This is just a funny list of self-definitions through the years. For a run through of my contact information and current internet presence, please see my contact page at my personal domain.
On the first version of this blog, when I was 25 going on 26 –
I’m a woman, twenty-five, from small-town Pennsylvania, who went into debt to pursue philosophy, who can’t regret it, who bases most of her knowledge of The Male Mind on Squall Leonhart from Final Fantasy VIII, who wanted to go to Oberlin College after seeing a black-and-white photography exhibit there where a woman recreated the betraying kiss that Judas Iscariot bestowed on Christ with a ring-light in Judas’s eye, who didn’t go to Oberlin College and can’t regret it, who went to the College of Wooster, Hufflepuff of the Midwest, who misunderstood that Robert Frost poem same as everybody else, who once flooded a kitchen with bubbles.
On my graduate school’s student page, I said I was —
Sophia would like to live up to her name. She is interested in the nature of choice, including choices amongst theories, amongst consumer products, and amongst things to say to cashiers. Although a true Pennsylvanian, she attended and graduated (magna carta summum bonum) from the College of Wooster in Ohio, initially because she liked the way the name sounded, but after her pronunciation was immediately corrected she had to think of another reason. She likes to take classes that she doesn’t know anything about and reads almost exclusively authors whom she disagrees with, meaning that her answer to the classic question of P or not P usually goes: “Hmm, P…” Music journalism, decadent food, dancing, speculative fiction, more dancing, weight lifting, and big cheap earrings are some of her favorite things.
On livejournal, I said I was —
Sophie. 22. Pisces/Aquarius: here be a fishy miss. Philosophy major. INFJ. Liberal Artsy. I like chess and craft beer and making playlists and poetry, and I am expert at none of these things, but I have hope. Virtuoso. I’m brave and morally-minded. No religion. Digs art. Goofy. Loving. Awkward as elbows. I like indulgently long entries and bands you’ve surely heard of and children’s movies, if only for the overt moral instruction.
On GoodReads, I said I was —
Apparently every third girl in Pennsylvania (immigrant or debutante up-and-comer) is named ‘Sophia,’ so I shrunk down a modest ‘S’ in my sign-offs. Note to self: a less popular virtue name (like ‘Hairy-Chested-Men’ or ‘Polite-to-Waitresses’) on the next palingenetic go-around. I’m technically unemployed a college graduate, out of the midwest. Ups and downs all over, but I loved my school: so utterly Hufflepuff, all about yellow bricks and castles and a quicksand grading system (the extremities are the challenge). I also love my native state, Pennsylvania. I have things growing in terra cotta pots in my bedroom.
On an ill-fated attempt to make an MP3 blog, I said I was —
Illeist and idiot. Failed chorus girl. Auditory opinionator. Academic Team Captaine. Girl-et-diplomat. Canadian Goose. Sophie is many things and in many ways. Above all, she is a silly chit that loves to listen to a good guitar thrashing at 6:37 AM and was self-immolatingly in love with Jim Morrison until the third grade when Eric told her he’d been dead for forty years.