Crispy, cripsy Benjamin Franklin....

Regina Spektor. What a unique woman. In my research paper, I would like to explore this uniqueness and take a different approach to autobiography. Doing some research I found this: "She has also stated that she never aspired to write songs herself, but songs seem to just flow to her.[9] Spektor's songs are not usually autobiographical, but rather are based on scenarios and characters drawn from her imagination" (wikipedia). Then it clicked. Can imagination be a form of autobiography? I think with much research, I could prove this idea through the life of Regina Spektor. I would basically like to see how imagination can tell a story about her life through her music. I'm also thinking about researching related topics like women and music, autobiography and music to see if I find any connections. This is all I have so far...

Vicious Cycle

When I was just a baby learning to talk, my parents taught me how to speak in Spanish. So, every word I said up until I was about four years old was in Spanish. This was both an advantage and a disadvantage. I was born and raised in Florida, where, obviously, everyone speaks in English. I started school and had to immediately learn, on top of my shapes, numbers, and colors, how to speak in English. Ever since then, English has been the language that I feel the most comfortable speaking and writing in. Aunque el espanol me sale algunas veces, el ingles es mi lengua principal. It turned out well in the end though because I am bilingual and can speak two very important languages fluently. Still though, I will definitely ALWAYS prefer speaking in English over Spanish. I guess you could say I find a home in it. Even when I am speaking Spanish, I sometimes turn back to English for certain words because I cannot find the right way to express myself in Spanish. I think everyone can agree that they feel the most comfortable speaking in the language they know best. Eva Hoffman states this bold and clear in a quote from Lost in Translation, “we want to be at home in our tongue.” In it, she relates her struggles in finding “a home” in two distinct languages that she grew up speaking. She moved from Poland to Canada when she was about fourteen years old, and had to undergo some serious culture changes. She felt lost, confused, and out of place. In one part, she compares the extreme culture change to skipping rope in jumping from one continent to another. How is she expected to just switch from a Polish to an American lifestyle overnight and know exactly what to do? This is scary… and can be embarrassing. The poor girl did not even shave her armpits! I cannot imagine how humiliating that must’ve been for her… See, the differences among cultures lie in what they view as acceptable and unacceptable. The phrase “you’re welcome” is accepted as a polite way to respond to “thank you” for Americans, but for the Polish this would be completely unacceptable and rude. But this isn’t even the worst part… the fact that she cannot choose which language she feels more comfortable speaking in drives her completely insane! This makes her doubt her own identity… Can she really know who she is if she does not feel at home in a certain language? Or does language really determine who you are? These are some questions that I think she implicitly states throughout the text. I would feel so constricted if I did not have a principal language. I could not express myself in the way I do when I write these blogs. It is a very frustrating experience, especially for her since she states how important it is for her to speak well and not make mistakes. In the end, she describes a cycle of frustration and rage when one cannot express their feelings with words. Words are essentially a form of ventilation and therapy. Without being able to use the right words to express feelings, the frustration just turns back inward and builds into a violent rage.

Break me off a piece of that...

Food... FOOD. FOOOD!! When said out loud, this four-letter word can cause people’s eyes to widen in excitement, or it could cause them to cringe in terror and run for their lives. Whichever way you may react, I think deep down everyone could agree that food is good. In some way, our lives revolve around it. Whether we spend all of our time running away from it, or indulging in it, food is always on our minds. SO, here’s the thing… I read a blog titled “My Black Dress”. What is the relationship between this black satin dress and food, you ask? Let’s use some mathematics to understand this…

When you eat too much food:

Hips and butt > Black satin dress

(hips and butt are greater than black satin dress and THEREFORE could never fit into the dress)

A simple solution to this problem would be to just get a bigger size. But then we run into another traumatic problem: actually having to buy a bigger size. Most girls are not necessarily happy when they realize that they must go up a size. It is essentially the reason why girls might start to eat less, or cease to eat at all. The blog I read though was about a woman who just couldn’t bring herself to eat less, or to stop when it got too far. She would eat until she felt sick! Whenever she got home late from a long tiresome day (like most of us do), all she could do to make herself feel better was eat, eat, and eat. It was pretty interesting; I think a lot of girls suffer from this same problem. Eating to take away the pain. Whenever we are bitter or irritated, a homemade batch of cookies is all we want in front of us. And when we break up with a boyfriend, bring on the pint of ice cream… This only becomes worse when these treats become late night habits. That is blogger “Buttercup’s” problem. She “munches” on anything and everything late at night when she wants to relax from a stressful day. But later, she complains how she cannot fit into her black satin dress. I guess this is why I chose to read this blog. I am sure everyone here has heard about the Freshman 15. Okay, my roommates and I are having some trouble with this… It scares us to death, but there is nothing that can stop us from having those delicious midnight snacks. Our pants haven’t become tight just yet (knock on wood) but we have definitely packed on some meat in these past couple months. I mean, I sit here right now while writing this blog eating a Kit-Kat bar, depressed that the weekend is over and I actually have to do homework. I am now staring at the half-eaten bar realizing that I just proved my point. So isn’t that what I wanted? To prove my point? If proving my point in this blog means gaining another 220 calories, then this is just not fair. I want to fit into my black dress too! It is all about this inner struggle that the blogger discusses, do I want to enjoy this cookie or be confident with what I’m wearing? Of course neither of these can be sacrificed, food nor self image, but we have to find a balance. So, I will leave the second half of my Kit-Kat bar, and just stare at it. I'm staring... and staring... oh, and it just disappeared. Guess this is going to be harder than I thought.