45. Curling up in bed.

Living as a single woman in a cold, cold climate, I have developed curling up under the blankets into something of an art form. While there is nothing better than sprawling starfish-style in the mornings when you don't have to get up, snuggling in to sleep in a freezing cold room is a necessary skill. Here are a couple of recipes for a good night's cocoon:

The caterpillar: a stout classic

Ingredients:
one blanket, minimum 3 by 6 foot
one human
optional: woolly socks

1. Lie on one side.
2. Grab the side of the blanket closest to you firmly.
3. Flop onto other side. Be careful to cling to the edge of the blanket!
4. Grab other side of blanket.
5. Flop onto stomach.
6. Use your toes and wiggle your bum to gather the rest of the blanket around your torso and legs.

For a delicious contrast of warm and chilly, stick out the toes of one foot.


The foetus: a more advanced variation of the above

Ingredients:
one blanket
one human
optional: another human, a stuffed toy

1. Repeat steps 1-6 above.
2. Turn onto one side.
3. Carefully(!) bend you knees towards your torso.

Be sure to create a tight and sturdy cocoon before bending your knees so the blanket stays in a cylinder shape even as you move. An assistant is highly recommended to pat the blanket securely around you, especially to make sure the blanket hugs the backs of your knees rather than billowing about. A skillful curler-up can, however, carefully reach out an arm to do this themselves. For an added illusion of cuddling up, place a pillow or a long-ish stuffed toy between your back and the wall.

44. Democratization of information.

Last summer, I met a woman who was hacking university students' and personnel's passwords to provide access to the world's largest electronic libraries for people who do not have such material readily available to them. I cannot say I am at ease with her methods, but at the same time, I can't categorically condemn her actions.

I've always been a curious cat. My mum still has stupid drawings of the continents I did when I was in kindergarten, and I remember avidly reading my illustrated books on geography, animals, and the human body. I loved coming up with theories ("Lungs are your soul!", "Dogs can sleep with adrenaline in their blood!") and I rejoiced the day my mother's alarm clock ran out of batteries and she let me break it into its smallest components because it was "broken."

I use Google and Wikipedia obsessively - to the point where I dread to think of the environmental disaster I am creating by keeping Google's huge search engines churning. Classics and related fields might have been a bit slow to join the merry bandwagon of free, open information online, but it's catching up fast.

And let me tell you, having professors e-mail me links to their entire body of publications instead of ferociously guarding their copyrights and sitting on unpublished data for years; running searches on entire museum collections complete with context information and descriptions; using specialized (and incredibly expensive if bought) dictionaries online is glorious. Glorious!

I believe having varied, open information available really does make the world a better place. It makes life easier, sure. (How did translators ever manage before Google? Furthermore, I organized correspondence from the 70s between scientists recently and boy, was keeping up-to-date on new research difficult.) More importantly, however, educated women have fewer and healthier children, are more conscious about protecting the environment, and, when empowered, sometimes keener and more capable of solving conflicts. While it's a rocky road filled with potential for complications, I believe in the theory of education -> fewer children, more food -> fewer wars -> happier people.

So no, I don't think it's right to hack people's computers. But I do thank every single author, publisher, blogger, twitterer, etc., who is making their view, their information and knowledge available to as many as possible.


This post was brought to you with the gracious help of roughly a dozen Google searches.

43. Dude bros.

My best friends are female, and I wouldn't trade them for the world. The past weekend, however, reminded me of how much I love the dynamics between my male friends and I. They are wonderful and kind, and there is never any threat of jealousy or envy. They talk me down from the heights of hysteria. They rap while I beatbox. We cackle at rude videos by Jon Lajoie like this. (Consider yourselves warned - they really are rude.) They give the best hugs and help me climb walls and statues despite my weakling upper body. They talk grammar and archaeology with me. They respect me but stand up for me if I'm feeling threatened. They treat me like a human being, not like a girl, and never think my clothes are slutty.

They make life feel light and easy, and that's a wonderful thing to feel.

42. Sylvie Guillem

(Photo by Richard Avedon who has taken stunning photographs of many dancers and other artists.)

I went to see Sacred Monsters by Sylvie Guillem and Akram Khan last night. After the performance my head was bursting with ideas while another part of me just wanted to revel in what I'd just experienced.

Guillem is a stunning dancer. She is the sort of dancer that makes you question what is the point in anyone else even trying: 99 per cent of professional dancers can never achieve what she can. I have no doubt her body is protesting to years of abuse - she is, after all, in her fourties and way past the average retiment age for dancers - but on stage she moves so child-like, so naturally, it really makes you believe doing a 175-degree develope to front and holding it is nothing to her. Her movement is almost paradoxical. She has such perfect control over every fibre of her body that she can move with fluidity and ease; I remember seeing a video where her hands shook, and you could see the perfect isolation of each joint even in that tiny movement. This makes her fascinating to watch.

Of the two dancers, Akram Khan was doomed to come second from the beginning. There were moments when the two connected in a beautiful way, for example a number done entirely with Guillem dangling from Khan's hips, forming a perfect Vishnu shadow with one head and four arms. Khan's solos were in places wonderfully expressive: he did a marvellous job imaging and he has gorgeous hand movements. In places, however, perhaps because of cultural conditioning, his parts paled in comparison to Guillem. (Khan is a classical Indian dancer; Guillem has her background in classical ballet, although she has done a lot of contemporary.) At worst, he seemed amateurish.

The live music as well as offering the audience a glimpse into the "backstage" life of dancers made the performance seem almost intimate despite the big opera house. There was no intermission. The dancers had developed monologues and dialogues to give them a chance to catch their breath between numbers. While I'm fascinated by dancers' thought processes and their attitudes to their bodies - utilitarian tools on one hand, something to obsess over and scrutinize endlessly on the other - some of the chatter was too much. I did enjoy the humour, though.

The performance ended on a lovely note. Guillem was explaining the term émerveillé - "insprired and excited but so much more" - and the last number was filled with skipping ropes and swings. To me, it was a reminder of why there is a point: dance can bring endless joy in the midst of all the aches and the fight against gravity.

41. Life advice.

I'm sure everyone's read that one article about wearing sunscreen and various other inspirational texts written by people with varying amounts of life experience. I like those texts, especially the ones that show kindness, sympathy, understanding, and a hint of insanity make for happy elderly people free of bitterness. I'd like to be an old lady like that one day.

As an experiment, I am writing out a list of advice that comes to my head right now, at the weakling age of 24. I wish to write out a similar list ten, twenty, fifty years from now and see what's changed.

1. Don't worry so much.
2. Study less when it comes to things that don't matter. Focus your energies more.
3. Eat less chocolate.
4. Start using anti-aging creams when you're 18. When you're 24, it'll be too late.
5. Learn to say things like "No", "I don't agree", "That really hurt me", and "We need to talk about this".
6. Learn to say "I'm sorry". Say it whenever it's due, but mean it. Expect others to say it, too.
7. Take self-indulgient photos often and in great quantities. As Brad Pitt says, you will never be as lovely as you are right now - regardless of what you think.
8. Read more, spend less time on the Internet.
9. Take time to figure out what you want, and then go after it in an organized manner.
10. Say "yes" more often. Don't fear so much.
11. Think "What's the worst that could happen?", then laugh it off and do it. Laugh at your own embarrassments, and realize others probably aren't laughing half as much or remembering it half as long.
12. Don't flagellate people. Clearly voice your opinion, let them know exactly how and why their actions hurt you, and walk away or forgive them. No one deserves to be punished forever.
13. Tell that guy you think he's cute. If he's anything but flattered, he's a jerk.
14. Make lists of things that make you happy. Observe the random acts of kindness of strangers.
15. Take vitamins.
16. Always aim a bit higher than you think you can reach.
17. Read life advice by people like Mary Schmich and Kurt Vonnegut. Write them fanmail while they're still alive to read it.

Mary Schmich's article: http://www.davidpbrown.co.uk/poetry/mary-schmich.html

40. Holding hands.

"We're here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is."
-Mark Vonnegut

39. Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater

"What I like is the line and technical range that classical ballet gives to the body. But I still want to project to the audience the expressiveness that only modern dance offers, especially for the inner kinds of things."
-Alvin Ailey

I have always enjoyed dancing more than watching others dance, and as a result don't go to see dance performances very often. I made an exception for the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater and boy am I glad I did.

The performance was flawless. I am finicky and snobbish about detail. Even in professional troupes, someone is always three inches off - it's only human. These dancers had such perfect lines, such perfect timing it was eerie. One of the more glorious - and more difficult - things about dancing is working in unison and feeling rather than seeing where everyone is on the stage. You need to trust your partner will pick you up when you go flying through the air (or at least trust the fall won't kill you!); I'm pretty sure the choreographers had invented a new lift or ten for the numbers. The dancers had the technique and all the tools needed to be taken seriously, while still managing to be entertaining: the last number was performed in 19th-century dresses, sunhats, and flapping fans. They really did fulfill the goals set in the quote above of combining a classical technique with flexibility and expression. It's all too rare for a dancer to fluently combine jazz, ballet, contemporary modern and African, and all the more admirable for that.

In short: stunning. Go see them. It'll give you goosebumps.

http://www.alvinailey.org