Reed is a pun on ‘read’ for a reason. I have 150+ pages to read between now and Friday. My new classes are going well, however, and I finally have math! Intro to Analysis looks to be as interesting as Godel, Escher, Bach, if not quite as inspiring. Discourse is the cause of my reading pain, but god do I love linguistics! Meanwhile, Russian and Humanities continue, and I’m finding some things in common with Epicures.

I keep thinking about linguistics, though. I got distracted from my Discourse article when I couldn’t stop my trains of thought going everywhere and I finally had to write some ideas down. First off was an alphabet for a highly symbolic language I’m working on. It’s ridiculously complex as far as writing systems go, involving several sets of symbols that overlap and interact with each other. For example, the four base symbols represent bilabial, dental, alveolar, and velar sounds, with another four ‘diacritics’ for specifying voicing and such. I wanted some lingua-labial sounds in there, but lingua-labial fricatives are a bit too tricky (try pronouncing ‘th’ with your tongue touching your upper lip instead of your teeth).

It strikes me more and more that language is above all a social and cultural form, a way for people to negotiate reality. When we communicate, we make use of, describe, and prescribe our social roles, the world around us, and even language itself. This is similar to roleplaying games if you think about it: a group of people following some set of guidelines (both social and mechanical [i.e. game mechanics, like dice]) to negotiate the game world and the game’s continuing narrative. To put it another way, roleplaying is collective storytelling. The real world works the same way, except that the mechanics are different and the story is our lives.

Jessica once asked me if I saw my life as a story. The answer, after mulling it over for a while, is yes. I think I have to see my life as coherent narrative. My life has to make sense to me. I don’t have religious symbols with which to interpret things, so I guess I’m on my own for finding symbolism. But hey, I’m probably not alone: if discourse really is a kind collective storytelling, then we all interpret life as a story, at least to some extent.

Word of the day: metatextuality.

I’m finally back at Reed! I left Auckland Saturday evening, and arrived in Portland Saturday afternoon. I never knew time travel to be so exhausting… :) At least this time I had my mom’s shoulder to lean on, since she got surprise tickets home as a Christmas gift. She hates flying, especially the turbulence–but despite the almost alarming notices from the captain during our second leg of the voyage (”In case of an emergency landing, please leave your carry-ons.”), the flight was completely smooth. I’m trying to change my own anxiety into the thrill of flying, but I can’t shake my subconscious conviction that the world is deeply ironic. I find this discovery interesting, because somehow I believe the world should react (negatively) to how I think! How bizarre.

Anyway… In addition to more sleep this time around, I got much better movie recommendations: Just Like Heaven for your romantic comedy, and Everything is Illuminated for you film-festival types.

Granpa and Dottie picked us up at the airport, and then I showed them around Reed. They were ready to head back to Gig Harbor, so we opted out of dinner. It was only after they left with my mom that I realized Commons was closed all weekend. Maybe the world is ironic after all?

Yesterday Tina, Cindy, and I trekked to Trader Joe’s for breakfast and dinner food, and then we watched Star Trek as I ate my first real meal in over 24 hours. Actually, I can see now how one could easily fast for several days–you just stop feeling hungry after a while! (Thankfully, I have no reason to try it out for an extended duration.)

My other little adventure happened last night when we (me and those dormies who have also returned) climbed over the fence of the Rhodi Gardens to enjoy the peace of a deserted park. Then we expanded our tour of deserted places in Portland by walking for over 3 hours, visiting golf courses, playgrounds, and train tracks. It was a wonderful opportunity to catch up with friends and do something a bit risky! Well, not like we did anything truly dangerous, but exploring those parks under a sky turned orange from reflected street lamps felt like urban bush-wacking. I returned late, cold but strangely fulfilled, ready to sleep in my soft warm bed.

Now, as the rain drips down my dorm room window, I dream of New Zealand, my family, and the time when we can be together again.

I just got back from a mini-vacation, four days on the Coromandel. We stayed in a little ‘bach’, a guest house nestled in the garden of Jim and Barbara, a few minutes’ walk from the beach. Max and I played in the water–I even learned how to body board! It was incredibly fun. I spent a lot of time reading through ME’s Home Companion and writing and drawing decorating ideas, and Jim and Barbara’s stories of growing up on farms (as well as DCR) inspired me to work on creating a self-sufficient lifestyle. Making cookies and pies with my mom has warmed me up to cooking, and all these NZ house renovation shows sure inspire me to design a wonderful little bach of my own some day!

Last year, one of my classmates (Ben Hasko) said “New Zealand is not part of the West. We [Westerners] don’t run around in shorts and play with sheep!” It just so happens that running around in shorts and playing with sheepies is exactly what I’ve been doing. But how far from Western culture am I, really? Walking down the street I hear more languages and see more races than in most airports–Maori, Indian, Korean… Yet there are still the same old suburbs and supermarkets. What is truly different and special about New Zealand? I think it’s something about the philosophy, the spirit. You’re supposed to take responsibility for yourself here, and for the environment, too. Contrast this to America, where between lawsuits and warfare, you’ve always got to blame someone else. Paka from Whale Rider repeatedly asks that same question–”Who’s to blame?”–when its his own need to place blame that brings about disaster.

Last month I read 1984 for the first time. George Orwell is a genius to realize that by controlling language, one can control thought. Many of the same ideas I’d seen before in Animal Farm, in which “all animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.” I don’t believe language can be controlled so easily, though. The part I found the scariest was the parallels between 1984 and the current American presidency. Bush has now admitted to playing Big Brother, and I wonder who will call him on it. Remember when he switched enemies from Al Qaeda to Saddam Hussein? A bit like switching from Eurasia to Eastasia (or was it the other way around?). I myself did little more than scratch my head, trying to understand the connection that lead from one to the other. Soon enough, Afghanistan seemed to have been forgotten, and 9/11 and Iraq might be uttered in the same breath. Whether these are conscious efforts of the American government to control its citizens or side-effects of some less sinister plan, I have no idea. I wish I could just ignore the politics and go live my life how I want. Is that cowardice?

Right now, New Zealand is different from America. You can look up the Prime Minister in the phone book and give her a call, so I doubt she’s doing much in the way of spying. But I wonder how long the way of life here can withstand the pressures of assimilation. There is hope, though. The beautiful countryside, quaint towns, and ineffible spirit that I’ve only caught glimpses of so far seem strong and vibrant. I think New Zealand can survive, and always remain a place for me to “run around in shorts and play with sheep.”