The Natatorium

An emporium of oddities from around the world, complete with somewhat informative plaques that almost never match the item they are meant to be describing.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005


I skipped my 9:00 class today and ate breakfast while watching the Today show instead. Most of the stuff they featured today wasn't very interesting, but one thing was awesome--it was an interview with the guy who started PostSecret, and they talked about the new book he's just released. PostSecret started as a blog where he sent out a call for people to snail mail him postcards with a personal secret on it--completely anonymously. Most of them are really incredible, and I think it's an amazing idea. You can see some of the cards at the blog, which is here.

I loved this project so much that I tried to think of a secret that I could send in... but to no avail. Pretty much the only two requirements for a post-secret secret are that it must be true and it must be something you've never told anyone before. I've got plenty of things that are true, but I don't think I have any real secrets that I've never told anyone. I have no secrets! How depressing is that? I'm sure there's *something* about myself that I've never told anyone, but it's probably something really lame and boring, like "I brush my teeth for less than two minutes." Ooo, scandalous.

Seriously people, it makes me feel really boring and uninteresting that I don't have any real secrets. I have a *lot* of quasi-secrets--that is, things that *almost* no one knows, and that I don't reveal to people unless I've known them really well for a very long time. But I don't have any true secrets. I think it's caused by a combination of the fact that I haven't really experienced anything very illicit, and that I'm not really ashamed of anything. I don't do things that I know I'll be ashamed of later--I just don't have any desire to. It never occurs to me to do something privately that I would be embarassed to admit later; you know, aside from stupid things like listening to Mandy Moore, and that's not even a secret either.

So what does it really say about me that I don't have any true secrets? It definitely makes me *feel* like I'm not as mysterious as I wish I was, but on the other hand, maybe it is a good thing. Maybe it's good that I don't build my existence around some dark truth, that I don't define myself by the things I'm ashamed of. It probably points to a certain openness of character, a tendency to embrace others in an effort to be known. Again, though, it's possible that real reason I'm secret-less is because I want so desperately to be known and understood that I put myself out there as much as possible in some sad effort to construct intimacy?

Therefore, gentle readers, I ask you, do you have any true secrets? Would you be willing to share them with us anonymously in the comments? And most importantly, what the f#%! is wrong with me?

Wednesday, November 23, 2005


That would be the sound of my most recent "possible relationship door" closing with superhuman force. Yeah, "Flirty Philosophy Guy" got a girlfriend. Just out of nowhere, apparently. Just, *BAM* girlfriend.

I swear, God better have some *really* *freaking* *awesome* guy set up for me, because with all this cosmic interference it's no wonder I still haven't had a boyfriend. Every time I meet someone with whom I think I could *possibly* be compatible, some kind of roadblock springs up.

And I know these roadblocks are probably for the best--they always have been in the past. When I look back on the relationships that almost were, I realize that it's better that they weren't; still, it is frustrating.

I'm glad God is playing Overprotective Big Brother with love life, because I'm sure I'd screw it up otherwise, but geez. I don't exactly need to be constantly reminded that I'm entirely undatable.

Okay, that was angsty. Moving on....

Went to see Harry Potter last Friday; so good! It was very funny, though I did feel that it was a little too happy, particularly at the end. I think it's supposed to be that way, though, because the last three books get really, really dark and I think the "innocence" of the earlier books needs to be emphasized so that there's a greater sense of loss in the future.

Oh, and Josh has a blog now.... here 'tis.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

I Was Just Asking For It

I should tell you first that my philosophy class is one of those classes that meet the following three criteria:

1. Very small

2. Mostly male


This means that I have a little bitty mind-crush on every single person in there, because I love the dynamic so much. For some people in the class, the crush is stronger than for others. The same thing happened with my upper-level physics class senior year of high school. If this sounds weird to you, that's because I'm a disturbing freak and I am literally IN LOVE with school, as I have been for many years.

So anyway. I was sitting in philosophy class today, and (as always) I raise my hand and start talking. My professor (analytical philosopher sci-fi geek from the Bronx) stops me about two words in and says, "Does your shirt say 'Talk Nerdy To Me'?" And yes, folks, it did. It says "Talk Nerdy To Me" and has a little drawing of a guy in glasses and a lab coat, pocket protectors and everything.

Everyone turns to look.

"Yeah, it does," I say, "Isn't that funny? Look at the guy, he has a pocket protector and everything."

My classmates make various amusing remarks, but the best comes from a guy in the front (the crush is strong with him) who says, "I can talk nerdy to you all day long."

I almost died. Luckily, the attention soon shifted back to my prof, whom the other kids were accusing of blushing. It was true, he was slightly pink; it was pretty funny. After a few minutes of laughing, we finally moved on from my shirt.

BUT LATER.... the Allies meeting, I was with a couple of my philosophy classmates, with whom I am slightly closer, and I asked them "Did you think [guy in front] was flirting with me today?"

Classmate one: "He kind of flirts with you every day, sweetie."

Classmate two: "Yeah, I've been waiting for you two to hook up all semester."

Hmm... so there you have it... is something interesting about to happen in my life? Probably not, but just in case, this is your advance warning.

Friday, November 04, 2005

How do you say "distracting" in Portuguese?

I've had a mutating disease for the past week. It started out as one thing and then morphed into just about every possible condition one can have in the chest, throat and sinuses. However, I am nearly entirely well today, and I hope that since I've had just about every symptom one can have from a general sort of seasonal disease, I've gotten all my "sick" for this year over with in one fell swoop and am now inoculated against all possible infections for the remainder of the winter. My immune system will be indestructible.

They've been doing some roadwork on an intersection near my house that I pass through at least twice a day. It's been going on for a while, now, but it really hasn't been much of an inconvenience. Mainly they're just resurfacing it, so one can drive on it as usual, though there is a 1-inch drop from the old pavement to the area being resurfaced when you enter and exit the area of resurfacing. So as I said, the roadword itself is not annoying. What *is* annoying is the degree to which people in SUVs (Explorers, Yukons, Pickup Trucks of all shapes and sizes) SLOW DOWN and very nearly STOP when going over these 1-inch bumbs. *HELLO*. You're in a *freaking SUV*. I go over the bumps in my COROLLA faster than the guy in the *F-150*. It's a prime example of people owning a vehicle whose amenities they do not need and do not even *understand*. It annoys the hell out of me, not only because I'm always in a hurry and hate stopping for no good reason, but because people are driving gas-guzzling vehicles when they would never take them off road or use them for hauling, and furthermore are too prissy to go over a 1-inch drop any faster than 3 mph. Useless, idiotic waste and stupid, prissy, suburban people prententiously affecting "Git-R-Dunn" faculties and appearances are two of the main reasons foreigners hate Americans. We used to be pioneers, wrestling a living out of the wilderness with our bare hands, building a new country from the ground up. Now we slow down in our 8-foot high SUVs to keep from spilling our lattes or, god forbid, damaging the shocks.

Well. That was angry and slightly poetic. Oh yeah, I've been reading "Into the Wild." That explains it.

I've been typing this whole thing in one of the computer labs at Drury, and the whole time some guy behind me has been yammering away on his cell phone in what I believe to be portuguese. He'll speak portuguese for ten minutes, then break into english, which of course catches me attention because his speech snaps from nonsensical jibberish (to me) to recognizable words and phrases. Then it's back to the portuguese for several minutes until he breaks out into english again, so my brain can automatically lurch with recognition and I can lose my train of thought. Stupid portuguese cell phone guys.