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Showing posts from December, 2018

Erotomania = delusional love

The holidays are the perfect time to rewatch some guilty pleasures, including Love Actually  (2003), which has been hilariously ruined (or remedied) by this article, and Á la folie, pas du tout (He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not, 2002), starring Audrey Tautou.

The latter's not at all what you'd expect--certainly no Amelie. It's psychological drama that makes your blood run cold halfway through the runtime because nothing is what you thought it was, à la The Sixth Sense, Gone Girl or Hot Fuzz.

The title references how people (who think they're) in love pick daisies and recite the eternal multiple-choice question while destroying delicate petals: S/He loves me--
1) a little (un peu)
2) a lot (beaucoup)
3) madly (à la folie)
4) not at all (pas du tout).

In the beginning of the movie, Married Man seems to love Audrey Tautou a little, if love can be measured by a single, pink rose. Maybe a lot, because he's seeing her even though his wife is pregnant. Perhaps to the point of…


Triangles are everywhere: psychology, sociology, math, art, Bermuda.
First up for scrutiny is Maslow's hierarchy of needs, which theorizes that each lower level of the pyramid must be fulfilled in order for the individual to progress to a higher level, which may make sense in terms of architecture and gravity, but in application to real human beings becomes presumptuous.

Many of us still must function without sufficient rest (tier 1), or do not feel secure or safe in our environment (tier 2), yet we carry on with achieving our potential/creative activities (tier 5) even with problematic self esteem (tier 4). Also, if one is in immediate danger (burning building, possible death by water), physiological needs are obviously not the most urgent concern (well, maybe oxygen). And not every high-achieving person has the good fortune to find love or feel a sense of belonging in their relationships.

Speaking of failures of intimacy, Robert Sternberg took it on himself to describe all the k…

3.17. Carbuncle = carpooling furuncles

I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—
I too awaited the expected guest.
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives.
(T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land 228-232)

Our nursing instructor briefly referred to carbuncles as carpooling furuncles and we nearly died laughing, because at this point in the semester everything is hilarious, like this horse with an open fracture of the leg.

Start of semester: We're going to the ICU! We're going to be in codes, do chest compressions, save people's lives! We're going to maintain the hell out of the central lines and chemoports we weren't allowed to touch before, and it's going to be awesome! We will hold teeny tiny preemies, be moved to the core by beautiful, sick but stoic children, who will change our lives forever, and we will connect with awesome patients and families. We will do all the study guide questions, make our own study guides by personally reading every damn page of that Iggy book…