Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling

I tend to be a strong advocate against technological advancements. You may have read my posts about this, I have long been fearful about AI and robots alike. On top of this, I have said more than once I think robots will take over the world. Part of this lies in my fascination with the terminator, but that’s a whole other discussion.

Even two months ago, if you had asked me if I’d clone myself, I would’ve told you no way in hell. However, this is my year of growth. I have worked on myself, beginning the reversal of many irrational fears and prejudices (specifically, that of the British). Putting in work is hard, but it’s the little changes that make it worthwhile.

One of these changes happened fifteen minutes ago. I was done brushing my teeth, so I bent down to rinse out my delicious arm and hammer toothpaste. Distracted by the riveting conversation I was having in my head, I miscalculated and hit my face hard against the edge of the sink.

It wasn’t that bad of a hit, certainly not enough to bruise, but it did make me think. What would it be like if I did bruise? I suppose this had been in the back of my mind for a day or so, as I just recently watched Bottoms. For those who haven’t seen it, during most of the movie, Rachel Sennett has two black eyes. (This is not a spoiler before you get heated).

I thought a bit about what it would be like to have black eyes when I watched the movie, but it took hitting myself in the face to move on to the next thought. As my geology professor taught me last year, the synapses in your brain need to attempt to make connections between things a couple of times before doing it successfully. (There’s a chance I’m remembering this wrong, but I’m about to call myself a scientist so I wanted to set the mood).

I wondered how my face would look, what people’s reactions would be. I looked in the mirror and wondered how I got this black eye as if it was actually on my face.

Ever since being a child, I’ve wondered how I would hold up in a fight. I’m not a particularly confrontational person, and I have neither the desire to be injured or injure someone else. Really, I just have a super inflated ego. I’ve always secretly believed I would be really good at fighting, but what else is new? I tend to assume I’d be a natural at most things.

I’ve recently opened up about this story, but when I was young whenever I would shower I would daydream about being an adult. In this daydream, I’m married. I decide to shower, thinking my husband is out somewhere. I shower regularly in this future, listening to music and singing along, but this time is different. This time, my husband comes home early. I get dressed and go out into the living room.

SHOCK!! Who is it, sitting in the couch, but my husband? “I never knew you were such a good singer,” he says. “Why didn’t you ever pursue this? You could have been famous.” Coy, I shake my head and laugh, telling him I had other priorities.

Words of affirmation is one of my least favorite love languages, so please don’t take the story that way. It all comes back to my ego. Even in elementary school, I secretly believed I was amazing at everything, and this daydream was about this belief being proved true. (I do recognize this is a pathetic daydream, and I no longer stand by it).

So, really, my desire to get into a fight is to prove this idea of “being a natural” to myself. But, I’ve wondered these things for many years, meaning I’ve had time to make a list of pros and cons. Unfortunately, I have decided I will not seek any opportunities to test these skills, as I would like to keep living in my delusion, and getting in a fight just seems like an overall unpleasant experience.

Forlorn, reminded of this dream of mine that cannot happen, a thought crossed my mind. A clone!

Before, when I discussed my fears around clones, I focused mainly on them gaining consciousness, in a sense, and deciding to take over my life or wreak overall havoc. Now, though, my views have changed. As I mentioned earlier, I am quite the scientist. As a scientist, I can’t help but think of all of the possibilities that would await me. I don’t want to clone anyone else, but it would be so exciting to clone myself and put it to the test. I could do endless experiments with no impact on my actual life.

Since I am in in charge of this story, this clone would be happy to help - this isn’t a tale of wrongful imprisonment or clone mistreatment.

Clones get tricky quickly though - I think the most feasible way to make them is from the start. If so, how can they really be identical to you if you are a mix of genetics and environment? It’s impossible to replicate the environment factor, so my clone would very likely have a completely different personality and maybe even physique.

Much to my dismay, both of these things would heavily impact the difference between our chances in a fight.

I can’t quickly find my old clone post and I really don’t feel like looking, so I’ll leave it at that. This is something I want to educate myself on, so please don’t hesitate to reach out with your opinions. Over and out!

“For any new technology there is always controversy and there’s always some fear associated with it. I think that’s just the price of being first sometimes” - Hugh Grant (British and talking about technology!! Wow, do I know how to tie it all up).

Alice wonders, but this is no wonderland, I wondered.

As I laid in bed this morning, watching my third episode of October Road (a show I do not recommend, here I am watching it anyways), I felt a tension building up in my head. Could it be?

I fear, dear reader, that I have a cold. Now, before you start getting upset, stressed, fearful and worried, I am okay. I will be okay. Part of me knew this was coming because I caught myself having a conversation in my head where I complimented my immune system for being so powerful. Of course, I didn’t knock on wood. Too late now.

Plus, on Friday night instead of going out, Alienor told me a story. I had just predicted her future and it was now her turn to predict mine. I won’t get into the details, but it involved her descent into a deep illness. In the story, I sat beside her, warm washcloth in hand, and tended to my ailing roommate. Time passed, and she got weaker and weaker. Before either of us knew it, I began showing symptoms as well. Alienor killed her own character, and I quickly followed suit.

This story was in the back of my mind as I made my way to the kitchen.

My morning passed as I had fleeting conversations with Charlie, Jaimie and then Alienor. It was similar to what I imagine happens in the book As I Lay Dying, although I’ve never read it.

I opened the freezer to retrieve my bread and was met with a deeply unsettling feeling in my stomach. This was to be expected, it’s been occurring ever since we put the dead mouse from our apartment floor into a yogurt container and then onto the freezer shelf.

I sat in my chair at the head of the table (to assert my dominance - I got bullied for getting beta in the male archetype quiz, and it was getting to me)   I begun drinking my Emergen-C and watched as people entered and left the kitchen.

I am a complainer by nature, so it didn’t take long for me to alert my roommates to this “cold.”

Much to my surprise, instead of breaking out into sympathetic tears, Alienor told me she felt slightly sick as well. (Well, she says she doesn’t get sick; she’s going through a new life phase).

The connection to the story from Friday didn’t escape either of our minds. Did she predict something? Was her interpretation of my future correct? I’ve yet to find an answer to these questions.

Until then, I’ve settled for alerting the rest of you to this cold, trying to dissuade you from complimenting your own immune systems. It always ends in regret.

Tourism and My Middle School Experience

On my way to my home away from home, Port Authority Bus Terminal, I decided to take the scenic route and walk from the F on 42nd. Walking up to eighth avenue, to no surprise I marched alongside tourists.

Tourists, with their smart shoes, selfie sticks and little backpacks. Tourists, with their most “New York” outfits on to blend in and a glimmer of hope in their eye. For those of them with earbuds on, I imagined them to be listening to New York, New York, the Glee version.

If you scroll long enough on reels, you’ll probably encounter a recent New York resident, complaining about tourists. Still, as someone who’s grown up here, I love them.

One guy had his selfie stick up loud and proud, on the longest setting. He wasn’t filming himself, but instead the times square ambiance. Now, I’m not really sure why he needed the selfie stick for this because he wasn’t holding it higher, just further from his body, so the angle wouldn’t be that different from if he chose to film the buildings with the phone in his hand. However, as someone whose always wanted an excuse to own a selfie stick, I get it. More than for the practicality, it’s for the feeling, the power, the experience.

As I looked closer, wanting to see if I approved of his composition, I noticed he was on Facebook live.

I love to see people on live. I know some still do it all the time (other than celebrities), but it still makes me nostalgic for when the feature first debuted. I’ll forever remember the first few months - I know for a fact I was in the seventh grade.

I was at Celeste’s house, shoutout, and convinced her to do a live with me on my phone in hopes my crush of the year would join. I was thinking back on it, trying to remember if he joined after all, but I can’t remember. That’s a lie, he did. What can I say? I had an impact.

I think it was short lived, though, because being on live (and watching them) was exceedingly boring.

I’m sure I had like three viewers, but that memory might have been the first time I felt fame hungry (a foreshadow of this blog?). I’ve had many more moments of this since, some more embarrassing than others. Pretty much whenever I join a new social media, actually, I secretly (or not so secretly) hope I’ll go viral.

If I’m being honest with myself, I don’t think I could handle the fame. I recently redownloaded tiktok, inspired to make content, and I could barely take three followers without freezing up. (Barely is a stretch, I removed them once again and I’m back to zero).

42 street also brought me back to a year later, in eighth grade. I know Beacon* isn’t exactly in the area, but being around Times Square always reminds me of my interview there. The other kid with me wrote his essay about The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost, I think comparing it to his piano career or something geeky like that. (Just salty cause I got rejected - although, sorry Sarah, so glad I didn’t go there). I wonder if he knows how much he affected the trajectory of my life, because I quote that poem at least once a week. I do think it’s because of him, because usually when people talk about poets I tune out. Except, of course, when I can’t.

*for my non New York readers, Beacon is a high school.