I Become a Do-It-Yourselfer

The Do-It-Yourselfer is a member of the species Homo interneticus. Among their defining features is a propensity to write about craft projects on their blogs.

Oh, science.

In terms of field observation, the Do-It-Yourselfer is one of the most compelling specimens of Homo interneticus, and I consider them second only to the Youtuber in their ability to provide hours of procrastina.... ahem, entertainment. In my career as an internet voyeur, my interaction with Do-It-Yourselfers has been limited to reading their tutorial posts and feeling deeply impressed. Then the adorableness of their lives starts to annoy me, and I lay on my bed, feeling uncool and dejected.

Today, however, I broke through some mental barrier and took my first step to becoming one of those people.

It all began with a trip to Bed, Bath & Beyond. As often happens, going to that store triggered an impulse to buy everything, you know, just to be a well-organized and fully competent adult. Since I'm moving to London in about a month, however, and already want to bring more things than I can possibly fit in my suitcase, buying things is out of the question. The problem was, I really, really wanted a jewelry organizer, since my previous storage schemes have never given my jewelry the attention it deserves. Back at home, I was regretting the fact that I hadn't purchased the jewelry organizer when I realized that I could easily make one myself. With things I had laying around my room! What luck!

First, I found a box that had just been sitting in my room, looking pretty but not fulfilling any real purpose.

I decided to glue some mesh fabric to the inside top of the box so that I could hang my earrings. The bottom section will hold bracelets and things. 

So I measured and cut and hot glued. And it looked like crap. 

The hot glue had made a mess, and I needed to cover it up if I wanted to salvage this project. So I found some ribbon and made a border around the netting. Better, but still a bit like a kindergartner's art project. 

Then, out of nowhere, came one of my rare strokes of creative brilliance. I was contemplating solutions to the problem of the hot glue bleeding through the ribbon, when I thought, "Why don't I cover the splotchy parts with nail polish?" 

So I did, and it ended up looking pretty great, if I do say so myself. 

Not to mention that the box is lightweight and can be filled with stuff during the packing process, making it a totally reasonable thing to include in my fairly pathetic collection of things I'm taking to London. 

Time Stands Still

In one month, I will be either in London or in the midst of my final preparations for the move, so it doesn't seem like nothing should be happening on the moving-to-London front, but somehow that seems to be the case. I think I'm caught in some sort of time loop in which I keep living the same day over and over, and nothing ever happens to bring me closer to the future. My life has devolved into a fairly pleasant cycle of breakfast/reading, running, lunch, wasting time on the internet or other miscellaneous afternoon activities, dinner, TV, and sleep. Repeat as needed.

Oh, summer. 

Relaxing (boring?) though this lifestyle may be, it's lulling me into a stupor. I can't say what would happen if I didn't wake up at about 9:30 in the morning, have a bowl of cereal and two cups of coffee while reading, then get ready to go for a run, but I suspect that it would be physically and emotionally jarring. I vaguely remember a time when I had a job. And classes. And I had to wake up before the sun had fully risen. I cooked my own food. I did my own laundry. I tried (sometimes in vain) to keep my apartment clean. Then I graduated and became a little kid again. Makes sense.

I'm absolutely certain that there are things that need doing - Projects of Great Importance - like deciding what I'm going to pack, opening a UK bank account, and buying a plane ticket. Every time I try to start one of these projects, however, their full complexity become clear, and I decide to put them off for another few days. Deep down, I think I assume that if I procrastinate for long enough, someone else will do everything for me. Except that's not how real life works. Some previous incarnation of myself understood that if I want things done, in most cases I'm going to have to do them myself. I don't think I completely understand this anymore.

Pardon the rambling.

A List of Uncertainties

1. Where specifically I will be living next year. In theory, I should be receiving pictures of potential flats so that I can give feedback, but this has not happened yet. These days I compulsively check my email, thinking each time that there will be something significant waiting in my inbox. Instead I find myself constantly sifting through (figurative) piles of spam.

2. Whether I can find a job in London. Seriously, I'll do anything just to have a source of income again. Wait, maybe not anything. Almost anything? No, that sounds dangerous, too. As a point of reference, though, a job in a coffee shop is currently my dream.

3. The extent to which I will have to decimate my beloved clothing collection when the time comes to fit everything into a surprisingly not-big-enough suitcase. You see, when I ask myself what I want to pack, my default answer is, "Everything." And then I remember that everything really isn't an option.

4. When exactly I will be leaving. Whether I can find a reasonably-priced plane ticket. What city I will be flying out of. Whether I will have any layovers (hopefully not - rushing through airports, filled with the nagging dread that I will miss my next flight absolutely terrifies me).

5. Whether I'll be happy in London. Whether I'll make friends easily. How intense the homesickness will be.
Whether I'll have an acceptable internet connection
What size my bed will be.
Where I'll do my grocery shopping.
Whether I'll be able to sustain my habit of eating excess Mexican food.

This is getting ridiculous. I'm going to stop worrying. Right now.

Wait, maybe now...

No, now. For real this time.

The Crookes - Hold Fast: Album Review

It's time for a confession: I often have a hard time listening to albums all the way through. Either I get so caught on one song that it becomes the only one I ever listen to, or I get bored about three songs in and give up on the album entirely.

The Crookes, however, have accomplished an unprecedented feat. They have recorded not one, but two albums that I love all the way through. Now, I could probably talk at length about their first album, Chasing After Ghosts, but for the time being, I'll just say that it captured exactly how I feel about my life at this particular point. Listening to this album,

The merits of Chasing After Ghosts aside, Hold Fast (released on July 9th) has already become such an integral part of my life that I can't imagine a day when I don't listen to this album in its entirety. 10 days in, and I'm not even close to getting bored. Unprecedented.

I'm not going to do a song-by-song breakdown of the album. I'm not going to throw around music reviewer terms, because I'm not a music reviewer. This is one of the few illusions I don't have about myself. So, instead of using traditional music jargon and showing off my advanced (and non-existent) knowledge of musical history, I'm going to steal a reviewing strategy I overheard two hipsters discussing during my college orientation. I am going to describe how this album makes me feel.

From beginning to end, this album makes me at once want to get up and dance and fall into serious reminiscence. And when I say reminiscence, I mean all the best memories of my college days and my probably faulty conception of what the '60s must have been like. In other words, it combines unrelenting energy, strong melodies, and a vintage sound (sorry, I sound so pretentious right now) with lyrics that are somehow both relatable and vague. That's exactly how I like to take my lyrics, because it makes it easier to self-centeredly imagine that the songs were written with my experiences in mind. Anything that helps me perpetuate my delusions is fine by me. Please note that I'm only writing semi-seriously here. Maybe vague, poetic lyrics actually just make it easier to imagine that someone out there has experienced some of the same things as me, that they could relate to some of my less-than-positive emotions. Yeah, that makes me sound nicer, but also like an angsty teenager. I just can't win. 

Sarcasm aside, this album is seriously worth a listen or, you know, hundreds of listens. I may never listen to anything else again. 

Be a Better... Runner

Another experiment in self-improvement... And, yes, I realize that my scientific method is a bit shaky.


The Project: Get to a point where you can run for two miles without stopping. 


Introduction: Running is one of those things I've always wanted to be good at, but every time I go for a run, I invariably end up choking on air, stumbling over my own feet, wondering if anyone would judge me if I took a break and laid down in the shade.

Hypothesis: The only way to become a better runner is through consistent practice. No more of that running intensely for one or two days, then giving up on it for about a week, claiming that I don't want to over-exert myself.

Materials: Running shoes, I would assume. Good music. Interesting places to run.

My favorite trail. 

Methods: Run only every other day, but exercise daily.

Data: Day 1: "Ran" for almost an hour - more accurately, tried to do equal amounts of walking and running.

Day 2: Did a weird combination workout. Spent about 15 minutes running up and down the hill next to my house, then did sit ups with the balance ball for about 10 minutes.

Day 3: Went for an hour-long bike ride. Originally I thought of my bike riding plan as a cop-out, but I found some hilly trails, and it ended up being quite a strenuous workout. Also, I hula-hooped for an hour and was surprised to discover that my abs were sore the next day.

Day 4: Okay. So I know I'm cheating on the whole run-every-other-day thing, but it's extremely hot, and I didn't wake up early enough to run when the temperature was still somewhat reasonable. Excuses, excuses. Instead of torturing myself by running in this skin-melting heat, I went for another bike ride.

Day 5: Standard run around town. Managed to go almost a mile without stopping. Not bad. Needs improvement.

Day 6: Nothing notable - some hula-hooping (apparently this is a regular thing for me now) and some sit-ups with the balance ball. The self-loathing

Day 7: Went for a run - and a pretty decent one at that. Sure, I didn't run two miles, but I almost did it.

Results/Conclusion: Sometimes the most unexpected things can constitute good exercise. Take hula-hooping as an example. I never would have guessed that this would bring on more next-day soreness than sit-ups, but it did.

My greatest discovery, though, is that running doesn't have to be boring, and the secret to staving off boredom lies in music selection. Some songs just don't work for running. There was a time in my life when I didn't believe this, but I am now convinced that proper music choices can do wonders for motivation. My current running playlist includes lots of Motown and britpop, mixed with assorted indie rock, top 40 stuff and early 2000s pop punk. It's almost terrifyingly eclectic, but it does its job. Sometimes it even makes me forget that I'm running.

Thrifting with Sarah and Kimberly

About two years ago, I went through a phase during which I bought most of my clothes at thrift stores. This wasn't because I was broke or particularly liked what the thrift stores had to offer, but rather because I thought I would be very cool to have a skirt last owned by somebody's grandmother. Of course when I actually wore these thrift store "finds," I would invariably realize that they were not only outdated, but also unflattering and fairly ugly. After a summer of dressing this way, I ventured back into the mall, rediscovered the joys of H&M and began to dress like a normal person again.

Until yesterday afternoon, the urge to go thrifting had lain dormant for about a year and a half, but then, for some inexplicable reason, I decided that it would be fun to check out the new Volunteers of America Thrift Store. The fun didn't manifest itself immediately, and as I stared blankly at the racks organized by color and ran my hands over the synthetic fabrics, I considered how some past version of myself would have probably bought that floor-length, button-down, rose-printed monstrosity of a skirt, full of honorable intentions to cut it shorter for improved cuteness. Current me, though, was looking for usability and practicality.

I got relatively quickly back into the rhythm of thrifting - working through the racks; giving each item a quick glance; assessing for color, pattern, cut; subjecting anything that passes on the three previous counts a closer inspection - and within 10 minutes I had picked out a handful of potentially wearable skirts to try on. In the dressing room I remembered the first rule of thrifting, namely try everything on.  In the case of thrift-store clothing, it's impossible to know whether the size listed on the tag (if there is one) corresponds to current standard sizes, so I always - absolutely always - make that often frustrating trip to the dressing room.

After much debate, I ended up buying two floral print skirts and a red vintage purse.

I wanted to end this post by saying something really discerning about how my decision to buy usable clothing at a thrift store marks some profound change in the way I view myself, or how buying cheaper used clothing means that I've become more financially responsible. Really, though, I don't think either of these things are strictly true. What is true is that I've been reading too many of those Thought Catalog essays, and they're filling me with this desire to make every minor detail of my life sound much more significant than it actually is. Sometimes a skirt is just a skirt, and even if you only paid a dollar for it, owning it doesn't mean that you've grown up. It just means you have to find another skirt hanger.

My Trendy Hipster Hobby: I don't have one

I was flipping through a magazine the other day, and I came across this tampon ad featuring a girl who writes a blog about knitting. Immediately I think: "I'm not as cool as her." Given my history with knitting, this thought is fairly surprising.

I first considered the craft when I was probably about 10 years old, and I bought some knitting needles and yarn with the intention of making really amazing things. Except the fate of the knitting needles was to be props in my make-believe games, specifically in those that required me to impersonate an old lady. Just go with it - my childhood pretend games were pretty convoluted.

Maybe four years later, Kim (my sister - she writes here sometimes) decided to learn to knit for real, and she tried to convince me to do the same. I, however, adopted the knitting-is-for-old-ladies-and-spinsters attitude. I had realized neither that spinsters no longer exist, nor that all properly cool girls these days must behave and dress like old ladies from time to time. In addition to being oblivious to cultural trends, I failed to acknowledge how cool it would be to knit my own scarves. Seriously, if I could knit, I would knit scarves by the thousands.

In many ways, my relationship with knitting resembles my relationships with all other hobbies. This means that I pretended to do a lot of things as a child, became too cool to even consider doing these things as a teenager, and then really wished I could do them as a young adult. Hypothetically, I know that it's never too late to take up a hobby, but every time I try, the experience is somewhat akin to dying my hair, in that it seems exciting at first, but I eventually decide that the upkeep requires more effort than it's worth. At least this has been my experience with my forays into photography, sewing, drawing, and writing poetry.

Don't take this to mean that I spend all of my time doing nothing. I cook things from time to time and do what I like to call food-ography:

Occasionally I acquire random new skills, like sailing:

I read things, I write things, I listen to music, but I don't really make anything by hand. Sometimes this troubles me, because I really like the idea of coming up with a concept and then creating this thing from raw(ish) materials. The fact that I read a lot of blogs by very creative people only compounds the problem. They're like, "Oh, look, I woke up today and decided to hand paint a rug" And I'm like, "Cool. I painted my toenails last week." 

I think the secret to having creative hobbies is having creative ideas, and maybe this is where my major failing lies. Or maybe I'm just lazy. Maybe I don't make anything because every time I think, "I'd really like a new shirt," I never consider making my own or repurposing one from a thrift store. Usually I just go to Forever 21. 

Could it be to my advantage, though, to begin making more things as I take on my grad school debt? Quite possibly. Maybe the desire to look really cool won't inspire me to be creative, but maybe financial necessity will...

Maybe learning to knit wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. 

Move On Already!

My bed was like a taco in the sense that I was sleeping on nothing but a brown sheet folded in half like a taco shell. The problem with the taco was that, unlike actual tacos, it wasn't warm inside. Too much air conditioning. My body, I suppose was of normal temperature, but try as I might to radiate heat, I couldn't warm that sheet up. I missed my duvet like you wouldn't believe. Any bit of heat I managed to squeeze out my duvet would capture and hold prisoner for the rest of the night. It was a clever one, that duvet, but now I've relegated it to a shelf in my closet in my parents' house.

My Ann Arbor bedroom used to be a warm and welcoming place. Now it's the blank-walled, bare-bedded, empty-closeted shell of its former self. The rest of the apartment has likewise suffered from the lack of my ridiculous amounts of stuff. It is no longer the place of freshly baked scones...

And comically-named bottles of wine...

And walls covered with possibly too many pictures. 

No, it's not my apartment anymore. It's okay. Really. I haven't (yet) had even one emotional breakdown about this development. I just have to keep telling myself that I don't have to spend the rest of my life in this post-graduation, pre-grad school limbo.

In its infinite wisdom, my sister's college guide magazine says, "life changes. keep up with it." But what about those times when life keeps promising to change but then decides to take forever to get around to it? What about those times when life says, "Sure, you get to go to grad school in London, but you can only earn this privilege by spending four months in purgatory. If you don't lose your mind, you'll have the chance to do something cool. But, knowing you, you'll probably lose your mind."? What about those times?

What about the times when you hang out with your friends and realize that you really may not see some of them ever again?

What about the times when you don't even care that your bathroom counter is covered with makeup residue and hair and wet dust (seriously, gross) because it's not really your bathroom anymore?

What are you supposed to do when in all of your dreams you're on planes and trains, and when you pick up your phone to call your family or a friend, it shatters into tiny pieces?

What about those times?

What are we supposed to do?

My advice: don't emulate me and get all angsty. Teenage-esque angst is never the answer - at least not at the age of 22. But what if I've reverted to the age of 14 in terms of maturity? Because there's a distinct possibility that this has happened, probably because I moved back home after college. I think I need to work on re-growing up.

Nice to meetcha... what are you doin' in my waters?

Well, hi. My name is Kimberly, and I'm Sarah's sister. In fact, teachers throughout the years have referred to me as such "Oh, so you're Sarah's sister?". Sometimes even going to the extreme of forgetting my name and calling me Sarah.

Aside from that, I am 16, and a rising high school senior. I enjoy singing and theater, ice skating, pretending I can speak foreign languages, and pretending that I like to run (obviously I love playing games of pretend). I also like cake. And reading. And watching television. Normal stuff, I guess.

This is me doing magic. Am I Sabrina the Teenage Witch? Probably.

In my blogging, I will probably cover subjects such as applying to college, the traveling that I do, books, and whatever strikes my fancy. I suppose now I will insert a photo that makes me smile in attempts to make my reader smile. Cheers. Well, bye then.

Love.

My Statement of Purpose Example

For those of you who aren't interested in grad school, sorry for all the grad school posts. Since I wrote my "How to Write a Statement of Purpose" post, though, I thought it might be helpful to include my actual statement of purpose. So here it is!

            Someone had told me that the predominantly Turkish sections of Berlin were dangerous, that these were places where I, a twenty-year-old American from the Midwest, wouldn’t want to go alone. Yet I’ve never been one to heed these kinds of warnings, and it was with a combination of anticipation, nervous excitement, and determination that I entered the Neukölln section of Berlin, on my way to help in tutoring children of Turkish immigrants. As the afternoon progressed and I toured Neukölln with two students and their tutor, I found myself searching for ways to prolong my time there. Maybe it was something in the energy of the place, in the collision of gentrification and immigrant-run shops and ornate 19^th century buildings. Maybe it was the enthusiasm of the tutor with whom I worked and his drive to help his students enjoy learning. Maybe it was the stories of the immigrant children and their experience of growing up between two cultures. In all likelihood it was a combination of these factors that led me to realize that someday, somehow, I would like to work in this environment. From that point on it was a matter of figuring out how this could be accomplished.

What I learned is that, even when you don’t approach life with a clearly defined goal, when you follow your intuition it seems that you are bound to discover your passion. In many ways, this process of following my instincts has characterized my undergraduate education. I began studying German not because I intended it to be my major, but because I wanted to learn a new language, a language that my ancestors had spoken, a language bound together with a tumultuous history, but also a language of many of the world’s great philosophers, scientists, and artists. Above all, I wanted to learn something that was completely new to me.

Throughout my undergraduate education, there was never a shortage of new things to learn, and when I look back on my course of studies, I find that the topics of my chosen classes have many commonalities. I have focused largely on the experiences of disadvantaged groups throughout history and the dynamics of social change by enrolling in a course that investigated the experience of migrants to Germany through the lens of theater, one that explored the role of language in determining a person’s social status, and one that investigates the feasibility of health care reform in the United States, among many others.

In pursuing a Master’s in European Studies, I hope to further explore the origins and outcomes of tension and conflict between social groups. I am particularly interested in the experiences of migrant populations and look forward to an opportunity to investigate their reasons for migration, as well as the struggles and victories associated with establishing themselves in a new home country. Additionally, I am excited to study regional variations within the European Union and the effects of these variations on disadvantaged populations.

The primary appeal of the European Studies program at University College London is its interdisciplinary approach to understanding European identity, with an emphasis on the arts as a means of analyzing European integration and society. My previous coursework in creative writing, literature, and art history has sparked an interest in the arts as a means of addressing social issues, and I look forward to a chance to further explore this interest while focusing on modern Europe.

            I bring to this program not only an educational background in European culture and politics, but also knowledge of research methods in the social sciences. For the past year and a half, I have been employed with a study that investigates scientific literacy among Americans aged 35-40. This work has allowed me to develop a thorough understanding of the methods of survey research, as well as the effects of academic study on public policy. I hope to ultimately work in a field in which I can also work to bridge the gap between academics and policy, and I believe this program will bring me closer to achieving this goal. 

Writing a Statement of Purpose

Quite a few months have passed since I wrote my statement of purpose for my grad school applications, and for basically the entire time, I've been meaning to tell the internet what I learned. 

Writing a statement of purpose takes a lot of motivation. I like to take my motivation in the form of coffee and tea - sometimes at the same time. 

As I was writing my statement of purpose, I devised a formula of sorts, and I was extremely pleased with the result. Here it is: 

1. Talk about an experience that is in some way related to your graduate study. I chose the time I helped to tutor children of Turkish immigrants in Berlin, and how this got me interested in European social issues. This makes your statement of purpose more personal.  

2. Relate the previously described experience to your university studies. If you have an unconventional major, explain it here. 

3. Talk about specific college courses or experiences that sparked an interest in the course of study you're now pursuing. This is where you specify your academic interests. For example, I like to focus on the experiences of disadvantaged populations, and I explained the roots of this interest here. 

4. Propose a topic you would like to focus on in grad school. Of course you can change your mind after applying, but I think admissions people like to see some specific 

5. Explain why you selected the school and program you're applying to. You can mention courses you might want to take, the city you would be living in, and so on - really, whatever appeals to you. 

6. I call this the miscellaneous section. This is where I talked about other, non-academic experiences that are relevant to my graduate program, specifically my social research job. 

General Tip: Although you will mention things you did in the past, remember to consistently relate these experiences to what you want to do in the future. 

General Tip #2: Write a lot of drafts of your statement. I think I wrote a new one every week for about five weeks. Were there time when I wanted to give up on all the editing and just submit the thing already? Oh yeah. Am I glad I took the time to get my statement to a point where I was really happy with it? Absolutely. 

I hope this information is helpful, and I will soon be posting an example of my statement of purpose! How exciting. 

Be a Better... Conversationalist

Part of the reason I started this blog was to motivate myself to do more interesting things, because when I write about the things I do, I'm more likely to, you know, do things. I know this sounds like circular logic, but it really does make sense in the context of my life. You see, I was spending the summer doing absolutely nothing - no classes, no job - and hence encountered some difficulty in motivating myself to ever leave the house. By committing to writing a blog, however, I signed on to making a more interesting person of myself. This should prove to be a great challenge.

With this in mind, I'm starting a series of posts in which I basically pick some personal failing and try to fix it. And because I used to take a lot of science classes, I'm going to write these loosely in the form of lab reports. It just makes sense to me.

The Project: Get better at talking to people. (Actually, I've kind of been working on this one for the past few years, but I made some definite breakthroughs about three weeks ago.)

Introduction: I went to London a few weeks ago to meet with potential future flatmates and hopefully find someone to live with next year. It was absolutely necessary that I did this and did it well, but I knew that I'm not necessarily one to be normal and fun and interesting during a first meeting. It's not that I'm boring (at least I hope I'm not). No, it's just that sometimes, when I'm in an unfamiliar social situation, I forget everything about myself, everything I'm interested in, and everything I've ever thought about.

Travel: So much fun, so much potential for awkwardness.

Hypothesis: I need to stop overthinking every social interaction. In other words, people are not nearly as judgmental as I imagine them to be.

Materials: Probably just the internet. Oh, and other people.

Methods: About a week before going to London, I started looking at myself in the mirror and just talking, rehearsing entertaining stories and just giving basic information about myself without sounding too awkward. Yes, I really did this, and yes, it was slightly humiliating.

Additionally, I thought about all the progress I made in the art of socializing during my college years and realized that my discovery of self-deprecating humor marked the end of my complete social failure. See, when you employ it during a conversation with someone you don't know very well, it makes answering the awkward small talk questions so much less awkward. People would often ask me about my major, for example, and my standard answer was something along the lines of, "It's German. Mostly pointless, but I like learning languages, and, who knows, maybe I'll find a job someday that'll let me use it." With this answer, not only do I give information about myself, but I let the other person know that they don't have to take me too seriously. In fact, I much prefer teasing and banter to earnestness. I still have trouble with sincerity in casual conversation with relative strangers. I mean, I don't mind when other people are sincere; I just have trouble expressing it myself. Somehow it always feels artificial, even if it isn't.

Finally, I compiled a list of questions I could ask in the event of an awkward silence. These included: Where are you from? (Naturally); Do you have any siblings? (Family tends to be a topic that people can discuss at length); What do/did you study? (this can lead to a discussion of general interests). I tried to stay away from the "What's your favorite...? questions because I personally hate them and generally don't have adequate answers. (What my favorite band? Um, well, I like lots of different bands a lot and I don't think I could choose one and maybe I could pick a genre?.... No, I like lots of different genres too.... Cue loss of interest.)

Results/Conclusion: My meetings went quite well, really. I managed to find flatmates, and I think they liked me! And the thing was, I didn't even have to use any of my practiced methods (except maybe the self-deprecation). In the end, all I did was answer questions, talk about my life, ask about theirs, laugh at their jokes, and hope they liked mine. I didn't think too much about what I was saying before I said it. No, instead I just went into a conversational autopilot of sorts, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I made friends after just one meeting.

The lesson? Don't overthink; just talk.

Hometown Touristing

Sometimes I wonder if my use of the word "hometown" to describe Ann Arbor is a misnomer. I was born here but didn't grow up here; I attended college here but moved back into my parents' house directly following graduation. I suppose this is really an issue of not quite knowing where I live anymore. Is my home where I'm living at the moment? The "permanent address" I list on official forms? The place I'm moving to in about two months? Honestly, I think the answer is none of these - not entirely anyway. This is the summer of self-imposed rootlessness. You see, I could have a place that I fully consider my home, but I'm choosing not to, mainly for fear of becoming too attached to something I have to leave. 

This is getting too sad. 

Regardless, I'm back in Ann Arbor for a few days, and I'm just now realizing how much I missed this place. I missed being surrounded by people my own age; I missed the abundance of coffee shops, the student-oriented restaurants, the campus buildings - practically all of which I can point to and say, "I had a class in there once." The benefit of being back here without any real purpose is that I can finally do all the things I was too busy for while still a student. It's going to be Tourist Day, Part 2. What is Tourist Day? Well, allow me to explain.

A Brief History of the Original Tourist Day: this is a holiday that my friend and I celebrated when we had officially completed all of our college classes. Basically it consisted of walking around, taking pictures of everything even slightly meaningful, eating in a restaurant we both love but never really go to, and trying a new coffee shop. The logic behind it is kind of obvious: we wanted to do the fun things in this town before leaving it forever. Not that we didn't have any fun during four years of college...

As the shirt above may have informed you, Ann Arbor is not entirely real. This doesn't mean that it's a cardboard city they disassemble every night (although I'm convinced that those exist - some towns are just too perfect), it just means that Ann Arbor doesn't have things like bad neighborhoods - at least not that I've seen - and the city's general population tends to be fairly young and well-educated. It's something of an anomaly. And, yes, sometimes I do feel like I spent my college years living in a fantasy world. Not that I'm complaining. 

I must say that a fantasy world appears more fantastical when you are free of all responsibility, and during those first few minutes of Tourist Day sightseeing, Ann Arbor looked ridiculously beautiful.

This is Nickels Arcade. I once heard that there aren't many of these left in the world, although I can't seem to find confirmation on the internet. Oh, internet, why do you fail me just when I need you most? Kidding, kidding. 

Most of Tourist Day consisted of wandering around, since there turned out to be very little actual sightseeing to be done in a city where I had lived for four years. Still, we did hit some tourist sites: the Arcade, the Cube (see below), the graffiti alley (likewise). 

The Cube. It spins. 

The Graffiti Alley

For me, though, the highlight of Tourist Day was, of course, the food. We went to Fritas Batidos, which is one of my favorite Ann Arbor restaurants. My roommates and I call it "The Cuban Place," although it apparently isn't a Cuban restaurant - just Cuban-inspired - and I sometimes call it "That White Place" because it's very white inside. Have a look:

In the interest of full disclosure, I should say that I have only ever ordered one thing here: the black bean frita with muenster cheese. I don't need to try anything else on the menu because this meal is perfect. It's basically a black bean burger served on a brioche roll with fries on the inside. Yes, the fries are part of the sandwich. And I know that this sounds like a fairly ordinary meal, but just trust me, there's something about it. Something addictive. Something that will keep you awake the night before a trip to Fritas Batidos thinking about it. Sadly, during this trip to Ann Arbor, I don't expect to make a return trip there. I can't afford such luxuries as restaurant food. I guess these are the trials of recent graduate/future grad student life. 

Don't pay too much attention to me. I'm just being melodramatic. 

San Francisco Day 4

Imagine you get on a city bus in America and you get off in America. Well, yeah, obviously. Then imagine that you go inside a fairly ordinary-looking shopping center, and suddenly you're in Japan. Or at least you're in some version of Japan - perhaps a Japanese mall with a heavy American influence. And everything is adorable. Seriously, they even sell a brand of sponges called "Colorfulness."

Welcome to Daiso. This was my first stop in Japantown, and I went into major must-acquire-all-the-cute-things mode. Strawberry-printed travel fork-and-spoon set? Yes, please. Checkered lunch boxes? Kitchen sponges shaped like slices of cake? Never before had I realized just how wonderful Japanese things are. And the best part? Almost everything was only $1.50! I was incredibly satisfied with my purchase of a heart-shaped ladle and a panda laundry hanger. 

I think this captures my enthusiasm for the Japan Center. 

An interior shot. Note the cherry trees. 

When we left the Japan Center, however, we quickly realized that there is actually a relatively limited Japanese influence in Japantown. Lots of trendy boutiques? Yes. Japanese shops and restaurants? Not so much. I didn't mind and was just happy to explore another neighborhood, but my sister, who's something of a Japan enthusiast, was disappointed.

Since trendy boutiques tend to be somewhat out of our price range, we decided to take a bus over to Ocean Beach and have lunch at a restaurant overlooking the water. The Beach Chalet had a beautiful ocean view, delicious food (I had the seasonal vegetable risotto), and excellent brewed-on-location beer. I absolutely loved my chocolate porter. 

The ocean view

After lunch we stopped by Haight-Ashbury, and I learned that hippie must have turned into hipster sometime in the past 40-ish years. If I remember correctly, there were approximately two vintage clothing stores per block, a few record stores, quite a few coffee shops, and lots and lots of tourists. Something tells me that the area has changed a bit since the Summer of Love.

Now I could give you a play-by-play of the events of our final night in San Francisco, but since it consists mostly of dinner and a hunt for dessert, I'll spare you the details. What I will say, though, is that I saw a lot of San Francisco in only three-and-a-half days. Of course my knowledge of this city isn't on the level of a local's knowledge, but I can navigate the public transportation system; I know a few good restaurants; I know a few neighborhoods that I find fun/interesting/aesthetically pleasing. And, really, don't we travel to learn about new places? I think I succeeded. 

San Francisco Day 3

Midway through the bus ride to the Marin Headlands, my hands started sweating, which signified our rather close proximity to some very dramatic hills, and with dramatic hills come steep drop-offs, and with steep drop-offs comes the assumption that the bus will drive off the cliff. This is just how my mind works. And, yes, I know that I must have looked terrified when the bus was winding through the hairpin curves. And, yes, I know that other people noticed my obvious fear and were probably silently mocking me. Don't worry, I'm used to silent mocking. Still, this was the most spectacular public bus ride I have ever taken, and despite my transportation anxiety, I'm sure it was actually quite safe.

You don't get views like this on just any bus ride.

San Francisco transportation tip (in case you'd like to see how scary this bus ride is for yourself): the San Francisco Municipal Railway sells passports, which allow unlimited rides on busses and the very popular cable cars for $7 per day. Considering the fact that a single cable car ride normally costs $6, the passport is an incredibly good deal. All you have to do is show it to the driver when you get on a bus/cable car. 

After the bus ride, we took a ferry to Sausalito, and on the way saw excellent views of San Francisco.

SF from the ferry. Also, a sailboat!

The first thing you should know about Sausalito is that its main street is primarily a place for tourists to eat and shop, and, as is common in resort towns, nearly every restaurant seems to have a menu offering everything from pasta to burritos. Since my mid-afternoon hunger was setting in, I was grateful for this variety. So many choices! So many food smells! I talked a lot about food smells during this trip. I don't know why.

Anyway, we decided to get lunch at the Bridgeway Cafe, and I had a bean burrito. This was good because I hadn't had a bean burrito in days, and I was about to start experiencing withdrawal symptoms. I eat a lot of bean burritos, and this one was among the best because it was made with avocado. Avocado! In a bean burrito! Unprecedented.

After lunch, we did a bit of shopping, and thus concludes our relatively brief interlude in Sausalito. My impressions: very pretty, good food, very touristy, with quite an impressive selection of tourist shirts. I even ended up buying one - something I don't think I've done in 8 years. Side note: the entire time I was in Sausalito, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was actually in Saugatuck, Michigan. Regional variation is possibly dead.

Now, onward with this fairly disjointed post!

Since our third day in San Francisco was the Fourth of July, naturally we went to see American Idiot at the Orpheum Theater. Naturally. And it was... interesting. I liked the music, the energy, the set design (lots of TV screens - I thought it made a strong statement about the influence of the media in our culture). I appreciated the attempt to portray the challenges of growing up, of trying to do something new or different or important and finding that nothing is ever as straightforward as originally planned. However, I really, really wanted to see more character development. All of the main characters could have been much more complex, but it seemed like I never saw anything beyond the most superficial traits. It's not that I disliked any of the characters; I just thought they needed more depth. If you like Green Day's music, though, and you don't mind a non-traditional play, you will probably like American Idiot. And, seriously, there was no better way to spend the night of the Fourth of July than seeing American Idiot.

And, yes, while watching the play, I did acknowledge that I am fortunate to live in a country where I can watch a fairly anti-American play on Independence Day. But I prefer to laugh at the irony. What a hipster.

San Francisco Day 2

I'll spare you the part of this day that consists of me going to the UK visa application office and getting fingerprinted. If you're actually interested, though, click the link. Is it considered bad form to link to your own blog posts? Is it like I'm saying, "The only things worth reading are the things I've written! HAHAHAHA. Here, why don't you read more of my ramblings? Read more."? 

I digress. 

The upside to doing bureaucratic things on vacation was that it took me into a new section of San Francisco. Granted, the area around the visa office was really boring, and the boring part was adjacent to a few sketchy blocks of strip clubs, but once we got past all of that, we found ourselves in an extremely interesting, garlic-scented Italian-Chinese wonderland. I believe it's called North Beach. Or maybe Chinatown. I had a hard time determining where one neighborhood ends and another begins. 

The European...

And the Chinese! All within probably 5 minutes of each other.

Clearly some exploration was in order.

So we looked at Chinese markets.

And stopped for the best bubble tea I've ever tasted. What made it the best? Well, unlike the bubble tea places at home, this place lets you add your own bubbles and jellies, allowing you to get to tea to tapioca to jelly ratio exactly right. Maybe this is standard practice in San Francisco, but not in Michigan, so I was impressed. 

After a quick Italian lunch, we climbed Telegraph Hill to Coit Tower, where we saw views of the Golden Gate Bridge.

And Alcatraz.

And this guy. My sister and I named him Griswold. 

Then we walked over to Lombard Street, which, contrary to popular belief, is not the crookedest street in the world. That honor actually goes to Vermont Street. But, still, Lombard Street, was impressively crooked. 

For dinner, we went to a cafe and crepery called Honey Honey, and all of our meals were delicious. My mom and I had black bean chili; my sister had a peanut butter crepe; my dad had shrimp pasta. In addition to the food, I really enjoyed Honey Honey's atmosphere. Unlike a lot of restaurants that serve trendy food (tofu sandwich, anyone?) Honey Honey felt unpretentious. What this means is that the staff were friendly and didn't scoff at my order. (What? You like bean soup and beer? How very mainstream.) Okay, maybe no one has actually said anything quite like that to me, but trust me, you can tell when hipsters are judging you. After years of living among the hipsters, I find it very refreshing to go to a restaurant, order my stylishly-presented food, and not feel socially awkward for hours afterward. 

All in all, an excellent day. 

An Introduction to San Francisco

The first thing I learned in San Francisco is that I'm not very cool. I mean, I'm 22 years old and I still go on vacation with my parents. Even my parents admit that it's a bit pathetic, and at one point in the trip, my mom actually said that I'll never again convince her that I'm young enough to be included in the family vacation. 

Still, I had fun. At least five people mistook me for a teenager. I wore horribly impractical shoes. I became a very "good" photographer of fire escapes. And, most importantly, I decided that someday I will write a series of travel books entitled "Horrible Tourist," and they will tell the story of my life. Seriously, after climbing Telegraph Hill (apparently it's touristically significant) instead of taking pictures of the Golden Gate Bridge like everyone else, I laid down because I was wearing heels and my feet hurt.

Fire Escape Photography - My latest hipstery enthusiasm

But let's start from the beginning.

We checked into the Hotel Monaco, and it instantly won me over by offering an iced-tea-apple-juice blend in the lobby. The seduction (yeah) continued when I discovered the unlimited complimentary wine served for one hour each night. Not to mention that all guests here have the option of cohabitating with a goldfish for the duration of their stay. I named mine Leviathan.

The Room

Leviathan! 

Having checked into the hotel, it was time to remedy the I-have-eaten-mostly-cookies-today situation. We selected the King of Thai for our first night dinner, and, oh, what a dinner it was. I should probably disclose here that I am something of an expert on Pad Thai, having eaten it in essentially every Thai restaurant I have ever visited, and this was some of the best - if not the best - Pad Thai I have ever tasted. The shrimp to vegetable to noodle to spice ratio was perfect. Other selling points: they have authentic Thai beer, you can order comically large, mixing-bowl-sized bowls of soup, and no one judges you if you're not very good at using chopsticks. Of course forks are available too. 

Giant Soup!

After dinner we decided to be boring and go back to our room and sleep. Thus concludes my first night in San Francisco.

To be continued...

Grad School Application Tips

Not to sound full of myself or anything, but I think I've made quite a bit of life progress since January. Let me elaborate: I was two weeks into the second semester of my senior year of college, and I had no idea what my next step would be. I went home for a weekend under the pretense of "applying for jobs away from the distractions of school," but really I went home to freak out. I think it was midway through one of the intensest freak-out sessions that my dad suggested that I look at graduate programs in Germany. I was a German major, after all. So I did, and I think at this point I can safely say that that internet search changed my life. 

This has absolutely nothing to do with anything, but here's a donkey for your viewing pleasure. I was going to my iPhoto looking for something relevant, and, well, donkeys beat relevance.   

On the University of Hamburg's website, I found the description for their Master's of European Studies program. Coursework in international relations, politics, and European culture? Check. European location? Check. All of a sudden, this beautiful thing called a Master's of European Studies emerged from the smoldering wreckage of my "job search." And I desperately wanted one of these Master's degree things. 

I promptly abandoned the "get a job" plan in favor of the "go to grad school" plan, and during the process, I learned some things:

1. Apply to some schools that you think are basically guaranteed to take you, as well as some schools that you think would never, ever, ever take you. For me, UCL was my reach school. And guess what? I got in. Taking chances can pay off. 

2. Write a few drafts of your statement of purpose. It can take some time to settle on what you want to say, but if you're really proud of what you wrote, you'll feel slightly better during that torturous waiting period between submitting your applications and getting decisions from schools. 

3. Set aside some time every week to work on applications and only applications. For me this was Thursday between 10 am and 1 pm. I think this designated application time was the only reason they actually got done. 

4. If your recommenders agree to it, get pdf copies of your letters of recommendation. This way, you have them for future use. I found this to be extremely useful, since it allowed me to make additional, last-minute applications when I was panicking about not getting in anywhere. Which brings me to my next point…

5. Don’t panic. I know this sounds like empty advice, but seriously, your quality of life will be infinitely better if you at least attempt to maintain some perspective through the application process. How to maintain perspective? Always keep in mind that there are lots of things you love in life that are not at all associated with education. Listen to good music. Focus on developing new skills (mine was writing/blogging). You'll get through it. Really.

TIP: If you start the grad school application process late, like I did, it may be a good idea to look at schools abroad (assuming you're American). Their application deadlines are generally later than most American universities, AND they don't require the GRE.