Katherine Wood? Katherine Would. This is a work in progress, as is the rest of my life...

Dear Readers,

I have discovered a new social faux pas that I would like to share with the world. It becomes borderline impolite to tell someone they look good all the time, especially if they don’t.

Every time she sees me (or my sister, or my friends) a good friend of mine’s mother remarks that I (or they) look beautiful and/or great. Now, this seems like a perfectly lovely thing to say to someone, except she has said it when I’ve stopped by her house on the way home from the gym and other times when I genuinely look a mess. Because of that, I feel the whole sentiment is cheapened. Even if I see her at a party and I do look good, I feel like she’s just saying it to be nice.

Now I thought this particular action was unique to friend’s mother, but this morning I experienced it again. A friend stopped by to pick something up and, as usual, said I looked nice. Now, this friend has never said I looked good when he’s seen me post-workout, so he’s more choosy with his words, but even still I did not look nice. I was wearing half my makeup (one eye done, one eye naked) and my curly hair had a bird’s nest quality to it, so his comment took me by surprise. It made me question whether he really thought I looked pretty last week when I saw him or any time before that.

I know I’m being nitpicky, but I appreciate social grace so I’m spreading the word: only give compliments if you really mean them. It’s always polite to say, “It’s good to see you,” (you can lie about that one if you must) or just, “How’ve you been?” But choose your nice words wisely, lest they sound fake.

Sincerely,

Ellie Etiquette

It’s true, people. Expect for the lack of income, unemployment is great. Now, I shouldn’t speak too soon because I’m only 4 days in, but I’ve been having a great time. I make little schedules for myself every day with menial tasks (like grocery shopping), some job hunting and plenty of TV/reading time. I know it doesn’t seem like it but I think I’d make a great housewife. Just ask Alison, I went shopping for her yesterday and am doing her laundry as I type. I’ll keep you updated as to whether this is still enjoyable in a few weeks. For now though, I’m basking in it.

I’m not sure I’ve ever felt about someone like I feel about Ke$ha. When “Tik Tok” comes on my inner 13-year-old goes nuts and I find myself jumping around, singing into my hairbrush. I inevitably hate the lyric, “I’m talking about everybody getting crunk, crunk/Boys tryin’ to touch my junk, junk,” and the guilt sets in. How can I get so excited about a white girl who “wake[s] up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy?” But I keep coming back for more. Her unique combination of catchy beats, bad lyrics, and Keith Richards persona fascinate me.

Since it’s been impossible for me to differentiate love from hate with Ke$ha. I decided secondary research was the only thing that could firmly plant me on one side of the fence. An NPR interview had me loving her: If Scott Simon wants to interview her about her near-perfect SAT score, there’s got to be something worthwhile there. But in light of her intelligence and upbringing (her mother is a successful Nashville songwriter) she should be able to write something more meaningful than “boys try to touch our junk.” An interview of Ke$ha by Ke$ha on RollingStone.com proved her sense of humor. Until I wondered whether she was just narcissistic enough to enjoy talking with herself about herself. 

Stepping back to ruminate gave me perspective. I hate Ke$ha because I have a rockist bias. There’s nothing authentic about Ke$ha, she’s essentially a caricature of a superstar. Her songs mimic Snoop’s tales of excess, her look (perpetually drunk, wearing bandanna and tight jeans) is straight out of the Rolling Stones lineup and her “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” message echoes every female pop star since Cyndi Lauper. But I desperately want to be her. Dress me up like a Keith Richards and let me play dumb, I beg you.

—My favorite paper from last semester. Now that it’s upon me, I’m feeling melancholy about my departure from academia (well, art school)

I’m absolutely obsessed with the show Skins right now. It’s the OC meets Cruel Intentions in Great Britain. Those are three things I love, people. Then, because they hadn’t quite hit all my buttons, the first season closes with a montage Cat Stevens number. BBC, have you been reading my diary?!

If you have Netflix, it’s on Watch Instantly: Stop reading this nonsense and start watching!