, you've got to use it.

so, yesterday evening rebecca and I drove from austin to houston as a part of our week of research in texas. while we knew that hurricane rita was supposed to begin hitting the coast friday afternoon as a class two hurricane, we thought, 'ah, we're fine. we'll do our work, fly out on thursday night, all will be well.' well people, hurricane rita is now a class five hurricane. while it is not expected to hit until saturday a.m., the city of houston is evacuation mode. I was in one of the clerk's office when the staff was told to start packing up their belongings and preparing the office for disaster conditions. so, as I sat about searching for docket documents, people were scurrying about packing up their personal belongings and getting home to prepare their homes and families.

after basically being kicked out of all of the offices that we were to do work in this afternoon and tomorrow, rebecca and I went to chevron to experience our first gas line. the good preperation of the gas station meant that we only waited for twenty minutes, so nothing overly drastic there. nevertheless, the air is filled with a bit of fear and anticipation for what could happen. being very much the midwesterner that I am, I have no real idea of what is to come to this city. lots of rain, lots of wind, undoubtedly, but to what extent I have no idea.

while there is no way that we can do any record work now, we aren't leaving texas until tomorrow evening. it will be quite the experience to leave this city as the entire galveston coast area is forced to evacuate.

I say 'mara' you say 'thon'

the little cheerleader in me just escaped for a brief moment with that one.

with my dissertation submitted, the next big task, aside from attempting some sort of (re)settling/adjusting with living in chicago and such, is the marathon, t minus 23 days and 13 some hours. I was reminded of this today when I received my race number from the chicago marathon people...woo! having this bit of a reminder makes me even more pumped to get back into the swing of things running wise and working out wise. perhaps that will help me into settling.

on another somewhat-marathon related note, I received an email yesterday from this guy who was a potential 'maybe have dinner with person,' attempting to dissuade me from raising money for the AIDS foundation as he claims that hiv/aids do not actually exist. not only did he offer such an opinion, but he went on and on about it, saying that he'd like to 'educate' me on the topic. now, you can imagine how I took this. aside from definitely not buying this line, I am very likely the worst person to be told that I need to be more 'educated' on something, especially from somewhat of a stranger. granted, I can take it a bit better when it's from one of my people (people that I hold near and dear, people that I respect, people that know me know me), but still there is always that twinge of defensiveness when I feel that I am told that I don't know enough about something. a big sister thing? a 'I think that I'm a fairly intelligent person' thing? a human nature thing? whatever the case, I'm not buying the phd student's hype. (sidenote: I really, really, really hope that whatever dating that I may do in chicago does not involve any more people like this. eee gads.)

before I sign off, the reason that I'm posting is to spread my race number about so that you all who aren't in this great city can track me while I run. (isn't running technology just great?) on the morning of (or the afternoon for those of you en europe), go to chicagomarathon.com and find the 'track runner' link. my race number is 13883. there are five different spots on the course that will register my running chip; now granted, the tracking isn't instantenous, as audrey and I learned in 2003, but it is fairly current.

now, with that, must get home to run, run, run. hope that this finds you all well! I'll write more individually very soon now that the diss is out of my everyday orbit of thought.

master??? me???

it's done.

well, as done as it is going to be. it has been emailed off to my wonderful, amazing friend george in london, who is set to print, bind, and turn in our dissertations to the centre today before flying home to beijing tomorrow. that's how wonderful george is. hopefully my email sent properly...

I'm thoroughly knackered and must leave the office where I did my last nine hours of work 're-reading' the paper (if you could call it that), footnoting, writing the bib, and scanning the photographs that I discussed. the hardest bit of it all was trying to come up with a title and, frankly, I one, can't remember offhand what that title is and two, don't know if it fits my diss appropriately.

as disappointed as I may be about the end product (it really could have been so much better), I must remind myself as I did last night post-move: it is only a paper. albiet an important one to me, but not one that is going to make poverty history or ensure that everyone is loved. it's just a collection of my little thoughts on something that is much more than I can conceive.

now, to go home and sleep? mmm...maybe I'll just pull an all-nighter and run in the few hours between home and work. may not be a good idea with my first chicago show tonight. and now that I realize what a ramblation I am writing, I'm off.

oh, and anyone who wants some light reading on genocide, let me know. I'll send you a copy. :)

a spark

a spark
Originally uploaded by jlpetersen.

this has been quite the week: dissertating, returning to the working world, prepping (somewhat) to move into my new apartment, and well, more dissertating.

this morning I found some sort of spark with my paper, which is encouraging as I've come to become a bit disillusioned with my topic. one really cool part about this project is thinking of peress's approach to photography and thinking of my own in a more serious way than I ever have before. it's not that I'm contemplating some serious move towards becoming some sort of visual artist; it's just nice to think about something that I've come to enjoy more over the last year more seriously than I have before.

while I still have the last bits to take care of, my mind and body just can't do it anymore today. instead, a bit of pilates and a night out with some swell vassar folk. once this paper is done and I have come to terms with it personally, it will be nice to have a bit of cleansing time, to go back to feeling a bit more normal and less like a critical thinking machine fueled on lattes and green tea.

le musique

something that I am just realizing is how my great appreciation for music effects the way that I think. okay, so maybe I’m not saying this as clearly as I could. to get to the short of it, more and more I find myself thinking in song lyrics. yes, song lyrics have, in some way, become the way that I calibrate my thoughts. it’s a bit odd, but sometimes I hear a line and it resonates and becomes a way for me to process some personal emotion. for example, I listened to the bright eye’s song ‘take it easy (love nothing)’ over a dozen times today. (I know, it’s sickening, but I needed some sort of constant rhythm in my head while I was working on my last chapter.) in addition to the pace and flow of the song that fueled my impromptu addiction, these lyrics struck me.

if you stay too long inside my memory
I will trap you in a song tied to a melody
and I'll keep you there so you can’t bother me

something about these words/the sentiment of these words feels comfortable in my thoughts of pke, thoughts that I have had more often in this last week. (not that they make them disappear, by any means.) while I continue to mull over these bits of remembrances and such, it is nice to have mr. oberst speaking for me/thinking for me/helping me process my feelings in some small way at least for now. sooner than later, I will have to do this on my own.

now, with that being said, I have a little dissertation to which I must attend. I mean, for fuck sakes, I did go all to the u.k. to get this damn degree. it's time to bring it home, especially since I have just ingested three shots of espresso and some junior mints.

labor day labor pains

waking up too early with a quivering stomach and having a dream that my supervisor responded re: the last draft I sent him. yeah, I've obviously hit the worry stage. up reading to write. trying not to be too aggravated by the fine yellow line that somehow has made itself a part of my computer screen. I would have thought with the bad computer karma that I have had already this year that I'd be clear of anything else. alas, alas.

confronting

as I begin intensive writing on my dissertation, I am forced not only to confront the big, bad demon that I have made this project (in my mind, of course), but also the photographs upon which I am writing. as I sat in the my cafe of choice tonight looking at and writing on peress's collection, the humanity within me reverberated. these images are just unnerving. while I have written a great deal on the genocide and have seen several photographs of the event, there is something about these photographs that strikes at my very core. perhaps this is partly due to my forcing myself to really look at these images, to spend time with the event that is depicted, to see them rather than glancing over them. in some of the conversations that I have had about my topic people have asked 'how do you look at photos like that? aren't you affected?' and sometimes, I'm not. sometimes it's just an academic thing. but then there are the other times, such as tonight, when something is shifted in me and I feel the weight of the images. it is during these readings of the photographs that I feel like these sorts of events are something that I am supposed to help prevent or remedy in some sort of way, something that is much bigger than myself. is that an idealist talking or what? regardless, this is likely to be a long weekend for me as I ingest and digest images that I would never before be able to even imagine. amazing what human beings are capable of.

the little man of the house

the music man himself
Originally uploaded by jlpetersen.

as jessica and I learned during our time at home, while grammy will always love us immensely, she most certainly loves those near her a great deal as well. this little man rules the roost at 406 rutland street, that's for certain. it was nice to have a small child about my life again, something that was such a part of my childhood and something that has not been a part of my life in the last couple of years. honestly, children are amazing. you can attain a great deal of joy in just watching them develop each day.

iza

iza
Originally uploaded by jlpetersen.

after too many months, this neglectful aunt finally met her first niece, ms. izabelle lenora may. she is such a sweet baby. it's good that the child has no idea of how complicated life around her is right now.

the tall corn of iowa

corn of iowa
Originally uploaded by jlpetersen.

while this is only first of many photos from my time in iowa to be posted, I thought this was the most appropriate for the first reflection on kingsley post. when I first went to vassar, many people were suprised that I didn't grow up on a farm after learning that I was from iowa. apparently jess has had much of a similar experience during her first year in seminary. you know people, just because we grew up in a sparsely populated part of the country doesn't mean that we mucked out pens or anything. but it also doesn't mean that we weren't wholly affected by this upbringing, hence why I am still looking people in the eye and smiling at them as I walk past. reminder to self: this is chicago and, while friendly in its citysense, it is in no way kingsley.

a year of blogging

it has been one year since I began blogging. in some sort of recognition of this non-achievement (really, it's not that hard to blog. well, it isn't for me at least being the procrastinator-at-heart that I am and all.), I have updated my profile (which isn't all that exciting, but it's something, right?) and posted one photo to my recently opened flickr account. now that I've done a good bit of procrastination on this mini project of mine, I've got to rush off to the dissertation. after all, the damn thing isn't going to write itself in the next couple of days, now is it?

but before I sign off, I have one reflection on my year o' blogging. I started writing this blog in the beginning for other people, so that that my friends and family could keep track of me during my year in london. I know how few of these people actually read these little posts of mine, but at least it is there for them to read. this blog is a little bit more for me than it was in the beginning or at least I realize it to be something that I do for myself than something that I do for others. and that's grand.