These are the photographs of Jacob Holdt. He came to the U.S. from Denmark with $40 in his pocket, and ended up chronicling the underbelly of our country through his amazing, amazing photographs. I can't say the word "amazing" enough times to do this website justice, or to describe how I felt when I looked through his pictures...I can't forget that there are people here who live like this...

(link via metafilter)

The elusive Danielle. At 3:30 AM. Uuuungh! What is with my hair?

What, that's not enough for ya?

You Know You're a Nerd When

You apathetically "lose" your W-2, and find it a week after April 15th lying very obviously on the oft-frequented shelf that also holds your case of CDs and printer paper.

But you turn your room upside down looking for your Dell Variety Games magazine because you're desperate to finish your diagramless crossword puzzle.

Just another hoppin' Saturday night at the 5331.

FAME!

I have been published! Yes, yours truly is responsible for the all the content in the BRAND-NEW FEATURES SECTION of the Chicago Maroon! Yes, that is me they call intrepid! Yes, I have been discovered by the journalism world, and it is only a matter of time before I have conquered it. Y'all knew my blog when!

You know, I'm really happy that Kelly Clarkson's album is doing so well. She seems like a nice, genuine person who truly is appreciative of where she is, and she's got such a beautiful voice. I was rooting for her. If I had any money whatsoever, I'd probably buy her album myself--not because I really like the songs, but just because I really like Kelly.

on a tangentially related note, I'm currently obsessing over Billy Joel. He rules SO hard. How come I never knew how awesome he was until now?

HA HA

While reading the anecdotes on IUsedtoBelieve.com, a website in which people submit random things they used to believe as children:

Burcu: That guy "Anon" is so weird! This is like the fifth time he's submitted something.
Danielle: (looking at Burcu strangely) ...You're kidding, right?
Burcu: No...why?
Danielle: "Anon" is short for "anonymous," tard! They're all different people!
Burcu: (looking at computer for a long time):....Oh.

Can't Win: An Addendum

So, yesterday afternoon, I went home and discarded the bright white sneakers for my smokin' high-heeled black boots. At about six p.m., as I was approximately eight blocks from my apartment, my entire right heel broke off. I tentatively stuck it back on it again and took a step. It fell off. I had to walk the rest of the way home, in the cold, holding my boots, wearing one grey sock and one white one. Then I dropped the heel out of my hand and while I was picking it up, I dropped both boots. In front of cool-looking people, of course.

And then I changed into my roommate's schoolgirl shoes and began my jaunt to the copyeditors meeting. During which I tripped again, twice.

Apparently I Was Wrong

I thought nothing could be worse than realizing halfway to my destination that I was wearing highwater black pants, bright white sneakers, and a grey pea coat. I thought nothing could be worse than the smirks of the stylish girls who who walked past me, than the line of sock peeking out between the hem of my pants and the top of my shoes. That was before I tripped.

Danielle Seizes $2,000 from University of Chicago; Flees to Russia

Watch out rooskies: here I come! yeehaw!

I used to be obsessed with memories, obsessed with the past. During this time, I'd seize onto things that would trigger the memories, things that would catapult me back in time and awaken the feelings whose loss I ached for. I collected them in my mind. They were precious to me, because no matter how many times you replay an event in your head, it's incomplete without the feelings. Sometimes if I squeezed my eyes shut really tight and concentrated hard on time-travel, I could wrench droplets of the feelings out of my memory and re-experience them. But the most vivid experiences I had with the feelings were all spontaneous. Results of the triggers. A song. A smell--there's a big one. And the one I always forget about: the weather.

Today was a California day, weatherwise. It was 80 degrees at seven pm, and people were walking around, and the wind was blowing. It was a California night, just like many of the nights I've experienced, when the sun was just setting, and I watched it from the bleachers, or while playing tag, or waiting under the palm trees for my mom to pick me up. Except that's not even true, because California nights are rarely 80 degrees. The trigger was unpinpointable.

Because I'm lazy and because my shoes were hurting my feet, I got on the B Route bus at 56th and University. I needed to get to 53rd and Woodlawn, four blocks away. The bus took me all the way to 49th and East End, easily, oh god, fifteen blocks away before taking me where I needed to go. Okay, fuck you too.

The windows in the bus were rolled down, and I gazed out the window, and glimpsed the lake between the skyscraper apartment-buildings--and something about the warmth, the purr of the bus, the blueness of the lake--something unpinpointable--awakened long-dormant feelings that make me ache at my core, and I was drenched with emotion, and all of a sudden, I loved Chicago.

Because that's what love is, isn't it. Strong emotion, directed at whatever's in the vicinity when you're experiencing it. The trigger, the feelings, the target. That's love. It's not a bad thing. That's just what it is. I've spent a long time thinking about it. I know I'm still a kid. But that's the conclusion I have drawn, and I can't return permanently to the times when I thought it was something much deeper than that. I have laid down my foundations here, and I can only visit whenever some relic and I happen to cross paths.

So, a few days ago, I hear a funny story about how my friend Dan locked himself in his own closet. I of course really, really want to run into him so that I can laugh at him to his face. Finally, it happens. I'm sitting in the crowded theater, waiting for Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers to begin, and I see Dan walk in. And I cannot control myself. I yell, "Hey Dan! Dan! I heard you locked yourself in the closet!" Dan looks around, embarrassed. Burcu turns to me and says, "Danielle, that's so messed up." OOPS! Impulse control, where are you when I need you? Sorry, Dan.

But now I'm posting about it on the internet. So much for self-redemption.

Funny Funny

Overheard on Monday night at Maroon office:

"Okay, my roommate and her boyfriend have like their own big collection of porn, but trust me, they're not cool enough for that to be sexy."

More Adventures on the #172

Yesterday, as I crammed myself into the already-stuffed bus to campus, as I stood there gripping the metal pole, enveloped in human, I was listening to Etta James sing "At Last" through my headphones. For some reason, it seemed exactly appropriate.

BLOGGER HATRED, Round 2

My Rockin' Schedule

My schedule rules so hard! Here it is:

Monday: Writing Description 1:30-2:50
Tuesday & Thursday: Zola & Dostoevsky on Crime & Retribution 10:30-11:50
Perspectives on Drug Abuse 1:30-2:50
Wednesday: Writing Description 1:30-2:50
European War & Genocide 3-5:50
Friday: NOTHING

Last night, while copyediting at the Chicago Maroon, the Viewpoints layout guy gave me a pilot fountain pen. It made my week. All day, I've felt compelled to embellish my normal handwriting with squiggles and loops. Sort of a poor-man's calligraphy. My "l"s have started to look like backwards "S"s. My "M"s and "N"s have little tails. It's AWESOME.

Danielle Is Not a Man!

A couple of days ago, I was exiting the administration building just as a postal worker was entering it, carrying a large box. Being a nice person, I held the door open for him. He turned to me, smiled, and said, "You are a true gentleman." WHAT THE FUCK?!?!

Thought

When I am sitting on the bus, listening to "I Just Can't Wait to Be King," I wonder what would happen if I were to abruptly start singing along, loudly. Would people stare? Would the bus driver make a comment? Would people laugh? Pretend not to hear? What if I were to stand up on my seat and start dancing?
This is what's going on in the head of the normal-looking girl who's listening to headphones and staring out the window with glazed eyes. Bet you didn't realize she was listening to Disney songs.

WOO!

The archives are back up, if anyone cares. Blogger, you came through in the end.

O Blogger, how I do hate thee

HATE

Hate hate hate

I hate blogger

I hate elevators

I hate riding in elevators with strangers. Worse yet, I hate riding in elevators with vague, vague acquaintances. There's so much potential for awkwardness I'm getting shifty-eyed just typing about it.

Specifically, I'm thinking about an incident that occurred at work today. One of my jobs is working with rats at the Institute for Mind & Biology, and it's got hardcore security, probably so that PETA won't sneak in and mess shit up (and they'd be total fools to do so, but that's another rant for another time). You need a key to get anywhere other than the lobby, and even getting to the lobby can be a hassle.

Because I am a space cadet, I've forgotten my key numerous times. When I forget my key, I have to ask Mike, the maintenance man, to let me into the second floor, which is seriously locked down. You have to use your key to get the elevator to take you up there, and then use it again at a set of double doors that meet you immediately after you step out of the elevator. So whenever I forget my key, I have to stand there and make stilted conversation with Mike while we wait for the slowwww elevator to reach the first floor, pick us up, and then deliver us to the second floor where he can unlock the double doors.

Today, Mike had just remarked, "So, we're finally getting some beautiful weather, eh?" when the elevator reached us. There was some guy in it already who was headed to the fourth floor. He and Mike discussed breakfast or something while the elevator headed to the second floor. Mike and I got off. The guy on the elevator said, "See you later!". Mike called back, "Yeah, have a good one!" Then he unlocked the double doors, said, "Take care," to me, and managed to dash back in the elevator again before the door closed. With the guy he had just said goodbye to.

Okay. Most Awkward Situation Imaginable. What did he say after he got back in again? "Oh, well, hello again! So...uh, breakfast, you were saying?" Did Mike ride all the way to the fourth floor with him, and then back down to the lobby alone? Poor Mike! I hate elevators! They always result in this sort of thing!!

Another thing I hate about elevators is that right when the door's about to close, someone always rushes up and says, "WAIT! WAIT!" and you have to punch the "Open Doors" button and disrupt the whole rhythm you had going just so some stupid fucker doesn't have to wait another thirty seconds. Sometimes when I'm in a bad mood, I punch the Close Doors button right after I get in just to make sure no one does that to me. I don't want to deal with other people when I'm on an elevator.

I have this sadistic fantasy where I'm alone in an elevator, and the doors are closing, and someone rushes towards me and says, "WAIT! WAIT!" and I just stare at them as the doors finish shutting with a face that's sinister in its expressionlessness. So then they either have to wait or take the stairs, and they're all mad. And if they run into me again, and confront me with, "Hey, why didn't you let me on the elevator that one time?", I'd just look at them coldly and say, "Sorry. I thought you looked like you needed the exercise."

Fool!

I got my mom so bad today. I called her up and said, "Mom...I don't know how to tell you this, but I'm at the airport right now. I took my tuition refund from last quarter and bought a plane ticket to Europe." In reality, I was sitting at my computer, in pajamas, eating carrot sticks. My mom screamed at me for about ten minutes ("You turn around right now and get a refund for that ticket! You're screwing up your life! You know you have no health insurance unless you're a full-time student!") while my roommate and I sat there laughing so uncontrollably that we accidentally knocked our heads together.
My mom finally said, "Danielle, are you joking? Are you joking?! Tell me, are you joking?!?!"
Me (shaky voiced): I'm sorry, mom, but...but I knew I had to leave today.
Mom: Why?!
Me: Because...IT'S APRIL FOOL'S DAY!!!!

In other news, the weather was beautiful today and I wore black rhinestone flip-flops that cut my feet so badly I was carrying them around most of the day. A number of people looked at my bare feet and smirked as they passed me. Fools!