7 Things Meme
Jul. 1st, 2012 03:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sechan19Comment to this post, requesting a list, and I will pick seven things I would like you to talk about. They might make sense or be totally random. Then post that list, with your commentary, to your journal. Other people can get lists from you, and the meme merrily perpetuates itself. Wheeee!
A list from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
foxxydancr:
Movies I Can't Watch:
I'm the type of person who can watch just about anything. In fact, it's pretty universally acknowledged by those who know me well that if I say something is a bad movie that it is probably worse than you could ever imagine. This is because I tolerate (and in some cases even like) some pretty horrible shit. I've sat through films like The Human Centipede (which, take it from me, is one of the most awful things you'll ever see), Beastmaster 3, Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death, and Twilight: Breaking Dawn Part I (which, take it from me, is one of the most awful things you'll ever see). Horror and gore don't particularly phase me, and sometimes I find them remarkably funny. To give you an example, there are only two films on Bravo's 100 Scariest Movie Moments top-twenty list that I haven't seen. I've got nerves of iron, and a freaky sense of humor, and I'll watch just about anything once.
Now, I have walked out on films for being stupid. I turned off Consenting Adults mid-way through because the asininity was too much for me to take. Ditto for Boxing Helena (quite possibly the dumbest film ever made) and Face/Off (because there is almost nothing more revolting than John Travolta and Nicolas Cage engaged in a competitive scene chewing contest). Of course that's not quite the same thing as being unable to watch something; that's more like refusing to on general principles. That said, however, there are sometimes scenes in films that—for one reason or another—I just cannot bring myself to watch. The chestburster scene in Aliens and the decompression scene in Event Horizon are prime examples of that phenomenon. I don't know why they strike me as horrible, but they do. And I close my eyes, and cover my ears, every time.
Mayonnaise:
Ah, mayonnaise. I don't like mayonnaise. I never have. I inevitably avoid things that are made with mayonnaise (like potato salad and traditional sandwiches). But I love Japanese mayonnaise, and that's a good thing because it seems to come with everything. The Japanese put mayonnaise on onigiri, and hamburgers, and pizza. (Yes, pizza.) And it is delicious. I'm not exactly sure why this is, but I think it has something to do with the presence of rice vinegar. Whatever it is, though, it's the reason that I will, on occasion, eat a McDonald's burger while I'm in Japan—something that I will not do anywhere else in the world.
Living Abroad:
I've been privileged to live abroad multiple times in my life. I've lived in different places (Paris, France and Kanto, Japan) at different points in my life (early twenties and early thirties). The beauty of life abroad is not just that it teaches you about a foreign culture; it also teaches you about your own culture—about the little tics that have seeped into your personality from constant association with an entire, ingrained way of life. When I lived in Paris I learned not just what I liked (and didn't like) about Parisians, but what I liked (and didn't like) about Americans. The experience transformed me into someone who could, and would, think critically about the nature of culture and culture clash. It was a crucial moment in my development toward adulthood, and I cannot imagine who I might be now if I hadn't had that experience.
In my view, everyone should live abroad at some point in their life. Barring that possibility, everyone should travel extensively outside their home country. (And by extensively I mean for several months and with focused dedication to the experience.) So many of the world's problems stem from people's tunnel vision about their culture. They think that their culture does everything right and nothing wrong. (Or, in some cases, that their culture does nothing right and everything wrong.) Living abroad broadens cultural viewpoints and enables people to see the pluses and minuses of their own, and other people's, culture. It allows them to think about situations from multiple perspectives and helps them to be less defensive when facing criticisms. In short, it's a massive advantage, and no one should deny themselves (or be denied) such an advantage.
Pillows:
I like pillows. (Who doesn't, right?) I like feather pillows on the bed, and throw pillows on the couch, and floor pillows that allow you to get down where its cool when watching movies on hot summer nights. Pillows were a good invention. Whoever came up with the idea of pillows should be given cookies and an affectionate pat on the head.
Scent:
Scents are interesting. I'm pretty picky when it comes to scent. I'm not a fan of artificial scents, particularly the overpowering kind. I generally don't approve of perfume or cologne unless they've been chosen with care and applied with circumspection. When an unnatural scent is too overpowering, it makes me ill. I often carry almond-milk beeswax in my purse to rub under my nose in case I get trapped in an enclosed space with someone who uses, say, too much freesia-scented skin cream from Avon. When all is said and done I prefer natural scents. I like things to smell like themselves. I like the scent of sweat. I like the scent of plants—roses and gardenias and other flowering plants, of course, but also the plants that simply smell like plants. There's a beauty in the simplicity of natural scents, and an honesty, too. If something smells unsavory, I want to know it. I don't want it to be covered up with something false.
Humor:
Supposedly I have a good sense of humor. People often tell me that I am very funny. They often laugh when I say something. I think it works in my favor for the most part. I have a jocular manner that seems to be very appealing, although I sometimes worry that it makes me too casual in some settings. My sense of humor is on the weird side, and so I often make connections that strike me as deliciously funny but are actually probably rather sick or inappropriate. I like humor that's on the dry side; I enjoy sorry good cheer. The world is a sick and inappropriate place much of the time, and in the end all we can do is laugh about it. So I do.
Cynicism:
A cynic is what an optimist calls a realist. A classic saying, I know, but one with which I wholeheartedly agree. I'm sure plenty of people consider me a cynic, or given to cynicism at the very least. I prefer to see myself as someone who has no illusions about the world and the way it tends to work. I'm a historian for Christ's sake. I've spent years studying the patterns by which human discourse always seems to operate: we protect the group; we abuse the minority; we fear the different; we'll do anything for money; we hate to share.
Of course, I'm talking about the mob—not the individual. Individuals are different. The push and pull between the mob and the individual is a fascinating thing, I think. It partly accounts for the incredible examples of beauty and selflessness that are often a hallmark of human behavior. The fact that I expect both the best and the worst of people, that I recognize that both go hand and hand with one another, probably disqualifies me from being a full-fledged cynic at the end of the day. But I still maintain that a healthy dollop of cynicism is a necessary ingredient in a well-balanced personality. After all, it's as imperative to remember that the world doesn't love us as it is to remember that the world doesn't hate us either. When you have no illusions, you have more defenses.
I really enjoyed writing about these topics; thanks for a great list!
A list from
foxxydancr:Movies I Can't Watch:
I'm the type of person who can watch just about anything. In fact, it's pretty universally acknowledged by those who know me well that if I say something is a bad movie that it is probably worse than you could ever imagine. This is because I tolerate (and in some cases even like) some pretty horrible shit. I've sat through films like The Human Centipede (which, take it from me, is one of the most awful things you'll ever see), Beastmaster 3, Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death, and Twilight: Breaking Dawn Part I (which, take it from me, is one of the most awful things you'll ever see). Horror and gore don't particularly phase me, and sometimes I find them remarkably funny. To give you an example, there are only two films on Bravo's 100 Scariest Movie Moments top-twenty list that I haven't seen. I've got nerves of iron, and a freaky sense of humor, and I'll watch just about anything once.
Now, I have walked out on films for being stupid. I turned off Consenting Adults mid-way through because the asininity was too much for me to take. Ditto for Boxing Helena (quite possibly the dumbest film ever made) and Face/Off (because there is almost nothing more revolting than John Travolta and Nicolas Cage engaged in a competitive scene chewing contest). Of course that's not quite the same thing as being unable to watch something; that's more like refusing to on general principles. That said, however, there are sometimes scenes in films that—for one reason or another—I just cannot bring myself to watch. The chestburster scene in Aliens and the decompression scene in Event Horizon are prime examples of that phenomenon. I don't know why they strike me as horrible, but they do. And I close my eyes, and cover my ears, every time.
Mayonnaise:
Ah, mayonnaise. I don't like mayonnaise. I never have. I inevitably avoid things that are made with mayonnaise (like potato salad and traditional sandwiches). But I love Japanese mayonnaise, and that's a good thing because it seems to come with everything. The Japanese put mayonnaise on onigiri, and hamburgers, and pizza. (Yes, pizza.) And it is delicious. I'm not exactly sure why this is, but I think it has something to do with the presence of rice vinegar. Whatever it is, though, it's the reason that I will, on occasion, eat a McDonald's burger while I'm in Japan—something that I will not do anywhere else in the world.
Living Abroad:
I've been privileged to live abroad multiple times in my life. I've lived in different places (Paris, France and Kanto, Japan) at different points in my life (early twenties and early thirties). The beauty of life abroad is not just that it teaches you about a foreign culture; it also teaches you about your own culture—about the little tics that have seeped into your personality from constant association with an entire, ingrained way of life. When I lived in Paris I learned not just what I liked (and didn't like) about Parisians, but what I liked (and didn't like) about Americans. The experience transformed me into someone who could, and would, think critically about the nature of culture and culture clash. It was a crucial moment in my development toward adulthood, and I cannot imagine who I might be now if I hadn't had that experience.
In my view, everyone should live abroad at some point in their life. Barring that possibility, everyone should travel extensively outside their home country. (And by extensively I mean for several months and with focused dedication to the experience.) So many of the world's problems stem from people's tunnel vision about their culture. They think that their culture does everything right and nothing wrong. (Or, in some cases, that their culture does nothing right and everything wrong.) Living abroad broadens cultural viewpoints and enables people to see the pluses and minuses of their own, and other people's, culture. It allows them to think about situations from multiple perspectives and helps them to be less defensive when facing criticisms. In short, it's a massive advantage, and no one should deny themselves (or be denied) such an advantage.
Pillows:
I like pillows. (Who doesn't, right?) I like feather pillows on the bed, and throw pillows on the couch, and floor pillows that allow you to get down where its cool when watching movies on hot summer nights. Pillows were a good invention. Whoever came up with the idea of pillows should be given cookies and an affectionate pat on the head.
Scent:
Scents are interesting. I'm pretty picky when it comes to scent. I'm not a fan of artificial scents, particularly the overpowering kind. I generally don't approve of perfume or cologne unless they've been chosen with care and applied with circumspection. When an unnatural scent is too overpowering, it makes me ill. I often carry almond-milk beeswax in my purse to rub under my nose in case I get trapped in an enclosed space with someone who uses, say, too much freesia-scented skin cream from Avon. When all is said and done I prefer natural scents. I like things to smell like themselves. I like the scent of sweat. I like the scent of plants—roses and gardenias and other flowering plants, of course, but also the plants that simply smell like plants. There's a beauty in the simplicity of natural scents, and an honesty, too. If something smells unsavory, I want to know it. I don't want it to be covered up with something false.
Humor:
Supposedly I have a good sense of humor. People often tell me that I am very funny. They often laugh when I say something. I think it works in my favor for the most part. I have a jocular manner that seems to be very appealing, although I sometimes worry that it makes me too casual in some settings. My sense of humor is on the weird side, and so I often make connections that strike me as deliciously funny but are actually probably rather sick or inappropriate. I like humor that's on the dry side; I enjoy sorry good cheer. The world is a sick and inappropriate place much of the time, and in the end all we can do is laugh about it. So I do.
Cynicism:
A cynic is what an optimist calls a realist. A classic saying, I know, but one with which I wholeheartedly agree. I'm sure plenty of people consider me a cynic, or given to cynicism at the very least. I prefer to see myself as someone who has no illusions about the world and the way it tends to work. I'm a historian for Christ's sake. I've spent years studying the patterns by which human discourse always seems to operate: we protect the group; we abuse the minority; we fear the different; we'll do anything for money; we hate to share.
Of course, I'm talking about the mob—not the individual. Individuals are different. The push and pull between the mob and the individual is a fascinating thing, I think. It partly accounts for the incredible examples of beauty and selflessness that are often a hallmark of human behavior. The fact that I expect both the best and the worst of people, that I recognize that both go hand and hand with one another, probably disqualifies me from being a full-fledged cynic at the end of the day. But I still maintain that a healthy dollop of cynicism is a necessary ingredient in a well-balanced personality. After all, it's as imperative to remember that the world doesn't love us as it is to remember that the world doesn't hate us either. When you have no illusions, you have more defenses.
I really enjoyed writing about these topics; thanks for a great list!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-07-01 08:51 pm (UTC)Hear, hear! I loathe the American marketing push for all these "home fragrances" and "air fresheners." How about your house is clean and doesn't smell like anything in particular? Isn't that better than having a house that smells like cloying fake floral layered over putrid trash can and insufficiently-cleaned-up-after animal scents?
no subject
Date: 2012-07-01 09:13 pm (UTC)