34. Giving blood.

For various reasons, I haven't been able to donate blood in over two years. Tonight I was finally able to go to the blood service - just in time for May Day, too. As usual, the experience was painless and satisfying. I don't know about the rest of the world, but the Finnish Red Cross sure knows how to give donors a sugar rush.

Some people are queasy about blood and needles, which is fair enough. A few of my needle-fearing friends have gone to donate blood. Some of them had to give up and realize it's just not worth it; others got over their fear and now donate regularly. No one was forced to donate. On the contrary, nurses are constantly checking if everything is fine and will stop if need be.

I guess what I'm trying to say is: if you're worried the needle will hurt, it won't. It stings, yes, but it doesn't hurt. If you're worried you'll be incapacitated for days after, you won't. As long as you don't over-exert yourself on the day of donating and drink loads of fluids, you should be fine and dandy. If you think you'll be sucked dry of blood, you won't. In Europe the amount of blood collected per donor is roughly 450 ml, about ten per cent of your blood volume. Your body will replenish the volume of blood within 24 hours; it will take a bit longer for your body to make up for the lost iron and nutrients. Chances are your iron levels will actually go up as your body overcompensates.

If you've never donated blood, consider doing it. I'll be holding your hand in spirit if not physically. (Take a friend with you - nerves and sugar rush make for the most hilarious conversations.) It's such a small thing but makes such a huge difference.

http://www.blood.co.uk/ - The National Blood Service for England and North Wales
https://www.givelife.org/ - American Red Cross. It seems there are many local blood services as well. Google "blood service" and your state to find the one closest to you.
http://www.veripalvelu.fi - The Finnish Red Cross

33. Toilet conversations.

We all know sitting in the loo can get a bit boring, but fortunately there are ways to pass the time there as well - especially in public toilets. From what I've gathered, the matter is much more straight-forward (and quicker!) for boys, so this post will be unashamedly sexist. So, girls, if you decide to skip the girls' queue for fear of bursting and sneak into the men's instead, you can always rant at them for being such a messy, filthy bunch and make small talk about not looking at their penises. Ahem. If you, however, decide to queue with the rest of your gender, there is something about nightclub bathrooms that just begs you to engage in discussions about relationships, politics, or the superiority of the Mooncup while you're trying not to poke your eye out with a mascara wand. There's a certain vulnerability the toilet brings out in people, a certain kind of intimacy that (along with that third tequila shot) makes you want to tell "your girls" (including people you've never met before) all about your last bastardly boyfriend. I think nightclubs are clueing into this, and that's why many of them have sofas in their bathrooms. Oh, the conversations had on some of those sofas.

You don't have to be sloshed to participate in some toilet philosophy, though. The photo above is from a uni campus. The text inside the heart says "Academic Toilet Forum", which pretty much sums it all up. At my campus, there are differently themed bathroom stalls: one deals with religion, a few with relationships, a couple with animals rights, etc. Perhaps sadly enough, it's no exaggeration to say those conversations in bathroom scribbles have saved if not lives, at least relationships and self-esteems. "Oh, so I'm not the only 25-year-old virgin!" "I always thought I was the only one with huge labia!" "Hang in there, you'll find someone worth your while yet!" "Do not shag Professor X, he's an arrogant moron!" There is something about those white walls that allows people who usually feel repressed by the norms and fears of coming across ignorant or pathetic so prevalent in academia to come out and voice their insecurities. Sometimes it's amusing, sometimes it's beautiful, sometimes it's heart-breaking.

The uni lets the texts spread across the space until the autumn comes and they paint the walls white for new students and new questions.

32. Stephen Hawking.

When I read about Stephen Hawking being hospitalized, I was suprised by how worried I felt for him. According to the latest news, he should make a full recovery, but I decided to write an ode rather than an obituary.

Stephen Hawking has done what not many scientists or academics manage: do serious research and make the results available for all - in a format everyone can understand. I bought A Brief History of Time when I was fourteen, and to this day it's the only book dealing with science I've ever bought. If only briefly, I was truly fascinated by astronomy (physics - not so much) and wrote a paper as well as gave a presentation on black holes at school. I still hold a fondness for that book filled with beautiful pictures and event horizons, and the horror of being stretched into spaghetti if crossing said horizon.

Hawking has a website, but it's been temporarily shut down due to heavy traffic. (I'm not the only one worried, it would seem.) If you want to look at pretty pictures and read up on the universe, try http://www.nasa.gov/ instead.

Did you know the black hole in our galaxy (shown in the picture above) is so mellow because it had a massive outburst 300 years ago? http://www.nasa.gov/centers/goddard/news/topstory/2008/blackhole_slumber_prt.htm

Did you know NASA has a blog documenting the tests and development it's doing on new shuttles and equipment? http://blogs.nasa.gov/cm/blog/Constellation/

Did you know the universe is beautiful? http://hubblesite.org/gallery/

For awesome info on why and how they colour the pictures: http://hubblesite.org/gallery/behind_the_pictures/

31. Big butts.

Sir mix a lot-baby got back
Uploaded by ZICARLOS

So Cosmo says you're fat / well, I ain't down with that.

Some things just never get old.

30. Integrity.

Yesterday I stood tall and proud. I am no David, but they sure are a monstrous Goliath. If I was beaten then, I will cling to the soles of their shoes and hopefully make them never look down again. The stub of my tongue, cut for their lies, and these stumps of my fingers, chopped for their misdeeds.

Head held high, palms open with my errors cradled for the world to see. Now show me yours.

Main Entry:
in·teg·ri·ty
Function:
noun
Etymology:
Middle English integrite, from Middle French & Latin; Middle French
integrité, from Latin integritat-, integritas, from integr-, integer entire
Date:
14th century
1 : firm adherence to a code of especially moral
or artistic values : incorruptibility
2 : an unimpaired condition : soundness 3 : the
quality or state of being complete or undivided : completeness
synonyms see honesty

29. Solitude.

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charact'ry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripened grain;
When I behold upon the night's starred face
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love! -then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think,
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.

-John Keats

My friend tells me society's rejects learn early to entertain themselves and therefore need their time alone even after finding their place and their people in the world.


I've never felt as lonely as I do in a crowd. I wouldn't share these moments for anything, selfish as it may be.


I am here. You've waited for me like a good friend, and I'm in no hurry to leave.

Pictures taken at Mallaig, on the Isle of Skye, and on Ben Nevis. The photos don't do justice to how quiet the air is there when the wind pauses.

28. Being nice.

I hate everyone, but life is just so much easier if you're polite.

-a friend

A while ago, I got very angry at a stranger. I rented a car from him, he never delivered the service and refused to return my money for the longest time. He made me call him three times, and only paid me back once I made an official complaint about him to his superior. Having trouble getting my money back was annoying. What made me see red, however, was him being rude to me. After ranting and raving about him, I acknowledged that had he tried to explain the situation and apologized, I would have been much more accommodating.

I am the kind of person who always greets the bus driver, holds doors open for old ladies, tells people she doesn't even like their hair is nice, asks people how they are, and smiles at strangers on the street. I wish I could say it's because I am altruistic and love the universe at large, but mostly it boils down "You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours". If I smile at a person, they are likely to smile back and make me feel better about my life. If I give feedback on a unimate's paper, they will probably help me out with mine. If I act like a bastard but apologize and explain why I was being an idiot, people will be more likely to forgive me.

There is also the added bonus of how it feels nice to be nice. Anger and pessimism are such exhausting feelings. Sometimes I'll be grumpy but paste on a smile only to get such a lovely response that I actually start to feel better. It's such a bloody cliché, but sometimes things do come back two-fold.

27. Old flames.

Your hand on my back

Your salt still has my lips parched

though I was never thirsty to begin with

You make me want to write love songs to people I never loved

I've been fortunate enough to turn some lukewarm dates into fantastic friendships. This is an ode to one of them.

He always gives me hugs even though he has to bend down to do so. He has a freakish memory for details, and he's always sharing random tidbits of information he's learned about Colonial Africa or a rubber band band (yes, there is one). He is smarter than I'll ever be, but he always encourages me. When I was stressing out about my final paper, he translated Kavafis for me:

When you set out on your journey to Ithaca,
pray that the road is long, --

--Always keep Ithaca in your mind.
To arrive there is your ultimate goal.
But do not hurry the voyage at all.
It is better to let it last for many years;
and to anchor at the island when you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.

(Not his translation this time.) He spent forty-five minutes teaching me how to open a beer bottle using a plastic bottle at a party. He sends me music, both good and hilariously bad. He and a couple of his friends have spent years composing the world's tackiest pop song. (The results have been quite spectacular.) He delights in anything and everything absurd and is a YouTube fiend. He knows all my kinks and understands the ones he needs to understand and laughs at the rest. He's 6'7'' but does a mean impression of an Asian prostitute in my sparkly golden jumper. He even appreciates my dreadful taste in music. He lets me be hysterical and never gets hysterical himself. He's on his way to becoming the next Karate Kid and an iron-fisted Ruler of Archives.

He is good to me in so many ways that I feel I could never return the favour no matter how hard I tried.

You made me feel stupid in so many ways

and powerful in the only way that counted