Whoa! I got an honorable mention in the Washington Post Travel photo contest! I can't believe it! Here's the page (it has a gallery with the photos) [link]

So when I find myself wanting to update my Twitter/facebook five times in a row, I realize two things – one, I need to write something, probably a journal, and two, I have not made the best use of the day.

I’ve been sick with a virus, so that’s a good reason, I guess, but still – I’ve been out of commission for a week. My awesome sister has been covering my shifts at our shared nannying job, which is great, but I hate being away from work – for one, I love my job (taking care of two amazing and fun kids!), and for two, I want to be doing something. Being sick is being in limbo, stuck between, not able to do either the things I really want to do (like work, photograph, go out, drive, see people) or the things I don’t want to do (like cleaning, doing my really-hard Javascript homework, working on projects I should be doing). I start wanting to do things I usually don’t, like cleaning, just to do something.

On the other hand, when I’m sick I don’t feel guilty about watching movies or old cartoon episodes, so I got to see a lot of Xmen and some Batman, which was fun.
But I hate not doing. Maybe it’s part of the American cultural work-ethic consciousness, like I learned in my Cultural Studies class last semester (amazing class!), but for me, doing feels like being. And so when I’m not doing something at least semi-productive, it’s really hard to believe I’m still here – really here, I mean really me, in a way that matters. Am I having any impact at all on the world? A week out of commission doesn’t seem like much, but it feels like an eternity when I’m in it, and I start wondering why I’m not doing more during the times I can, why I don’t take on more opportunities, write more, enterprise more, create or improve or just sustain something that I can help in some way.

And in a way, it’s a polarization. Because while part of me is wondering why I don’t do more, waiting anxiously for the time when I can start taking action again, wanting to achieve, to be fulfilled, the other part of me is stubbornly resisting doing the things I can do, like starting on my Java homework, or doing Psychology homework early, or doing what I can on the video project even though the editing program hasn’t been shipped yet, or just organizing photos. Because those all feel like busywork, and they’re all also activities that must be done apart from other people. I like alone-time, I recharge on it, just like I do with time with friends. I need a balance. But when there’s things I don’t particularly like doing, that I need to do, and that need to be done alone, I balk and procrastinate – and then go do other things alone, like reading, because that feels more free.

It’s the alienation of relaxation, which is weird. Relaxing, for me, is only relaxing if I’ve achieved something first, felt fulfilled in some way – then I like relaxing, and can relax. But otherwise, it just feels like wasting time, wasting potential – even if it’s just the potential of the next fifteen minutes. So after I finish an assignment, or organize a space, or return from work, or exercise, or write a paper or story, then I can relax. But you can only rest on laurels (however small) so long before they wilt, and mine wilt pretty fast. I need a balance of activity and rest, of contemplation and action, of work and play, of introspection and free-spiritedness, of self-indulging and self-discipline, of thinking and dreaming. Marcus Aurelius would agree, I think - reading his Meditations, I definitely picked up that vibe.

But anyway. I can’t wait to be completely better, and take my life off of the pause button.
And stop complaining about feeling this way, too. Things are going great, but still I’m stressing – about not stressing? Wow.

So I finished H.G. Wells’ “The Island of Dr. Moreau” and didn’t like it at all. Prendick is such a flimsy character, in every sense of the word! He’s like:

*Shipwreck, rescued by strange people, taken to an island*

P: Oh no, no one wants me with them! What shall I do? *goes into passive mode*

Moreau: You must stay in this room, because I’m Bluebeard.

P: Oh okay, cuz that’s not ominous at all! La la la… oh wait, what’s that sound?

Moreau: *tortures puma*

P: OMG you’re hurting the animal that’s terrible!

Moreau: But it’s for SCIENCE.

P: Oh, well then that’s okay.

*Next day*

P: I’m bored and annoyed. *runs into dangerous forest* Eep there’s strange animals here! Who would expect that? *runs away, runs back to lab, accidentally breaks in on Moreau’s experiment*

P: Aaaaaaaaaaa! It’s human! *runs away again, meets the animal creatures*

Animal creatures: Hi. You’re weird and we don’t trust you. Come join in our secret cult chanting anyway.

Cult: Reach towards your allegorical human side/higher natures, don’t give into your allegorical beastly side/fleshly desires, and fear the allegorical House of Pain/Hell above all.

P: Whoa they think Moreau’s God! How terrible!

Montgomery and Moreau: *pursues P ominously* Nothin’s gonna harm you, not while I’m around!

P: Yeah right. Give me your pistols.

Montgomery: *hands them over* Don’t be so dramatic. We’re just forcibly mutating animals until we mold them into unearthly haunted vestiges of their former selves – with human thrown in cuz humans look cool.

P: Well, I guess that’s alright.

*after a few days*

P: *finds a rabbit corpse* Who could have killed that?

Moreau and Montgomery: Time to go condemn the culprit. *heads out into the jungle*

P: *alone in the house* Why is nothing happening? Oh yeah, the story’s seen through my point of view. I better go follow them.

*finds them and Moreau and Montgomery*

Moreau *to Leopard Man*: You’ve broken the law! Doom is upon you!

Other animals to Leopard Man: Ha ha, you’re doomed, we’re not.

Terrified Leopard Man: Rawr!

P: Well, I hate to see this poor creature subject to the law that I’m supporting by my compliance with Moreau – so instead of rebelling or anything, I’ll just kill it.

*kills Leopard Man*

P: Whew, cognitive dissonance is uncomfortable.

Puma: *escapes from lab*

Moreau: I cannot faiiiiillll! *gets killed*

Montgomery: Er, what do I do now? I don’t have an identity anymore. *drinks, gets killed*

P: *alone with the beast-people* Uh oh. In fear for my safety, I’ll take up Moreau’s position of authority, even though I hated it before.

P: Um, bow down before me. I am scary! Rawr!

Animal-creatures: Um, you’re really not.

P: *hides in hut with dog, finally escapes on raft*

*back in England*

P: Hmm, I seem to have Gulliver-itis. Everybody seems bestial to me, and the island was just a microcosm of the depraved nature of the rest of the world! Oh, but that’s crazy. I think I’ll study astronomy, cuz space is pure and has no danger!

H.G. Wells: *writes War of the Worlds*

P: Oh, grr.

So wowwww - just got back from 3 incredible awesome days in Paris, France! The most amazing city on the planet (or at least one of them)! I'm a bit jetlagged right now cuz it's 1am Paris time, but I've been staying up til around then there anyway, and it feels weird to sleep with the sun lacing in through the windowblinds, so though I may not be entirely coherent, I thought I'd write about it!

I saw 6 museums!!!!! They were incredible! I've always loved seeing French art and other classic works from around the world online and in books, but it's nothing like actually seeing them in person! In the Louvre, ou could see the brushstrokes on Van Gogh's cathedrals, the paint specks on Manet's boats - and Delacroix's Liberte Guidant La Peuple? More inspiring and amazing than ever! And the Louvre is so huge! Even spending half the day on two days there, I still didn't see half of what was there - but what I saw was incredible! Absolutely astounding! Napoleon's quarters were so ornate, too... definitely fit for the emperor of the world. But his bed was short! It made up for it in height, though! It almost reached the top of the immense vaulting ceiling! I took so many pictures there... everywhere, really!

The Carnavalet, the French history museum my dad found, had a huge French Revolution section! I literally ran into Desmoulins - a bust of him, that is - right by the Bastille! And Danton! And of course, Marat and Robespierre and his fanatical friend-henchman St-Just (with his actual pistol) and several allegorical paintings depicting the Jacobins a l'enfer, devouring each other... unfortunate, but accurate. But they showed the hopeful side of the Revolution, too, the historical legacy, the passion, the part I love! By the bust of Desmoulins was a huge print, decorated in classical-style images of Virtue, Liberty, Brotherhood, and Equality, of La Declaration des Droits de l'Homme - the Declaration of the Rights of Man! It was incredible! Seeing that eternal document in person was unbelievable!

And the Victor Hugo museum! In his house! I got to see the actual writing desk where he penned his immortal masterpieces! And his collections from his travels, and his artist friends' paintings, and some of his own drawings (he drew too! I didn't know!) - it was phenomenal!
There were also several awesome Les Miserables posters there, including one of a very severe Javert... he made me lol and step back at the same time.

Speaking of Javert... the Seine! The Seine the Seine the Seine... it was BEAUTIFUL! The colors of the water, even at night, were so diverse and always changing - the river looked irridescent under the lights of the passing ships! On two of the days, besides walking miles and miles and figuring out the Paris Metro, we rode the Batobus (clever name - Bateau boat + Autobus bus = Batobus), a glass-windowed water taxi that moved up and down the Seine, depositing visitors at various landmarks, including...

Notre-Dame! It was as gorgeous as I had imagined it! The circle of stained glass at the front was smaller than I had thought, from the artworks from Hunchback of Notre Dame depicting Esmeralda before a huge, luminescent whirl of stained glass, but the building was grander and more expansive than I had guessed from photos of the building - it seems so much smaller in pictures, even the close ones! We got there just as the sky was about to turn towards sunset, so the whole building was bathed in light against that brilliant blue sky, that deep, incandescent blue that makes you think it's going to fall, just before it's caught by nets of pink and orange. It was beautiful!

We walked everywhere throughout the city, especially the first day, after riding the plane the whole night - but it was Paris! You can't be sleepy in Paris, at least not the first day. On the nights after, I was, but that morning was full of that wholly awake but dreamlike quality that makes everything even more fascinating... and the streets of Paris, from the start, were the stuff of dreams! Long, wandering streets turning into tiny boulevards packed with small boutiques full of mannequins all wearing the same color in countless different styles, a line of mopeds two blocks long, loitering on the street while little Eurocars zipped past, streetlights that turn green and cars that don't wait, thundering motorbikes and tiny dogs that walked as if on an invisible leash, three steps ahead of their owners (they didn't even stop to chase pigeons!), and a swirl of smells unfolding from the doors of bakeries, perfumeries, and cafes.

And the cafes were wonderful! We ate in them a few times, three different ones - they had incredible cheese and bread! Many were surprisingly vegetarian-friendly - I'd heard it was hard to eat vegetarian in Paris, but many of the shops had a specific "Sandwich Vegeterienne," made of eggs, lettuce, tomato, peppers, and cheese on that golden aromatic bread. Speaking French there was an interesting experience, though - we had one waiter who took off in rapid-fire French as soon as he saw us, so I responded (albeit haltingly) in French, but then he burst out laughing and told me in English where the bathroom was - but then spoke in French the rest of the time, barely stifling laughter. Later, when a group of elegant women sat down for their meal, he got one's attention by poking her in the side - after which she jumped about four feet and squeaked!

He was odd - but after that, I really appreciated the chance to practice my French when a cab driver engaged me in conversation, very patient with me, and I understood and spoke more than I had thought I could, which was fun! My pronunciation was good, though my ability was limited, so some people mistook me after I'd just spoken a few words, and launched into a stream of French which I didn't understand - and then switched to English, amused, when they realized I was just a very confused American. But the experience only increased my desire to learn more of the language! I did well in high school French, but being there in real-life is so different, surrounded by the people who all speak the language - much more intimidating, but also much better for practicing! The cab driver asked me if I wanted to study in France, and I said someday! I really want to learn more of the language.

A funny thing happened at the Rodin museum, though - I asked a guy if he could take our picture, in French, and then when he burst out laughing I realized I'd used "votre" instead of "notre" - I had asked him if he could take his own picture!

The Rodin museum was phenomenal! Ever since I saw a picture of La Belle Hemuliere in high school, I've loved Rodin, and seeing his work in the museum was incredible! He made such breathtaking and beautiful works! The museum also had some of his student's sculptures, Camille Claudel - they were wonderful too! And his Gates of Hell, which incorporated his famous works The Thinker, The Kiss (Paolo and Francesca, I knew from reading Dante last summer!) and Les Trois Ombres (the three shades) - it was beyond breathtaking.

The garden outside, as well as the many other gardens throughout the city, was gorgeous, filled with couples walking, tourists snapping pictures, students sprawling on the grass with books or cigarettes (everyone seemed to smoke!) and miniature dogs. Amid the tightly-packed streets of the city, the gardens were little oases that seemed perfect for reflecting, reading, writing, or chatting, all of which the inhabitants did there, even in the middle of the workday... they seemed like beautiful respites, and encouraged people to walk more! They definitely seem environmentally-conscious in France, as several signs encouraged passersby to refrain from littering, stop pollution, and other green messages. One poster, depicting a pristine arctic scene, showed a pile of crushed soda cans in the middle, commenting: "Inacceptable? A Paris, aussi!"

Besides historical and classic sculptures, the gardens also featured a lot of modern art - some more strange than contemplative, like the one featuring piles of nails against a magnetic canvas. Most of these were in the Palais-Royal... and oh wow, I forgot the Palais-Royal! Where Desmoulins gave his speech calling Parisiens "Aux armes!" on the eve of the Revolution, July 12, 1789 - it was there, on the table of one of those cafes where today people still sit, watching the world go by and engaging in political debates of their own. It was awesome!

And we climbed all 700 steps of the Eiffel Tower, after walking all over the city earlier during the last three days - it was so much fun! There were historical bits about Eiffel the architect, also, all the way up, so that was fun to read on the way

I should probably go to sleep now though, cuz it's 2pm Paris time now ^^ The trip was so amazing! I <3 Paris! <3<3<3<3<3

Oh and the million pictures I took will be coming soon, with some of the more artsy ones posted to deviantart As soon as I upload my camera...

So I was driving home tonight after English class, wondering how in the world John Calvin could conceive of the idea of a predetermined elect (?!) when a car beeped at me and (after I made the turn) I started thinking about what it really means to “conceive” of an idea.

The word “conceive” implies creation, namely the creation of a child, or a new life. When a person conceives an idea, then, is the idea like a child – developing in the mind as in the womb, eventually growing and changing after birth as a child does – becoming more mature, if growth proceeds as it should, eventually growing up and contributing to the lives of other ideas? This brings to mind the whole controversy of when life begins, too. When does the “life” of an idea begin? Is it at conception, the first sparking and formings of an idea within the mind? Is it at birth, when an idea is put to paper or to speech, told to another or inscribed in one’s consciousness? What constitutes the birth of an idea? What determines its life? If the idea grows, matures, reaches out to others, sparks ideas in them, is that fertility, generativity? Is that its purpose, to spark other ideas, or does it have innate value within itself – or both? And does an idea ever really die?

I was also wondering about the responsibility of a person who “has” an idea, what is their duty to that idea? Do they take on the role of a parent, who nurtures and guides the idea-child to grow, to become fully realized, to gain depth, to welcome others while still retaining its own essential and important identity? Is that the calling of one who has an idea? But there are many ideas who are not born to one who is willing to develop and give attention to that idea – where does such an idea go, then? How does it survive? What of an idea born into an unfriendly environment, like Darwinism into the religion-infused 19th century England, or Lutheranism into Catholic Europe? And yet so many of those ideas do survive, do grow stronger, revolutionize worlds. Some have tremendous transformative power, which some turn into help for humankind, and some turn into tools of destruction. Some go both ways. Can one split an idea, creating new entities like a reproducing amoeba? Factionalism would seem to prove this true, as well as sectarianism, forms of government, and almost every difference of opinion and practice in the world.

Ideas, it seems, are more fertile than rabbits. What of people who try to impose population control on ideas? Can there ever be an overpopulation of ideas? I don’t think so, but I’m not sure. Can society be peaceful when ideas multiply constantly and constantly clash and collide?

I’m not sure about any of this. But it’s an interesting phrase, to “conceive of an idea.” It brings interesting questions.