Dear Mr. Potter,

I know I am not alone in loving and needing your extraordinary story, but I want you to know a few personal reasons I have for my obsessive need of this saga.

I started out loving your story as a simple-minded, naïve seven-year-old. A part of my attachment was definitely born out of pride- this was the most adult book I had ever read! I even learned how to spell a few previously unread words and phrases- I will never forget my astonishment at the spelling of “idiot,” provided unceremoniously from Ron as he attempted to push Neville to the side so you could protect the Sorcerer’s Stone. But there was something magical about the story, the characters, that drew me further in (pun somewhat intended).

I will not lie- I absolutely despised Chamber of Secrets. I had to quit halfway through, I was so mad at the general fear and misfortune showered upon you, Harry. I gave it up and for the next few years swore my hatred of the series to anyone who would listen. Of course, when I actually took it upon myself to finish the book I fell, once again and forevermore, in love. (You were my first fictional crush, by the way. I’m not sure if I’ve since grown out of it).

The plot absolutely enthralled me- your friends, adventures, tragedies, all served to captivate my thoughts and emotions even after the final page was turned. (Let me tell you, the blank page following, “All was well” is the most devastating page I’ve ever beheld, or ever will). I could tell so many stories, tell you so many memories attached to each chapter of your extraordinary life, but I think these are some of the few thoughts I must keep to myself.

What I will share is this- you have been my escape, my safety net, my security blanket. As devastated as I am to conclude this shining chapter of my life, the deepest, most difficult emotion slowly surfacing is my terrifying uncertainty of the future. As much as I will try, so very hard, to remain young at heart, I see now that it is time to grow up. Harry, you have been my shelter, my fantasy, and my best friend- and it is time to let you go. It does not do, after all, to dwell on dreams and forget to live.

But I will never forget you, Harry Potter, or the staggering impact only I can truly understand you have had on my life. My children will grow up with your story, as I have, and I know that they will love you in their own way as well.

This may have all been in our heads, but it is most certainly real for us.

Love, forever and always,
Kathy Kavanaugh

Romance

I don't know what it is about romantic comedies- I hate them. But I love them at the same time- possibly it's my love of criticizing. All I know is, the simple, mindless stories oddly get me thinking. (Also, it's fun to have a girl's night out every once in a while- thank you, Nina! :D)

I was on my way back tonight, and I could not stop analyzing myself. That's a pretty obvious side-effect of watching romantic comedies with a female lead- you constantly compare yourself to them. Why am I not living in an upper-class apartment in New York City? Why AREN'T I pining after some generically handsome guy whom I'm bound to end up with? (Also, why the heck can't I look as pretty as these "heroines" when I cry?? I get all red and squishy- but I digress.)

Phase 1: The females

I am EXACTLY the kind of person who lets people walk all over me. I always just let things be, I don't argue with people with different opinions than me- I just let them think I agree, and life moves on WAY less complicated. However, with this comes a gaping flaw: I don't stick up for my right to an opinion when it counts. And that is something that I recognize, that I work on. However, in these movies, the crazy, confident friend is the only one who gets to be loud. HEY- I CAN CHANGE, DAMMIT. And by "change," I do NOT mean accept myself just enough to be in the generic relationship.

Phase 2: The males

SAID GENERIC RELATIONSHIP- why are all the guys the same?? And yet, we as women are conditioned to look for these men in real life- the good guys make mistakes but recognize them and apologize, while the douches don't give a fanny-pack. Well, guess what? That is NOT the world we live in, the good guy will sometimes refuse to accept they are wrong in any capacity. Love is not cookie-cutter, and the problem with these movies is that they force girls to misconceptualize what it means to be in a relationship.

Phase 3: The ex

Here's where I moved on from the realm of fiction, and began analyzing, as I always do, why we didn't work out. What went wrong- what went right? All so confusing, but in no way shape or form an ending in one of those movies. I know I need to stop analyzing things- but I can't. It's almost as if the only way for me to move on is to literally move on- enter a new relationship. However, I'm afraid if that were to happen, there would still be baggage from the past that could jeopardize said relationship.

Phase 4: Possibility

And there is that possibility. The casual glances, the random text messages- but am I overanalyzing the situation, as per usual? Or am I trying to protect myself by denying this possibility (another usual action of mine)? Or if there IS something there, is it only because I want so badly to move on?

If you read this entire monstrosity, I give you enormous kudos and love for sifting through my ramblings. I just got back and had to type, you know? I miss it. I really should more often.

They say to never meet your heroes.

Well, I’m just going to have to disagree with that. I just spent the most amazing evening with 200+ Youtubers at a live performance of music by several beloved Youtube artists. But that wasn’t the best part.

For all of the brilliance that shone on that stage at the House Of Blues in Dallas tonight, the most memorable part, for me, was meeting some of the people I practically idolize on Youtube. It wasn’t just the star-struck, “OMG I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING THEY ARE REAL ASDLFKAJS;DLFJ;KLJFASDF,” although there was definitely a bit of that going on in my mind. These people genuinely CARE about their fans, their viewers, and WANT to interact with everyone. They truly VALUE their audiences, and the opportunities they’ve been able to take advantage of, and from tonight I have such a greater respect for them and their work.

The first interaction I had: Brett the Intern. We were standing in line, waiting to present our tickets, and he suddenly appears, searching for the VIP pass holders (which would have been SUPER cool, but hey. I’m not made of money!) He was the first genuine Youtuber I’ve ever seen in real life, and I immediately broke into a smile. He stopped and said jokingly, “Hey, stop smiling! You look like you’re having an awful time.” To which I cleverly responded, “Oh, yeah, you know, I’m just having a terrible time here.” It seemed so normal, yet at the same time completely surreal.

Dave Days, in particular, struck me as a genuinely nice guy. When I first walked in, he was working the merch table, and still took time to take a picture with me (even when it took awhile for my freaking camera to work). And he gave me one of the best hugs I’ve ever had- he just seems like such a nice and caring person.

Also, MysteryGuitarMan was super nice to every single person who went up to speak to him after the show, which was quite a lot of people. He even left a message on my cousin’s camera for her friend that couldn’t make it (and also “nommed” a bit on her hair when they took a picture together…which was odd, but also pretty dang awesome).

So, never meet your heroes? I guess…but maybe Youtubers should be an exception to that rule.

The Club

All is a blur.

The club is pounding, the music its heartbeat, the dancers its pulse. The thrusting, squeezing, steaming that creates its own reality, its own world where you are no one. You are simply there.
Bodies move in synchronized motions, each dance choreographed with simplistic design yet unique to each.

Chaos becomes freedom, becomes comfort. All that exists is the person so close, so close. Touching, moving together- in any other context an intimate gesture taboo, but here, commonplace, meaningless.

Music so loud, it is felt within. First merely a loudness, a distraction- then, as it envelopes those entranced, it fills us up with its power, its promises. The beat is what controls us, bonds us together- male with female, boy with boy, woman with woman. It does not care- but it does empower.

Typing

Today while beginning to put together a video for VEDA, I fell into a sort of rhythm as I typed- there is something very therapeutic about the pressing of keys that it almost surprises me when actual thoughts become words, become sentences, become fluid paragraphs- and morph into more fully-shaped ideas.

I honestly don't know what this blog is about. I just felt the urge to type something, to relax my mind (despite the fact that the best way to accomplish this would be actually sleeping.) I know I haven't been writing enough lately- that's of course not counting the ridiculous statistics papers I have to churn out for credit in a class required for my major. Which basically involves copying and pasting different test statistics and filling in bland descriptions around them. My TA does NOT appreciate embellishment in any way, let me tell you.

I don't know. I've been thinking about possibly hiring myself out to different companies who need to post content on the internet- all of these websites are full of pointless articles that someone had to write. I'm competent, and I'm broke- this could be a way of making money, I suppose.

This does feel nice. And I know basically no one will read this, which is also nice. There is a certain freedom that comes from the knowledge that you are a nobody to the world- at least, for now. I'm willing to give up that freedom in order to make a name for myself- however, when that happens, I will have to more carefully word my thoughts and opinions. It's an interesting occurrence that could be a productive topic to study.

This has not made much sense, nor accomplished much of anything. But it feels nice. And I DO feel more at ease with myself. Hopefully I can post more blogs here- I've been lazy and using Tumblr recently, which isn't the best medium for blogging.

Until next time!

Appearance Is Everything

This post contains a sociology paper I wrote about gender norms regarding personal appearance controlling women in society. So...please keep in mind this was written for my sociology professor, not necessarily an internet audience. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy!


Appearance Is Everything

As a functioning member of society, one must follow societal norms. Even those who appear to challenge these norms are fulfilling a role- these “non-conformists” challenge society’s rules and motivate social evolution. These unwritten rules of society, such as gender-specific norms, provide guidelines for people’s behaviors to follow. Most members of society sail through life with little or no thought towards the protocols they follow. In fact, some may argue that these conventions are not as instrumental in day-to-day life as one might think; however, in purposefully breaking down social norms, it becomes apparent that our actions are indeed influenced by the boundaries society has forced upon us. Gender norms are a prime example of this phenomenon.

To further illustrate this point, I chose to conduct an ethnomethodology on how gender-appropriate appearance influences the perception and subsequent reactions of others (including members of both the same and opposite sexes). It seems a given that the females who attract more positive social interactions have an “attractive” appearance (attractive here defined as being feminine, well groomed, and having gentle mannerisms). If we consider this to be accurate, then the opposite is true: women that are less “attractive” (more masculine, less groomed, and blunt) are less likely to have positive social interactions. By accepting this to be true, we are implying that the social “attractiveness” of a woman is defined by how feminine she appears to be.

To test this theory, I decided to observe if people would treat me differently if I were to present myself as the “picture of femininity” versus an “unfeminine slob.” I chose to execute the first phase of my experiment on a typical day of classes in which I would interact with several friends as well as complete strangers. I took special care to apply a tad more makeup than usual, and even spent a longer amount of time than usual on my difficult-to-tame hair to ensure as perfect an appearance as practically possible. I also dressed as femininely as I could- by wearing a flowing dress that accentuated certain womanly-areas and a bit of shimmering jewelry, I completed an outward persona of femininity. To further orchestrate the “picture” of womanliness, I carefully guided my actions to appear more gentle and ladylike: I spoke with a softer, slightly higher-pitched voice than usual; I made my best attempt at walking less clumsily than my usual stride; I even slowed my chewing of food at mealtimes.

The results of this experiment completely took me by surprise. I had been expecting some sort of positive feedback, but not to the extent I received. In my interactions with my close female friend, I took note of the many conversations throughout the day were focused around superficial topics such as hair care, shoes, and fashion. This greatly intrigued me, as the majority of our conversations usually revolved around issues of more significant importance, such as discussing current global events and lectures in our shared classes. She also complimented me on three separate occasions throughout the day, each time on some aspect of my physical appearance. I also identified several notable interactions with people I had never met before. As friendly as the Texas A&M Campus is known to be, the greeting “Howdy!” had never before been uttered to me so frequently by members of the opposite sex as in the duration of this experiment. Even more astonishing: later in the day, a boy in my dorm whom I had spoken to a few times previously requested my phone number. This phenomenon was hitherto something I’d never experienced.

My personal reaction to these positive sanctions was overwhelming. To say I felt encouraged would be a gross understatement- my confidence rose dramatically, and I felt strangely superior to other girls around me throughout the day who had obviously not put as much effort into their appearances as I had. Although I wasn’t acting as my true self, it didn’t seem to matter- people liked the person I was portraying. I had rarely received so much positive attention based on such small transformations, and I even briefly considered changing my personality traits permanently to better exemplify this feeling of empowerment. The admiration from others was addicting- it was quite clear, through my analysis of the situation, how easily a person with low self-worth could be molded into what society believed was attractive.

The second stage of my experiment, performing the “unfeminine slob” character, revealed drastically different results. On what was much a similar day, I spent as little time on my personal appearance as possible- a messy ponytail, no makeup and glasses, and sweatpants with a worn-out tee shirt was my “costume.” To complete the drastically contrasting persona, I slouched, sat in what is referred to as an “unladylike position,” spoke with a sharper voice, and proceeded to take unnecessarily large bites of my food while speaking with my mouth full.

Perhaps because I was so self-conscious, I felt as though I was the constant object of attention- it was as if every member of the opposite sex was alternately staring at me and deliberately ignoring my existence. Among my own circle of friends, several females inquired as to whether or not I was all right, my temperament apparently alarming them. There were certainly no compliments, no greetings from strangers, and no attractive men asking for my phone number.

What strikes me as incredibly interesting is that though there was so much less social interaction, I felt nearly smothered by negativity, mostly emanating from my own perception of myself. My brusque, indifferent attitude fueled an alarmingly large degree of self-loathing, which in time contributed to the supposed “pretend” attitude. I had originally hypothesized that I would be increasingly tempted to prematurely end the experiment as the day went on, but the perceived negative sanctions I received only further stimulated the “unattractive” qualities I was originally merely pretending to portray. Interestingly, I did feel superior to a certain group of people- the ultra-feminine girls who tried so hard to look perfect.

Strangely, the negative reciprocation I felt during the second stage of the experiment was mostly due to the lack of positive attention received- it was as if my experiences during the first stage greatly affected my reactions to the second. The brunt of the negativity seemed to come from the lack of attention from the opposite sex in particular- “The power of the Western man resides in dictating what women should wear and how they should look” (Mernissi, 45). This statement from “Size 6: The Western Women’s Harem” did not resonate with me until the completion of the experiment. I recognized Mernissi’s general argument, but it was not until I found myself willing to alter my appearance to be accepted by the “Western men” on campus that I realized the validity of her text. I am a generally self-respecting individual, but to feel so inadequate as to wish to be someone different truly upset me.

These norms we blindly follow can be dangerous- it is too easy to lose sight of yourself in the quest for universal acceptance. The real danger lies in the fact that few women realize how much of their lives are directed and shaped by society’s standards of beauty and attractiveness. The inadequate feeling most women have when they don’t “measure up” to the norms of beauty ultimately serve to keep them in check- after all, we believe our “aesthetic choices” are our own (Mernissi, 45).

You know what?

I wish I didn't have to be responsible and mature. Technically, I don't, but for me I can't let myself be anything but strong.

Oh, I could scream and cry, curse the unfairness of it all- actually, that one day of terrible, terrible loneliness I did. I have never lost control like that in my entire life...maybe that's why I feel like I have to make up for it now by not breaking down. Honestly, though, I'm tired. I'm exhausted from this emotional rollercoaster, I wish I could just stop thinking about it all and move on with my life.

So maybe the inevitable is for the best. Perhaps all I need is closure, though my heart aches at the thought of it. I wonder, though...can I possibly hurt as much as that first day? If the answer is yes, then I can't bear it. I physically would not be able to handle the emotional hurricane whipping my hopelessness around in a frenzy of despair.

And then I read over what I write, such as now. Am I really so overdramatic? Do I have a right to be? This is just a BREAKUP, for chrissakes. People deal with this ALL the TIME. Why should I be so special as to deserve a childish freakout?

And here is the kicker- Am I in denial? Would things be better off if this ended? Because as quickly as my heart shrinks from this idea, and my head starts pounding, I'm wondering if all this is truly worth this pain. This anxiety.

This rejection.