tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64935878262097861442024-03-13T23:47:31.627-05:00Meager Musings...Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-88102699471167117272012-10-01T10:52:00.000-05:002012-10-01T10:52:32.360-05:00Oak ParkSO I'M WAY BEHIND. And by that, I mean I'm home from Vietnam, am living near Chicago and am going to graduate school. I also have a dog, live in my own apartment, and half of my friends are living in Eurasia right now because they want to prolong the inevitable adulthood phase of life {not that this is a bad thing, I'm doing the same thing by going to grad school}. But couldn't they have done this while still living in 'Murca?! Come on people, stay by me!<br />
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Anyways since I usually post a photo on these blogs, I'll give you a look at my puppy, Yoshi. He's a year old and is my favorite dog in the whole world. Everyone agrees with me {if you don't, you die}.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ras04Uc0BNs/UGm7hZRUdUI/AAAAAAAAAR0/2l6bTxxshkc/s1600/DSC_0009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ras04Uc0BNs/UGm7hZRUdUI/AAAAAAAAAR0/2l6bTxxshkc/s320/DSC_0009.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is his cage. Clearly, he is one spoiled puppy.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dqXnAg8bXWs/UGm7i_wwXLI/AAAAAAAAAR8/nks5c2UyzTQ/s1600/IMG_1143.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dqXnAg8bXWs/UGm7i_wwXLI/AAAAAAAAAR8/nks5c2UyzTQ/s320/IMG_1143.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Recently, he's gone through his "cliche" phase in which he does typical dog things [i.e. drinks out of the toilet, tries to dig a hole through the hardwood floors, pees on fire hydrants etc...]</div>
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Eventually I'll post on the goings-on in OP, my new hometown {that's the slogan. How kitschy}</div>
<br />Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-18294410337057461242012-02-19T08:49:00.000-06:002012-02-19T08:49:16.739-06:00Mekong Delta<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">I'm behind on posts, but I wanted to write at least one post on the Mekong Delta. It was so different from anywhere else in Vietnam. These are the "boat people" that I've read about in so many books, that have been mistreated and marginalized in their costal U.S. cities because of their minority status. Instead of saving up for a new car for the family, these guys save up to buy a boat. On them, their children travel to school, they trade their produce and animals, and at times they even live on these boats. It's a stark contrast to Saigon which is a mere three hours away. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KGe_L2P93qA/T0EK9ZGAzpI/AAAAAAAAAP0/kcvmO153Ico/s1600/DSC_0520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KGe_L2P93qA/T0EK9ZGAzpI/AAAAAAAAAP0/kcvmO153Ico/s640/DSC_0520.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Homes along the river because then the government can't steal their land.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uBnzVGs4r2Y/T0EK-MT2Q-I/AAAAAAAAAP8/328xoDtgPPw/s1600/DSC_0524.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uBnzVGs4r2Y/T0EK-MT2Q-I/AAAAAAAAAP8/328xoDtgPPw/s640/DSC_0524.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is a typical tourist boat, although ours was much smaller.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OEjPZxv3x00/T0ELBIK9RZI/AAAAAAAAAQU/9sXysUH7Hb8/s1600/DSC_0538.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OEjPZxv3x00/T0ELBIK9RZI/AAAAAAAAAQU/9sXysUH7Hb8/s640/DSC_0538.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SLnHjkkC3xs/T0ELCdWly4I/AAAAAAAAAQc/zOTz-xdX-VA/s1600/DSC_0552.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SLnHjkkC3xs/T0ELCdWly4I/AAAAAAAAAQc/zOTz-xdX-VA/s640/DSC_0552.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This woman was selling beets. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7qjd0fehSXU/T0ELDVgEL7I/AAAAAAAAAQg/XUAAPa3Jxss/s1600/DSC_0564.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7qjd0fehSXU/T0ELDVgEL7I/AAAAAAAAAQg/XUAAPa3Jxss/s640/DSC_0564.jpg" width="428" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The bamboo poles were attached to each pole, indicating what produce was for sale.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zngTCxDHwYk/T0ELEM_41iI/AAAAAAAAAQs/eMrH6oAmqZs/s1600/The+Market+from+the+roof+of+our+boat..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zngTCxDHwYk/T0ELEM_41iI/AAAAAAAAAQs/eMrH6oAmqZs/s640/The+Market+from+the+roof+of+our+boat..jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A view of the floating market from the roof of our boat at 7:30 am.</div>Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com0Can Tho, Ninh Kiều, Cần Thơ, Vietnam10.0333333 105.783333299999989.9928578000000012 105.74419429999998 10.0738088 105.82247229999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-75144461525088272122012-02-19T08:37:00.000-06:002012-02-19T08:37:12.682-06:00Hanoi, VietnamThis experience in Vietnam has been completely unique. We've gone from sweaty armpit weather to having to wear every article of clothing in order to survive in a mere three and a half weeks. Hanoi has been different than the other cities. It's not nearly as Westernized, and the poor infrastructure is apparent from your first steps out of the hotel. Sidewalks? I believe you mean motorbike parking areas. Despite the foreignness of this city, I love it.<br />
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I find it endearing that on Valentine's day instead of couples spending $50-$100, they went to the Pho shop on the corner and spent $2.50. The family-orientated society is much more apparent here. It's rare to see a person my age without their significant other, or even their parents.<br />
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If I could go back, I would hope that the people who planned this trip would give us more time in each place. Just when I think I've got a feel on how the city works, on where my hotel is in relation to a coffee shop or restaurant, it's time to move on. I leave for Hong Kong on Tuesday. I miss my family, my friends and Greg, but I'll definitely always remember the time I've spent here. Maybe when I've had got a few more years under my belt I'll come back to Vietnam. I'd like to see more of the beaches and walk around more in Saigon. It feels weird to finish this blog post.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mmJDvXZXY0g/T0EIUkujbeI/AAAAAAAAAPc/n43AhOp9XFQ/s1600/DSC_0159.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mmJDvXZXY0g/T0EIUkujbeI/AAAAAAAAAPc/n43AhOp9XFQ/s640/DSC_0159.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The entrance to the Temple of Literature</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BzqCZ6icA5A/T0EIVTSOiAI/AAAAAAAAAPk/vhqfLMiQv54/s1600/DSC_0221.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BzqCZ6icA5A/T0EIVTSOiAI/AAAAAAAAAPk/vhqfLMiQv54/s640/DSC_0221.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Balloons were the gift of choice this Valentine's Day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1jyRH2Nrd34/T0EIWtphokI/AAAAAAAAAPs/H3aFkpRuCDU/s1600/DSC_0232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1jyRH2Nrd34/T0EIWtphokI/AAAAAAAAAPs/H3aFkpRuCDU/s640/DSC_0232.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mother and child walk home after a Valentine's day dinner.</div>Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com0Hanoi, Hoàn Kiếm, Hanoi, Vietnam21.0333333 105.8500000000000221.0057333 105.81051800000002 21.0609333 105.88948200000003tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-786086641218520822012-02-14T09:54:00.002-06:002012-02-19T08:59:12.199-06:00Hue, or On [Almost] Dying<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">So we've been in Hue for approximately 24 hours thus far. In that time, I have indeed seen the holy body of Ho Chi Minh himself. He was encased in a tomb not unlike what I would imagine Snow White would find in her final resting place on the mountaintop. This includes engraved roses surrounding the glass case around the body. But I digress.</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">My friends and I (Rachel, Rachel and Neal) asked our tour guide, Ein (as in Mozart's "Eine" Kleine Nachtmusic) if there was a coffee shop nearby. </div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">"ah yes! No problem! Its five minutes" was his quick reply. </div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Thinking ourselves clever for getting out of the hotel to do our essays (yes that's right... we have four due Friday) we quickly made for our rooms to gather our laptops and assignments. Along with these essentials, we took our maps. Ten minutes later we asked a friendly looking Vietnamese woman where to go. In our defense the maps are not to scale and they didn't tell me "recalculating" when we messed up. Five stops to ask for directions and twenty minutes later, we arrived at our destination. This is not the heart of the story.</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">It is Valentine's day. Thus, there are heart shaped and/or pink balloons everywhere. You've heard of the running of the bulls? We witnessed the running of the balloon men (yes, I just dropped an e.e. cummings reference). They were running from the police because they didn't have licenses. This is the backdrop of chaos that framed our walk home in the darkness of dirty Hanoi. Our savvy sense of direction got us back to the hotel in twenty minutes this time instead of thirty. </div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">The Rachels and I decided to walk on and leave Neal at the hotel in order to get beer (for $0.50 per can) and some oreos so we could fend off our hunger pains from lack of dinner. And then it happened: Rachel walked into the street without looking both ways (I know, Barney must not have stuck with this one). Blindly we walked behind her, the other Rachel and I. We looked to our right and I said aloud: "WE CAN'T STOP! WE CAN'T STOP!" as a taxi drove straight at us, never intending to stop. </div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">We made it out alive, thank the Lord. This is a cautionary tale. Don't forget what Barney taught: </div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">"Stop, Look and Listen before you cross the street"</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ce3x7opf68M/T0ENQlq6eGI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/wmWLx6GYyPY/s1600/DSC_0224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ce3x7opf68M/T0ENQlq6eGI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/wmWLx6GYyPY/s640/DSC_0224.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The balloonmen running from the cops.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-F2zrujKdkQA/T0ENRGYVtAI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/MqO1LHnvrBg/s1600/DSC_0229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-F2zrujKdkQA/T0ENRGYVtAI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/MqO1LHnvrBg/s640/DSC_0229.jpg" width="428" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Hats for sale on the sidewalk.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-haqERlTXFmk/T0ENSfWDQ8I/AAAAAAAAARA/Z5tEQcVvIfM/s1600/DSC_0230.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-haqERlTXFmk/T0ENSfWDQ8I/AAAAAAAAARA/Z5tEQcVvIfM/s640/DSC_0230.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The name of the game is "what's on my sidewalk". </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EkbaSPTfEGc/T0ENSwcivfI/AAAAAAAAARI/kgRrsU9iNYE/s1600/DSC_0231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EkbaSPTfEGc/T0ENSwcivfI/AAAAAAAAARI/kgRrsU9iNYE/s640/DSC_0231.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Round two. Sidewalk restaurant.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MGAZwiehdWI/T0ENTrdvOBI/AAAAAAAAARQ/P1MxP9OYtkY/s1600/DSC_0236.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MGAZwiehdWI/T0ENTrdvOBI/AAAAAAAAARQ/P1MxP9OYtkY/s640/DSC_0236.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Neal waiting to cross the street. He's not as bold as I was... oh wait I almost got hit by a car...</div>Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com0Hanoi, Hoàn Kiếm, Hanoi, Vietnam21.0333333 105.8500000000000221.0057333 105.81051800000002 21.0609333 105.88948200000003tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-82816653741038771492012-01-30T04:05:00.000-06:002012-01-30T04:05:41.565-06:00streets.Consider this the unfiltered version of my Augie blog. I don't want the administration to know my true feelings on some of these goings-on.<br />
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Vietnam is beautiful. With a population as large as NYC, Saigon is a force to be reckoned with. As we landed, I realized that instead of being built "up", it was built "out" because of the low cost of cement buildings. The sprawl went past the horizon when I looked out the window as the plane landed. They also have 4 million motorbikes in the city, so traffic is a little hairy sometimes. The group has learned the technique of crossing the street. It's called "show no fear". Basically, once you start to cross the street, you've really got to commit. Don't slow down, no matter what. See a dollar on the street? Leave it. A friend seems confused? Save yourself. You CAN NOT STOP. So yesterday when I was walking to the Vietnamese market (which seems awfully far when you're wearing sandals), this lesson was cemented in my head. They have a rough traffic law system here, which translates into "looks like there's more traffic straight than across my path. I'm going for it". So my friends and I stepped off the curb. I was somewhere in the middle of the pack when a motorbike started to turn right, subsequently, it would seem, into my path. I know to keep walking because they'll go around me. However my friends shout "Margaux!" so I freeze in place, because I guess that's my normal reaction? There I am, motorbike coming at me, another close behind. I nearly got run over (not that a scooter is really gonna be the death of me, but you get the gist). So. Do. Not. Stop. I'm alive to tell the tale, so don't worry. I just yelled at my friends to never talk to me in the street again.Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-9375478338642953362012-01-22T00:56:00.000-06:002012-01-22T00:56:02.242-06:00VietnamSo the countdown has already begun for my study abroad term. I know that Vietnam seems like an unlikely choice, so in response to the numerous questions already posed and those that have gone unasked, I've decided to make a post on why I chose this particular foreign term.<br />
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LONG, LONG AGO... okay I'm lying. It was about a year ago. I signed up to go on Vienna term and Vietnam, ultimately choosing Vienna because of the musical/cultural experience that the term offered. I've always wanted to go to Europe and HEY it's freaking Vienna, for chrissake. Have you met me? It's right up my alley. However, I guess fate had other ideas in mind. It turns out Vienna term was cancelled due to lack of interest (probably because it was the most expensive foreign term Augie offers), and I was offered the opportunity to switch to Vietnam.<br />
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That being said, I did have my reasons for applying to Vietnam, and they still apply today. First, Vietnam is not somewhere I would choose to travel on my own. I pride myself on my traveling ability, having even helped my bf in his last minute attempt to pack (or rather unpack) for Brazil term. But even I'm not brave enough to travel to an Eastern communist country alone. My professors, God bless them, have much more gumption than I do and frequently travel to this far off land. My second reason might seem typical for a college student: I have friends who are going. Indeed they are, I'm sure, going to be my safety blanket throughout this whole term. My travel experiences consist of the United States and Ecuador, so being in a country where I haven't the slightest about what anyone around me is saying is a terrifying idea. The beauty of a study abroad program like this is that I have native English speakers to fall back on when I need it.<br />
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The third reason for this study abroad experience has really come together since I started the term. I've never been much of a history buff. I'll leave that to my Grandpa (who can, by the way, tell you where his family house is in Germany). Yes, it might be a shock, but the term "Tet Offensive" and "Tonkin Gulf Incident" meant little more than a dotted line to Asia and a shaky finger pointed at the Vietnam War as of a few months ago. I find this terribly sad. I've lived through one of the most atrocious incidents in American history. I know how appalled I would be if my children asked me one day "what's the big deal about the World Trade Centers?". And yet that is, more or less, how I treated every presidency and international incident from WWII- the Bush administration. This term has given me a more firm grasp on the history of my country, and for that I'm grateful. As one of my professors proclaimed after the first two weeks of class: "You now know more about the Vietnam War than 95% of Americans".Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-32451221382713666182012-01-17T12:34:00.000-06:002012-01-17T12:34:09.889-06:00New York<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I recently (as in January 3rd) went to visit my good friend Josh in New Jersey. When I say New Jersey I'm not talkin Jersey Shore Jersey but I'm-a-half-hour-away-from-New-York-City New Jersey. The distance that has given me the opportunity to host Josh at my house multiple times so that he could meet and get close to my family had also robbed me of the opportunity to meet his family, even though we've been friends for nearly four years now. Besides meeting all of his friends at home, I also had the most amazing trip getting to go to his favorite places in the city, and some new ones. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vxkGG--xSEg/TxW7T5H1X7I/AAAAAAAAAO4/Bj7uUJTFCmo/s1600/Memorial.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="427" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vxkGG--xSEg/TxW7T5H1X7I/AAAAAAAAAO4/Bj7uUJTFCmo/s640/Memorial.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is at the 9/11 memorial. It was a really beautiful, terrible sight. I went to New York City in the spring of 2002 and saw ground zero. Everyone there was very moved both of the times I visited the site.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Tkb9x0yim6Q/TxW54KWuNMI/AAAAAAAAANY/V1cNxZVy1fs/s1600/The+Freedom+Tower+%2528It%2527ll+be+1776+feet+tall+once+its+completed%2529..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Tkb9x0yim6Q/TxW54KWuNMI/AAAAAAAAANY/V1cNxZVy1fs/s640/The+Freedom+Tower+%2528It%2527ll+be+1776+feet+tall+once+its+completed%2529..jpg" width="427" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">the new/future 'Freedom Tower'. It'll be 1776 feet tall, making it the tallest building in America upon its completion. It's Tower One of seven that will be completed.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v9SJBTVScSA/TxW549AXkuI/AAAAAAAAANg/3Fedw-Z5j1g/s1600/Self-evident..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v9SJBTVScSA/TxW549AXkuI/AAAAAAAAANg/3Fedw-Z5j1g/s640/Self-evident..jpg" width="427" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I found this extremely interesting. Every time I've mentioned going past the stock exchange, people have asked if I went inside. We couldn't even get close because there were guards and barricades. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r8adRdK3Muo/TxW55xqfygI/AAAAAAAAANo/5Bnylrm8n8U/s1600/Yet+another+building+outside+the+met+%2528Josh+and+I+realized+that+it%2527s+a+school%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r8adRdK3Muo/TxW55xqfygI/AAAAAAAAANo/5Bnylrm8n8U/s640/Yet+another+building+outside+the+met+%2528Josh+and+I+realized+that+it%2527s+a+school%2529.jpg" width="427" /></a></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This was taken outside the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Apparently this is a private school. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IO76xAs6z3M/TxW8oAuqN7I/AAAAAAAAAPA/X1d-M9CwBO4/s1600/Typical..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IO76xAs6z3M/TxW8oAuqN7I/AAAAAAAAAPA/X1d-M9CwBO4/s640/Typical..jpg" width="425" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The classiest looking hotdog stand ever. Outside the Met yet again. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tkK6g9bDPBE/TxW56A5WEqI/AAAAAAAAANw/SQyRSMx1rbc/s1600/IMG_0520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tkK6g9bDPBE/TxW56A5WEqI/AAAAAAAAANw/SQyRSMx1rbc/s640/IMG_0520.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Look how happy I am to be in New York!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jqSmyRq9zkc/TxW57OdS9hI/AAAAAAAAAN4/C1jq29nYoy8/s1600/Times+Sqare.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="427" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jqSmyRq9zkc/TxW57OdS9hI/AAAAAAAAAN4/C1jq29nYoy8/s640/Times+Sqare.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A site that needs no introduction: Times Square. Note the happy young man in the hat. No, I don't know who he is. </div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FITb40z9hTs/TxW581YcMMI/AAAAAAAAAOI/Ts8hsMWV0vY/s1600/Beautiful.+And+interesting+people..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FITb40z9hTs/TxW581YcMMI/AAAAAAAAAOI/Ts8hsMWV0vY/s640/Beautiful.+And+interesting+people..jpg" width="427" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Hey! There it is again!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pKtlSIg_0n0/TxW592Mz7oI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/FQFaP1Hrn_A/s1600/Theaters.....jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="427" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pKtlSIg_0n0/TxW592Mz7oI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/FQFaP1Hrn_A/s640/Theaters.....jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I love musicals, so I had to show you this one. [I've seen Phantom AND Wicked] (!)</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VfAZw_cNYTU/TxW5-3KIZmI/AAAAAAAAAOY/BtCc49zZkM0/s1600/Poster.+True+dat..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="427" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VfAZw_cNYTU/TxW5-3KIZmI/AAAAAAAAAOY/BtCc49zZkM0/s640/Poster.+True+dat..jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I saw this sign on a wall in SoHo among movie posters and graffiti. I'm a fan.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kHYDehaJAl0/TxW5_nEpHhI/AAAAAAAAAOg/wsoat9eT1-A/s1600/DSC_0062.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="427" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kHYDehaJAl0/TxW5_nEpHhI/AAAAAAAAAOg/wsoat9eT1-A/s640/DSC_0062.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A view of Little Italy and Chinatown way down the road. Note the back of Josh's head in the lower right corner. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I6oQ8xZWkcg/TxW6AkDtQvI/AAAAAAAAAOo/c1QKgF_2JXE/s1600/Farrara%2527s+again..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I6oQ8xZWkcg/TxW6AkDtQvI/AAAAAAAAAOo/c1QKgF_2JXE/s640/Farrara%2527s+again..jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This place has been there for over 100 years. You just can't get those numbers in Chicago (or if you can, I haven't seen them). They also had the best cannoli ever, along with gelato, wine, espresso and other Italian baked goods.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2eC-HcgTmIQ/TxW6A2HaeQI/AAAAAAAAAOw/aCIc2Pw4hKs/s1600/IMG_0534.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2eC-HcgTmIQ/TxW6A2HaeQI/AAAAAAAAAOw/aCIc2Pw4hKs/s640/IMG_0534.jpg" width="476" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">For years [YEARS] Josh has been telling me that we Chicagoains don't know what a bagel is. I thought he was an idiot until I had a real bagel from Jersey. You haven't lived until you have a fresh bagel, still hot from the oven, first thing in the morning. Cream cheese and a side of coffee, too. The ultimate breakfast. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-29301265159827958772012-01-10T22:27:00.001-06:002012-01-12T22:54:17.547-06:00and another thing...So my boyfriend left today for Brazil and I'm leaving on the 26th for a Hong Kong/ Vietnam trip. It's my hope that I'll be able to post on a semi-regular basis about my travels, as my group is going all over Vietnam.<br />
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For now, appease yourself with a photo taken the day I left for New York City {a story for another blog entry entirely}<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oXSVxcBN7M4/Tw0PC6_9_UI/AAAAAAAAANI/0-jzttOsoik/s1600/IMG_0508.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oXSVxcBN7M4/Tw0PC6_9_UI/AAAAAAAAANI/0-jzttOsoik/s400/IMG_0508.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Aw! Isn't that cute?!</div>Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-38170041289553239222012-01-10T22:21:00.001-06:002012-01-17T12:35:27.880-06:00NEW YEARYeah yeah, we've all heard it before. "New Year, New YOU!!!" "start the year off right" "I'm going to work out every day and never drink soda again and only eat vegetables during the week".<br />
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No on the last one? That's just me then...<br />
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Anyways. 2012 really started with a bang for me. As we all know I'm applying for grad school (insert applause from the studio audience), and decided to end the year focusing on me. 2011 ended with a party at my parents' house filled with my best friends in the whole world. The photographic evidence [[I HAVE FRIENDS?!]]<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UTv1lTSf2K8/Tw0M1ZAusSI/AAAAAAAAAMw/SCBfcMsxLE4/s1600/DSC_0265.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="427" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UTv1lTSf2K8/Tw0M1ZAusSI/AAAAAAAAAMw/SCBfcMsxLE4/s640/DSC_0265.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The besties.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EkzzeY3MkvM/Tw0NCH5HtWI/AAAAAAAAAM4/eV2ndV1udw4/s1600/DSC_0300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EkzzeY3MkvM/Tw0NCH5HtWI/AAAAAAAAAM4/eV2ndV1udw4/s640/DSC_0300.jpg" width="427" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A very random photo.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-STWCOLG0hbc/Tw0NRzo9a6I/AAAAAAAAANA/192E8tTTJZM/s1600/DSC_0327.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-STWCOLG0hbc/Tw0NRzo9a6I/AAAAAAAAANA/192E8tTTJZM/s640/DSC_0327.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Myself and one of my suitemates from FRESHMEN YEAR. yes people, I can keep a friend :)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anywho, I figured since I'm going to Vietnam in about two weeks, I should start my blog off with recent events rather than just diving into my Asian adventures (also, here's hoping that they're google friendly over there, as facebook is a no no). </div>Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-12608776800726903602011-12-01T08:52:00.000-06:002011-12-01T08:52:46.794-06:00Oh thankfulness.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This Thanksgiving was interesting to say the least. The image I will have forever branded into my mind is that of my house on Thanksgiving morn. My parents bought a 14-lb turkey and fried it, which scares me because of the whole this-is-how-houses-are-burned-down thing. On top of that, we had five beef ribs to cook as well. While preparing the food, I snapped this picture:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cRnbignNMhI/TteSz1bYh8I/AAAAAAAAAMQ/L-RCq4kHAjg/s1600/IMG_0461.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cRnbignNMhI/TteSz1bYh8I/AAAAAAAAAMQ/L-RCq4kHAjg/s400/IMG_0461.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">This is my dad. If you share my sentiments, this is terrifying. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Also he looks like Uncle Fester.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I also learned that the average American consumes 4,000 calories on Thanksgiving. Which is four times the amount that a person my height should be eating. That's pretty bananas. And so to make up for my guilt over the endeavor, I've started eating granola and yogurt for breakfast. Not quite as appetizing as a 4,000 calorie meal, but you win some you lose some.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fT2iMzNgmR4/TteT0jFT47I/AAAAAAAAAMY/HNxvpjOqNaY/s1600/IMG_0462.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fT2iMzNgmR4/TteT0jFT47I/AAAAAAAAAMY/HNxvpjOqNaY/s400/IMG_0462.jpg" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Although it looks disgusting, this actually isn't the worst thing I've ever eaten.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(side note: In Vietnam, we're planning on trying dog. Does this make me an anti-vegan?)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">This entry might be boring, but I figure at least it's something. Hopefully you, too, can carry the memory of my dad on Thanksgiving with you. Although I don't think it will scare you as much as it does me because he doesn't sleep down the hall from you when you're at home. </div>Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-46124695714163580902011-09-27T22:43:00.001-05:002011-11-04T16:46:13.375-05:00How to communicate with others.I've finally realized how to communicate with others. I believe a note is much more <strike>passive aggressive,</strike> <strike>tactful</strike>, <strike>indirect</strike>, proper than actually saying what you mean. So like so many other people in this world, I'll use a <a href="http://www.modcloth.com/Modcloth/Apartment/Bookstore+Desktop/-Passive-Aggressive-Notepad">note</a> instead.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">can you tell that I'm sarcastic at times?</span>Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-49914183666285602502011-09-12T17:44:00.000-05:002011-09-12T17:44:50.088-05:00To be read alone.Today I found myself in a singularly unique situation. I was having a conversation with two people who had just lost close family members this summer. In these situations I always want to say more than I do. Today was just too much. September 1, 1998 my father passed away. I was eight years old. In the realm of loss, you would think that I could be more of a comfort to my friends, but I know that I can't so I generally clam up.<br />
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Whenever someone I know, or barely know, experiences a loss, I feel the extreme need to comfort them. Maybe I'll feel better knowing that what happened to my dad can bring comfort to others. The truth is that loss is an extremely isolating thing. Your family is never the same, never treats you the same. My cousin who I grew up with has, I feel, not felt comfortable around me since my father died. I don't blame him... that isn't the point. People just don't know what to say. I want to convey this, verbalize it for once in my life, try and feel out how I'm feeling (how cheesy, I know, but maybe this will help me in the future).<br />
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No one knows the in's and out's of a personality like you do. You find some things funny with that person that no one else can. You have your own experience with that person. Trying to explain the feeling I had with my dad (and have never, by the way, felt with another person to this day), is like trying to describe the intricacies of a Monet to a blind person. There is deep color, beautiful texture; a certain emotion comes to mind when you think of his paintings that can't be verbalized. Such is personality after that personality is forever lost. No one can ever know that feeling no matter how many times they say "I'm sorry".<br />
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However I do feel the incessant need to comfort in that dumb way because "I'm sorry" is the only way to express that emotion.<br />
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Initially it isn't a reality. When you're eight years old (or 21 for that matter), the only "gone" you can imagine is the "gone" between the divorced parent visitation weekends. Years go by. I know some experience survivor's guilt. I never asked "why him and not me?", only "why him?" I can honestly say that question has taken my religion away from me several times. It's not fair. I can tell you at this point that it truly isn't fair.<br />
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Now I feel the need to comfort. As the years go on, people seek their own comfort in the idea that I look like him or act like him or have the same smile when I think of certain things. My friends will experience this facet of loss as well. I hope they know that it's just comforting.<br />
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In the end I'll always say "I'm sorry". I guess sometimes I don't even say that because I know for a fact that it's never enough. I can't know how she feels. I can't know how my friends feel after they lost their mother this summer. I'll never know how the boy I used to play with in elementary school felt when he lost his mother a few years back. Or how my grandparents felt when they buried one of their youngest 13 years ago.<br />
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Maybe this is too much. Too private to be public, you could say. This is me assuaging my guilt for never really sharing this experience with anyone who should know that you can heal, you'll just have an inexplicable scar forever. I'm not trying to correct any social niceties or to stop people from empathizing with others. I'm saying that <i>I</i> can't because I know it's impossible.Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-26009234543010787112011-09-05T16:33:00.000-05:002011-09-05T16:33:48.711-05:00Fashion MISTAKEIt's a known fact that I'm a follower of the <a href="http://www.thesartorialist.com/">Sartorialist's</a> blog. I confess that sometimes I online shop just to see what's up in the indie fashion world (sometimes here meaning when I'm happy/sad/bored/procrastinating). I even stuck up for the Sartorialist when he supposedly offended thousands with his use of the word "<a href="http://www.thesartorialist.com/photos/on-the-street-angelika-milan/">curvy</a>" when describing a woman (hey people... I'm curvy. I'm not offended). Sometimes, however, people go to far.<br />
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Exhibit A: a suggested <a href="http://shine.yahoo.com/channel/beauty/glee-star-latest-fashion-victim-in-offensive-shoot-black-and-blue-is-not-the-new-black-2539137/;_ylt=AqpM_hHIunmmpqvqszbDMX37hKU5">article</a> I first saw when opening my yahoo.com account. Apparently this chick from Glee (I don't watch Glee so I wouldn't know if she really is an idiot or just had a lapse in judgement) posed with a black eye and made light of domestic violence in a photo shoot recently. Really people? Is this something we need to be portraying in the media? I guess it's not enough that emaciated models are now the it-look. Now we have to degrade our sex even more by saying it's fashionable to let your man slap you around. Because whether or not said actress had a lapse in judgement, it's still offensive no matter how you "spin" this idea. The photo where her wrists were bound by a clothes iron chord (and yet is still smiling and "fashionable") was particularly disturbing to me. Call me a feminist, but I just needed to rant.Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-53806939670908421192011-08-02T17:20:00.000-05:002011-08-02T17:20:32.501-05:00You should know<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>You should all know that I just got some new photo editing software. Although I've been reading several blogs religiously for over two years now (particularly the <a href="http://thesartorialist.com/">sartorialist</a> and <a href="http://shutterbean.com/">shutterbean</a>), I've yet to do anything more with my photos than playing around with iPhoto. Although always fun, my photos lack professionalism and style. Sadly.<br />
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UNTIL NOW!<br />
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I'm proud to say that a week after purchasing Aperture for mac, I'm ready to reveal some new old photos. And some new new photos. Yum.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">On the street in Quito.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6fBHDenbHuI/TjhvswQTyxI/AAAAAAAAALE/uGGLfBcY0Nc/s1600/DSC_0479.JPG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6fBHDenbHuI/TjhvswQTyxI/AAAAAAAAALE/uGGLfBcY0Nc/s640/DSC_0479.JPG.jpg" width="427" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Some tiny graffiti in the city.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z68X8jLZm2w/Tjhvzi7kvdI/AAAAAAAAALI/lBDhJ9ov3AY/s1600/DSC_0480.JPG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z68X8jLZm2w/Tjhvzi7kvdI/AAAAAAAAALI/lBDhJ9ov3AY/s640/DSC_0480.JPG.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Pretty fruit in a tienda.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-42WwY2y8pFY/Tjhv3rktUZI/AAAAAAAAALM/qqN4EirtODo/s1600/DSC_0482.JPG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-42WwY2y8pFY/Tjhv3rktUZI/AAAAAAAAALM/qqN4EirtODo/s640/DSC_0482.JPG.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Church dome.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cdzPUSDyPRY/Tjhv6r4l-wI/AAAAAAAAALQ/yXfQRn2q9NQ/s1600/DSC_0485.JPG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cdzPUSDyPRY/Tjhv6r4l-wI/AAAAAAAAALQ/yXfQRn2q9NQ/s640/DSC_0485.JPG.jpg" width="428" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">On the way to the Basilica. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tGgeP6h_c7A/TjhwRLz30fI/AAAAAAAAALg/6hy1QvBHmyI/s1600/DSC_0502.JPG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tGgeP6h_c7A/TjhwRLz30fI/AAAAAAAAALg/6hy1QvBHmyI/s640/DSC_0502.JPG.jpg" width="428" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Another street photo.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LDm9rmUXk9w/TjhwKfIQigI/AAAAAAAAALc/wu-kpA0cxQQ/s1600/DSC_0492.JPG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LDm9rmUXk9w/TjhwKfIQigI/AAAAAAAAALc/wu-kpA0cxQQ/s640/DSC_0492.JPG.jpg" width="428" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Praying to a saint outside a church. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ByjNky2v0fI/TjhwFHmzfEI/AAAAAAAAALY/kdysSKQabKk/s1600/DSC_0489.JPG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ByjNky2v0fI/TjhwFHmzfEI/AAAAAAAAALY/kdysSKQabKk/s640/DSC_0489.JPG.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Architecture. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ThdlenF8iSM/Tjhv-5NVaII/AAAAAAAAALU/Tf7-TxbEQWQ/s1600/DSC_0486.JPG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ThdlenF8iSM/Tjhv-5NVaII/AAAAAAAAALU/Tf7-TxbEQWQ/s640/DSC_0486.JPG.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Outside the basilica. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cU6fmK5b_PY/TjhwZ1hVRaI/AAAAAAAAALk/JQDTaqomqVg/s1600/DSC_0506.JPG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cU6fmK5b_PY/TjhwZ1hVRaI/AAAAAAAAALk/JQDTaqomqVg/s640/DSC_0506.JPG.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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<span id="goog_1481005176"></span><span id="goog_1481005177"></span>Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-38796170502879102232011-04-14T11:36:00.002-05:002011-08-02T17:21:33.457-05:00If you're the bird...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">So there's this song that always reminds me of Spring. It's<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RNF4Xzt0cjg">The Bird And The Worm</a> by Owl City. It's just silly, and for obvious reasons, it not only reminds me of Spring, but of friendship. All of my friends--Mandy, Susan, Jill and I all fell in love with this song separately during our Sophomore year, and when I found out, I couldn't help but think that we're soul mates. <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1M3tJwZvGxU/TachZnOCQTI/AAAAAAAAAII/s7aKa0kDWRQ/s1600/DSC_0242.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="427" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1M3tJwZvGxU/TachZnOCQTI/AAAAAAAAAII/s7aKa0kDWRQ/s640/DSC_0242.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Also, I took some photos the other day (clearly). This is a bird that was on the Magnolia tree outside of our neighbor's house. Doesn't he look so intelligent?</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FNYOmWEO2gA/TachmKvXPbI/AAAAAAAAAIM/ai6sny8EtJk/s1600/DSC_0244.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="427" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FNYOmWEO2gA/TachmKvXPbI/AAAAAAAAAIM/ai6sny8EtJk/s640/DSC_0244.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Crouching Tiger, Hidden Birdie. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GErPu4dDV3w/TachuUPdN7I/AAAAAAAAAIQ/L_nqyZDtsG4/s1600/DSC_0250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="427" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GErPu4dDV3w/TachuUPdN7I/AAAAAAAAAIQ/L_nqyZDtsG4/s640/DSC_0250.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I stalked Jill. Thought you should know.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vryozgLP__I/Tach4dAU8RI/AAAAAAAAAIU/aGwb2P7tVqo/s1600/DSC_0267.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="427" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vryozgLP__I/Tach4dAU8RI/AAAAAAAAAIU/aGwb2P7tVqo/s640/DSC_0267.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">There are two Mourning doves that made a nest in that same Magnolia tree. It's so beautiful to see them together. I know that they aren't but I pretend they're in love. ((sigh)).</div>Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-22423521580383009702011-04-02T07:49:00.000-05:002011-04-02T07:49:00.607-05:00The Home DilemmaI'm home this weekend for the first time in a month. My brothers, however, are not. Over the years, said brothers have conditioned me into waking up ungodly early like, say, 7:00 am. I know that to some this sounds not unreasonable, but let me tell you, to those of us "youth" in the population who stay up until 2:00 on a semi-regular basis in order to see our friends this is, indeed, ungodly early. Now here am I, at 7:45 am, writing in my blog. I've been up for 3/4 an hour. Help me. I can't decide if it's a good or bad thing that I wake up this early on occasion.<div><br />
</div><div>It certainly isn't balanced (thank you Dr. Tallitsch and your Traditional Chinese Medicine course). Speaking of, I studied for six hours for an exam for Tallitsch's class the other day, and the section I studied wasn't on the exam. Winning.</div>Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-51621450218608471322011-03-23T21:50:00.001-05:002011-04-14T11:37:21.058-05:00My SchoolMy school just sent out an incident report about some guy touching himself around campus. Apparently, the cause is the "onset of Spring". Is this normal? I think not. It just reminds me of last spring, when they said a "midget" jumped out of a car and attempted to abduct a student. This isn't politically correct. Winning.Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-14527636279261997122011-03-21T22:44:00.000-05:002011-03-21T22:44:17.212-05:00Gaga<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/93zIeUrJrTg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>These are exactly my feelings on Lady Gaga. (GaGa? gaga?). The only thing I would change is to pour glitter on my head during the performance.Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-32078616390583407092011-03-21T22:37:00.000-05:002011-03-21T22:37:38.862-05:00Sometimes I feel...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-f68C1E_DQUE/TYgY6g8PMLI/AAAAAAAAAIE/TLShwk93kJU/s1600/IMG_0232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-f68C1E_DQUE/TYgY6g8PMLI/AAAAAAAAAIE/TLShwk93kJU/s400/IMG_0232.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Like a lazy hedgehog. The wheel keeps on spinning and I'm just sitting on my own quills at the bottom.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Mostly I just think Rosie needs to go outside and stay excited about things. Like eating bugs.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Isn't she cute?</div>Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-89805229497480004672011-03-13T15:48:00.002-05:002011-04-14T11:38:00.077-05:00Spring Baking...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Yesterday was a pretty big day here at Freya house. While most of the campus was partaking in an annual day of drinking (usually about 12 hours of drinking, to be exact), my roommate Mandy and I cleaned the house. You see, all winter the house was never cleaned. Past the usual 10 week term, this was about a total of 15 weeks where dishes were done daily, but the floors were never attended to. We also rearranged the furniture. This is what we found underneath one of the couches.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-BR3XGHCbvg4/TX0rTed2ZxI/AAAAAAAAAHw/h9Z6WYzoM60/s1600/IMG_0242.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-BR3XGHCbvg4/TX0rTed2ZxI/AAAAAAAAAHw/h9Z6WYzoM60/s400/IMG_0242.jpg" width="298" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">We don't know if it's poop or a brownie. But whatever it is, it's disgusting. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Anyways, you'd be surprised how much better the two of us felt once the house was clean (or maybe you wouldn't-- I suspect that this is why spring cleaning is so popular). So good, in fact, that this morning I decided to make crepes in our newly-clean kitchen. I've never made them before, but I'm pleased at how easy they were to make. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-PfLQr3G6HJk/TX0tHwEURlI/AAAAAAAAAH4/AXnrVlSw6QM/s1600/DSC_0254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-PfLQr3G6HJk/TX0tHwEURlI/AAAAAAAAAH4/AXnrVlSw6QM/s400/DSC_0254.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-2049642112059311602010-10-21T19:24:00.000-05:002010-10-21T19:24:32.024-05:00Fall termFall term is out to get me. I can't even make this up. I'm pretty comfortable with my place at school. I'm an English major, and although that leaves a lot of room for creativity, I also find solace in things that will not change. Take for example, MLA format. The head of the English department is one of my professors this term, and wisely said "if there is anything you learn in college, let it be how to correctly format a paper. No one will hire you if you can't do a simple bibliography that follows a formula." So I did that. For his paper, I did an MLA heading on my paper and got a good grade (hopefully that wasn't the only reason why. I'd like to think I'm ok at writing, too.)<br />
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Then I get a curveball from this Buddhism class. The final essay was 3-5 pages. She wants it in MLA format with a cover page (note: MLA uses a heading on the first page, not a cover page). So I did the essay and came to class today to turn it in. Upon picking up my paper, the professor looked at it like my paper had red eyes and bloody teeth. The conversation:<br />
<br />
Professor: What's this?<br />
Me: It's my paper.<br />
P: I know that. But what's this in the corner?<br />
M: A paper clip.<br />
P: Yes. I can see that it's a paper clip. I wanted a staple.<br />
M: Oh. I thought you said that we were supposed to have a cover page so that you didn't have to look at our name on the first page. So I figured you would want it paper clipped so you could detach our names from the paper.<br />
P: No. No one else used a paper clip. Go run and find a stapler after class and then turn in your paper.<br />
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WHAT THE HECK?!? On what planet is this ok? I completed everything in accordance to MLA excepting the fact that she did not want our names on the corner of the paper.<br />
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1. how do you get to be a professor at a private college without being able to grade a paper without a bias?<br />
2. how does a school get away with not having a standard writing style for papers?<br />
3. Why am I so upset about this?Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-68833913556094457362010-10-13T11:09:00.000-05:002010-10-13T11:09:42.158-05:00Class...y.<div style="text-align: center;">Just signed up for Winter term classes. I'm in two Shakespeare classes. Maybe someday, after all this is over, I'll be smart. Maybe.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_PsLq1Qa6Dqo/TLXZhZnyzWI/AAAAAAAAAHU/BkUUuoFDj3g/s1600/DSC_0221.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_PsLq1Qa6Dqo/TLXZhZnyzWI/AAAAAAAAAHU/BkUUuoFDj3g/s400/DSC_0221.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Find The Bird.</div>Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-4838793881374191222010-10-09T12:36:00.000-05:002010-10-09T12:36:12.930-05:00So HomecomingI don't want to seem like a total putter-downer here. But when it comes to school at Augustana, weeks seven and eight seem to be the beginning of crunch time on campus. It's two weeks before final exams, a time in any student's life which can be overly-hectic. Augie has ten weeks in a term, and on top of exams, every teacher assigns a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">HUGE</span> essay which is always worth roughly 20% of your overall grade for the term. My life, in other words, is spent in the library so I can get my essays done in a relatively timely fashion before finals week. But lo and behold, it's <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">H</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;">O</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">M</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;">E</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">C</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;">O</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">M</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;">I</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">N<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;">G</span></span> W</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;">E</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">E</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;">K</span>. So the library (not to mention the dorms, streets and quad) is constantly being invaded by "ooh"ers and "aah"ers from classes past. All overly-impressed by the improvements made on campus and generally unconcerned with the fact that the current students are about to lose a night of sleep, on a weekend, no less, because their studies are being interrupted by questions and generally loud behavior. I love Augustana, but I hate homecoming week.<br />
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No, I don't care that you're at a frat party flirting with/trying to get in the pants of a 20-year-old woman.<br />
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No, I don't care that you're reminiscing on the good ol' days.<br />
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Yes, I care that I can't do my job as a student and pass a class because of these activities.<br />
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Is this mean? I hope not. I'm just venting here.Margauxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14691415110127349503noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493587826209786144.post-53171621953584073882009-10-08T10:00:00.001-05:002009-10-08T10:01:48.056-05:00Porsche<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_PsLq1Qa6Dqo/Ss39SpPfXzI/AAAAAAAAAEU/Jgs1eOsF3Y0/s1600-h/DSC_0085.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_PsLq1Qa6Dqo/Ss39SpPfXzI/AAAAAAAAAEU/Jgs1eOsF3Y0/s400/DSC_0085.jpg" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Porsche <span style="font-family: HiraMinPro-W3; font-weight: normal;">|ˈpôr<span style="font-variant: small-caps;"> sh </span>(ə)|</span></b><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: HiraMinPro-W3;">Porsche, Ferdinand <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(1875-1952), </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Austrian car designer. In 1934, he designed the volkswagen ("people's car"), but his name has since become noted for the high-performnce sports and racing cars produced by his company, originally to his designs</span><span style="font-size: small;">.</span></span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You can also see my mom in this picture. She's recovering from her foot surgery and using a walker. This was taken about a month ago, so now she's doing much better and can walk all on her own. She even got a pedicure last week. It doesn't sound like much but it is considering that she couldn't walk for about two months. Yay mom!</span><br />
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