Spring Semester = Summer Love?

I read somewhere that "productive procrastination" is a good thing. You know, like cleaning your room so you don't have to start your homework? I'll just make the assumption that anything I do is productive.

Making a snack? Productive.
Colour-coding cue cards? Productive.
Writing a blog post? Absolutely productive.
Googling Carrie Underwood's marital status?
Well, you get the point.

Welcome to my life. Or at least, my life at the moment, which is characteristically defined by the fact that I am taking summer school this year. Usually, of course, my life is glamorous and spectacular, as is that of any social butterfly. During the school year I talk to at least five people a day, some of whom are occasionally not Tim Hortons employees. I know, it's rather A-list.

If I was Leighton Meester I would definitely be Blair Waldorf and not psychopathic Rebecca from The Roommate. God, her hair was so stringy.

Although come to think of it, Blair Waldorf did have a fair amount of social problems... well, her hair was nice, at least.

I would just like to point out that the extent to which my social life is crumbling is not my fault; spring term is a rough time. I think there's approximately 10 people attending this university right now, which makes my friends options kind of limited. Luckily, the last thing I need right now is friends. School is my priority. I have to keep telling myself that, or I fear I'll collapse into a binge-eating, Community-watching nonentity of a human being. Actually, that doesn't sound too bad at all...

Speaking of friends and such, I was recently reminded that the top place to find a significant other is in university, since it is the only time in life when you will be surrounded by thousands of young, intelligent and single people just waiting to be snapped up and wed. Basically, if you're past the college days, or if you never had them in the first place, you're guaranteed to live a life of romantic solitude. It's just the statistics.

I have just a few comments on this, the first being the fact that I am more awkward than Kristen Stewart tripping on the stage at the Oscars (if this hasn't happened yet, it's only a matter of time. Although that would probably mean that Kristen Steward is winning an Oscar, in which case I retract my example). I wasn't planning on meeting anyone ever anyway, so this newfound information is rather irrelevant.

Yay! Forever alone time!

Besides, romance is about the last thing on my mind right now. I barely have time to shower. How the hell am I supposed to have time for that crap? I think I'll just marry biochemistry. It will be an abusive, oppressive relationship, but at least I won't have to shave my legs.

Oh, and also, I have not met a single guy thus far worthy of even my platonic attention. I think whoever came up with the conclusion of this college love study was neglectful of the fact that many of those "intelligent college guys" are 18 year old douchebags. With this in mind, husband-hunt at your own risk.

Nevertheless, I promised that I'd keep my eye out for the love of my life, even if that means occasionally looking up from my textbooks. So, U of A boys, take a number and form a line. I'll be here all summer.

One Year with Lana Del Rey

One year and four days ago, back when I was doing something with my life, I wrote an article on the youth blogging site Youth Are Awesome, not knowing then that it would be the beginning of something gigantic. That thing was the singer Lana Del Rey.

I know a lot of people who find her ridiculous, most of whom have only heard of her from the [actually not that] deplorable Saturday Night Live performance. But I also know a couple of people who view her as I do: as something other-worldly, brought to this planet for the purpose of... what? Being beautiful, or at least something like that.

I never intended for this blog to be a nonstop depression express, but it just must be said. Lana means something to me that I can barely even begin to describe. She has this intoxicating inner sadness that transforms her, a beautiful woman with a beautiful voice, into a symbol, I suppose, of youth and fame that is tragic to a Marilyn Monroe-esque extent.  She is both extraordinarily vain and immensely honest and humble. I feel like I know her completely while also not knowing her at all.

Sometimes I realize that her image may seem as though it is saying that it is okay to be miserable when you have your youth and good looks, that you are still worthy, despite your failures, because of your appearance. Then I realize that such is a surface analysis of Lana and her music. I instead recognize it as saying that youth and beauty do not make you happy or successful, and that it can be more of a trap that imprisons you into thinking that your only value is your physical self. There is beauty in sadness in the sense that it is when you come closest to yourself. I think that is what makes Lana so beautiful: she seems so lost in herself, and yet, is never anything but herself because of it.

The music is the biggest thing, though. The music is truly indescribable. I typically like fast, upbeat, feel-good music (One Direction affection is still perfectly acceptable at my age),  but something about Lana's voice speaks to me in such a way that I never even want to listen to other music. There is a quality to it that I have yet to find in any other art. When I listen to it, it feels as though my heart is blossoming, and my chest is full of this aching satisfaction. I'd imagine that's what it feels like to stare into the eyes of true love.

To be not at all melodramatic, I view my whole Lana complex as more of a religion than an obsession. Her music became a part of me, and I don't quite know why, but I can't remember a time without it. I think my first novel, or maybe my first dozen, will be based on her.

I don't mean to sound as though I think my opinion is at all relevant, but I think most of us find this type of thing at some point or another in our lives, from art or culture or another person. It opens you up to seeing things in a way that you never would have imagined previously, and it results in a permanent change. It's like when your DNA is denatured by the sun. You're still you, but it's different now. You've seen a little bit more, and you're a little darker.

If you listen to one song, let this be it (the orchestral version is chilling).

Selfie Sunday with a Jazz Age Twist

Wouldn't it be awesome if pearls and diamonds were acceptable casual wear?

Despite having stellar fashion, I'm not going to be all nostalgic about previous time periods because they were all pretty oppressive to women. How I would love to be a lady in waiting to Elizabeth I in silks and lace, until the only things I'm allowed to do are sit in the shade to concentrate my paleness, do needlework and scavenge for a noble husband from a good family who will bring up my own family's social status. It's all fun and games until you fall in love with the stable boy.

One of the biggest complaints I keep hearing about The Great Gatsby is that it's largely just a showcase for expensive and excessive clothes, to which I respond: Well... of course it is. The 1920s in America was a time of ridiculous economic carelessness, largely characterized by extravagance and luxury. Wearing an entire Tiffany store was normal, at least for those with  a few dollar bills stuffed in their bras. Of course the '20s are portrayed to be a decade of glossy and superficial recklessness; that's exactly what they were. Besides, it's so much fun to look at.

Personally, I think we should bring back the flapper style (perhaps with less fringe, though). It'll probably be coming back now, what with the movie and all, but I've discovered that hardly anything feels as good as putting on some red lipstick and a crap-ton of jewels.

I tried to be Jordan Baker. Did it work?

I think Jordan has got to be my favourite character from Gatsby (at least the film version of her), if for no other reason than that she is the haughtiest thing in the world.
I also happen to admire the fact that she is the only female character in the book/films who I actually respect. She's very new-age; she's not delicate and flighty like Daisy. She's a sportswoman who wears a gorgeously skimpy amount of black and is brutally and ironically dishonest. To me she's a new breed of woman, who is, even then, not entirely accepted because of her "fastness." Cue the slut-shaming rant.

I think she's one of those characters who is traditionally unlikeable, yet somehow manages to romanticize her flaws (hmm, much like Jay Gatsby, I would say). Daisy is the exact opposite. She is enchanting in theory, but her flaws strip her of any beauty or worthy characteristics previously presented. 

Yes, I think I'd much rather be a Jordan than a Daisy. Either woman's wardrobe will do, though.