I haven't posted here in a very long while because I've pretty much made the jump over to LJ.  Which I still find disgusting in its limitations, artistically speaking.  Even so, all the people I'm at college with are on LJ, and it's nice because anyone can comment, not just people with LJs.

I just wanted to assure you all that even though I hardly ever post here, I still love you all dearly.  Really.  I'll probably still post a few things here.

http://www.livejournal.com/users/irianamistifi

Oh, for those of you who may actually care: I am now in a relationship with a really great guy.  His name is Alex and he goes to Columbia.  We met in (possibly) one of the geekiest ways possible: at the Harvard University Science Fiction Convention, Vericon.  ok, it's not that bad.  My friend Shawna met her boyfriend at a StarWars convention and they were both cosplaying (on opposite sides of the force, no less).  And my friend Hope claims she's in a "proto-relationship" with her Saturday night DM.  Those are pretty geeky too.  He'll be visiting me at the shore house this summer, so maybe y'all can meet him then or at least at some point.  Anyway... just letting you all know.  I'm quite happy lately, despite my ridiculous amounts of work.  I really am feeling that I might want to get work done... but it's not really happening.  >.<  Hope everyone's school year is going well.

Current mood:	chipper
Current music:	Winter - Tori Amos

An Ode to a Massachusetts Winter
Even the fact that my algae presentation was waaaaay too short cannot dampen my spirits on this fine Tuesday. For it is snowing and all is right with the world. I'm glad I saved this entry, because I vaguely remember wanting to write something similar to it last year, around this time. I know you're all very pleased I saved you from needless repetition, you all get enough of it in your daily diets. Despite the enormous pressure I was under this weekend to finish innumberable projects and essays, and despite the fact that there was no room yesterday in the parking garage and had to move it to the stables, despite the fact that I hardly have any time to myself anymore and despite the fact that the only people who ever talk to me online anymore (with any sort of regularity) have a habit of IMing me anywhere between 3 and 5 in the morning, I am dreadfully cheerful today.

I think Barbara (from my Algae and Fungi class) wanted to hurt me when I came in so happy today. Because she's an ADA living off campus, she gets to class super early. Today, I left my room about a half an hour early so that, prior to my presentation on Algae, I could spend a sufficient amount of time frolicking in the snow. This has been done. The science quad now features 3 impromptu snow angels, one of which is surrounded by a foot print heart. I have plans for after Oceanography to do a "Charlie's Angels" series. They'll be the most dangerous-looking snow angels around.

I am always surprised by the relatively small number of people on this campus who have snowpants and good snowgear. For the love of God, you live in Massachusetts in the winter! Why wouldn't you have snowpants?! The most frequent answer to this question (oddly enough) has been "I live somewhere it doesn't snow." To which I feel inclined to reply, "You live HERE when it snows, and isn't that the important part?"

I feel sorry for international students from Australia. When we go home for summer break, it's snowing there too. They never get away from the cold weather. That must suck. Unless they really like snow.

What I love about MA in the winter is that everything is so busy looking normally, but when the snow comes, everything is wiped clean. You look out your window at 6am, and not a soul is around. The best is late December, early January, when you wake up in the morning and you think it's still night-time. You go outside and the snow is on the ground and the stars are twinkling ferociously (if it is at all possible to twinkle ferociously, that's what the stars here do in December), passionate little specks of light which the snow throws back at you. When there is snow on the ground and the stars are out, you can see clearly as if it were day, but the dark is upon you and the trees are waiting inspiration. When you pass by, their bark is cold and rough, like they're baring their souls to you. Walking in the fresh fallen snow on the dark mornings, and then coming in and knowing there's a fire burning in the fireplace. You'll never feel such intense joy, comfort or safety.

I love the fields a week after the snow has fallen. There's a thick crust of ice on top and if no one has walked on it since it's fallen, you can take a running start and glide a good 20 feet. I enjoy the uncertainty of walking on sidewalks covered in black ice. Will I fall now? How about now? Now? The feeling of joy you get for just an instant before the terrifying shock of hitting the ground when you do slip on the sidewalk. Admit it, you love being airborn with the same intensity I do. You only learn to be afraid of it when you realize that what goes up, must come down. You know it'll hurt, but there's a little thrill in your heart before you correct yourself and think, "My Goodness, I could have broken something!" You don't really care. For 2 miliseconds, you loved it.

I'm pleased how all the fire hydrants on the campus have a red pole and little red flag attached so they can be found in a four foot snowbank. I love the sound of the snowplows at 4am; the sound of people, trying valiantly to go to work -- why?! I don't know. They really want to get things done. Snow isn't meant for getting things done. That's why animals hibernate or migrate. They know a lot better than we do. Once, last year, they didn't get around to plowing until 10am! People walked on the streets and looked confused. There were no cars. Or if there were, they were covered enough that you couldn't find them, couldn't see them.

I hate shovelling snow. I'm lazy, but also, I want the world to remain in that pristine condition it attains through snow. Barren snowscapes, tinged with sun from the late sunrise fill me with joy. Houses covered in deadly icicles, gleaming from a frosted sunset? Please do. Yes to snow floating past the windows, yes to forging your own path to your next class. I try not to use the paths too frequently. They limit my creative genius of walking.

Trust exercises with snow: The preliminary snow angel pose - eyes to the skies, arms outstreched, feet shoulder width apart. An appeal to the weather gods: "more snow Please." And then, tilting backwards with your whole body and being, stiff as a board, froze solid. Trust the snow. It'll catch you. I can't do that with other people. They might not catch me. Snow will always catch you when you fall.

Snow men aren't a regularity around here. When there are snow sculptures, they tend to be animals, objects, or female. In one case, a giant snow penis, but that's about a male as it gets around here. I, personally, am a fan of the Picasso snowman. Your three basic sections arranged artfully in whatever form you think looks nicest. A carrot nose to go where the snow-person's shin might be. Stick some eyes on; maybe one on the torso, one on the head. You can have an arm coming out of the face, and another coming out of the snow person's butt. How's that for a message? We like to analyze things here. I can just imagine how people here would take that.

I too start hating snow by the end of the winter. I want spring. But not really. It's because it's getting warmer and we're dealing less with snow, and more with mud. I dislike rain. I dislike mud. If I had to get rid of one season, it would be spring. Summer is warm and toasty, and Winter is beautiful and dark and calm. The brooding season. Fall is the feeling of new, and change, and old, and death all at the same time. Fall is comforting. Fall smells like old leaves and woodsmoke. The damp and dry mix together to form that smell of both growth and decomposition. I enjoy the crinkly feeling of dried leaves as they fall apart in your hands. Fall is an inspiration.

I pose some questions to you, dear readers:
If you could get rid of one season, what would it be and why (this should go beyond: I would not get rid of summer because that's when we have break. None of that)? Why do you enjoy the other seasons more? And what are the textures, scents, feelings, tastes and other senses you associate with each season?

Current mood:

hm. Enhancement. hm.

Spam Attacks: Spreadin' the love
Every once in a while (read, every 2 days), I take time out of my busy schedule to empty out my Yahoo Bulk Mail box. I vaguely remember the days prior to this magical place where spam goes to die, and I remember it wasn't fun. But then again, I was 13, and receiving mass mailings with advertisements for "Male Enlargement." There seemed to be a lot more of that kind of thing back then.

Of course, it could be because I don't give out my e-mail address now unless I absolutely have to. But back in the day, Pre-Bulk Box, I would spend about 5 minutes getting rid of smut that tried to invade my world, and being excessively cautious about viruses. This is not just for me, though, since, until I came to college, I never had my own computer, and everything I did was on Mom's or Dad's comp.

Do people actually ever look at the spam anymore? Why do the companies bother to continue sending it? The majority of people have wised up. Everytime I delete a letter from some African Ambassador who wants to give me 5.6 million dollars, I am both saddened and depressed. I want to believe that some man in Zimbabwe wants to give me his personal fortune, but I know it's probably not true. Who sends out these mysterious letters? What do they gain from people who hold stock in this? I coul come up with a wildly complex theory, but I'd really rather not.

Today, I checked my mailbox to find 5 items in my bulk folder. I only ever get spam in there now (with the excepetion of Xanga Updates from Dominik, because he is apparently one of the few people who continues to update), but it is widely varied. I get far more crap in my Quarantine box at Smith. Today, I deleted One letter from an African Millionaire, Two fake "flagged PayPal Account" letters, One letter claiming that two female Jedii (is this the appropriate pluralization of Jedi? Probably not) would be appearing in NYC, and One letter from an "Anna Bassett" which appeared to be a sort of pamphlet on becoming a "Homeowner with low Rates." In the day to day world, I really don't care about my Bulk Mail folder, but today, I would truly like to be a Homeowner with low Rates, one day. We usually delete without thinking. Is this because we've become so used to people trying to hurt us through our personal worlds (your email is indeed your personal world) that we fend off an attack before it even comes?

I would never open anything in my Quarantine Box without checking it in the Quarantine manager first (this allows us to open the mail through a different server, which separates it from our own systems and computers), but the stuffs which land in the Yahoo Bulk Mail are fairly benign. I think this is because, living on a campus, everyone is connected to everyone else, and with the amount of communication which takes place daily, it's so much easier for your computer to pick up ETD's (Electronically Transmitted Diseases. Moriah's computer is a ho and has more ETD's than it knows what to do with. It frequently reaches out and tries to share the love). So, it is with a sense of adventure that I open the email from Ms. Bassett and attempt to learn about how to become a Homeowner with low rates. The letter is sprinkled with oddly placed parentheses (more oddly placed than mine. They're all end brackets, and not an open one in the bunch) and commas (in the middle of words). Ultimately, this letter is a disappointment, as the whole thing is a paltry 6 lines along with 2 links to questionable websites, 1 line being an address to me, and 2 lines being "Best Regards, Regalio Hilton".

Who is this Regalio? Why is it not from Anna? The detail in the letter is limited to a tiny statistical fact that if they really cared to elaborate on, they could have done actual research.I remember the days when the crap that spewed into your mailbox was at least grammatically correct and the spelling was at least mediocre. Nowadays, because of Spam Filters, the only stuff that gets through is the mail that has numbers in the place of letters in the titles, or is imporoperly spelled. If anything I am less likely to open a letter titled "en1arg3 uR P3n1 S" than "Enlarge your penis," if I was at all inclined to open such things in the first place. I my mind, the first thing to get dumped is the crap with horrendous spelling.

So why is spam still so prevalent which the majority of it isn't affecting our computers, merely taking up our time in order to delete it? I don't believe there is a good answer to this question. However, I theorize that perhaps, a few spammers are simply reaching out to their human bretheren, attempting to make contact in an odd, antisocial manner, working to become adept at influencing other people. Maybe it's their way of making a difference in the world.

Maybe, spammers just need a little love. Next time you receive an email from a wealthy land-holder in Africa, I encourage you to e-mail them back with love, concern and thoughtfulness. Offer to send them brownies, or 2 rolls of wallpaper ( I urge you not to send animals or plants, because it could disrupt the delicate African ecosystem. Also, it would probably die. Who knows how long it takes pagkages to get to Africa?), or whatever. Be courteous and understanding. Reach out with love to the people who have reached out to you. When asked if you want your penis enlarged, even if you do not have the proper organs for such a procedure, email them back saying that you knew they really cared for you and ask them on a date. "I know it's not as big as you'd like, " you can say, "but I'm a good person, and I can tell you how to become a Homeowner with low Rates."

I adore warm weather.  Truly. 

But this morning, at a hideous 5am, I awoke with force as 7 sneezes blew violently from my body in rapid succession.  Damn the start of the spring allergy season!  Claritin is making its way out of the boxes and to my bedside table.  Runny nose . . . bleh.