The Bliss of Ms. Blossom

Gardening Journal: Entry the Fourth

2008-04-21T22:25:00.001-04:00

All my plants are still alive. I got a new one about a week ago that Bryant named Eduardo.

riots, not diets.!

2008-04-21T22:13:00.002-04:00

No listener really cares as much as the dream as the dreamer, but I had a dream that was almost entirely centered on donuts.

--

I was looking to buy a donut. I had some pretty high standards in mind, because I was so hungry. I knew it had to have frosting and springles and be amazing. As I wandered from donut store to donut store, I became so discouraged, because I couldn't find just the right donut. Sure, there were some nice-looking ones, but I kept on thinking, "Don't settle for that donut, keep looking, I bet you can find a better one." Well, the stores were starting to shut down and I got that horrible anxious feeling in my stomach, so I hurried up and picked one. It wasn't quite the donut I had been looking for, but -- what the hell, I was running out of time. I pointed it out to the harried donut store workers, and as soon as I was handed the bag, they pulled down the gates and closed for the day.

Much to my surprise, when I opened the bag, there was no donut.

It was a bagel.

I was incensed, but there was nothing I could do. The donut store was definitely closed and I was stuck.

--

Everyone who has heard this story immediately compares it to dating. This is an entirely justifiable interpretation, but I makes me worry about my priorities. Shouldn't I want a bagel? Bagels are delicious and nutritious. Donuts, on the other hand, are flashy and superficial. But they are so fuckin' good. To complicate matters, the wholesome baked good left me feeling incomplete and unhappy, so I feel that this is a lose-lose situation.

One guy told me I'm a lesbian, because I'm so preoccupied with holes.

Look at me, look at me.

2007-11-14T11:34:00.001-05:00

I'm writing this from my office right now. To be more specific and less self-agrandizing, it's more of a cubicle. To be even more painfully specific, there's only one wall.

I don't know which is better.

2007-10-22T21:56:00.000-04:00

There's a sign on Atherton that says:

599 SALAD
ALL DAY

Everytime I see it, there's a nanosecond during which I think it says:

Egg SALAD
ALL DAY

phone call with Eddie

2007-10-16T15:57:00.001-04:00

I talked to Eddie on the phone today for the first time since I left. It was so good. I told him about Pennsylvania so far, but we mostly discussed the things that have been going on in Lubbock -- specifically the credit union -- since I left. As strange as this may sound, and as guilty as I feel for thinking it (much less writing it down), this has made me the most homesick that I've been. When I stop to think about it, I guess it makes sense. Day in and day out for over three years, I probably saw the people at my job on a more consistent basis than anyone else, including my family and friends. It just seems so weird to think about Eddie and Crystal and all of the members we knew still spending time together at the Admin.

new sheets

2007-10-16T15:54:00.001-04:00

A few days ago, I put my new red sheets on me bed. They are super soft and warm, and I was altogether ecstatic about them.

Until.

The next morning I rolled out of bed and glanced behind me. My bed was unmade, and the red sheets underneath my blankets looked like the bloody insides of some slain animal. It was as if a huge white whale had been sliced open and was bleeding in the middle of my bedroom floor.

At least, that's what I thought then. It hadn't really occured to me again until a second ago. I don't think it's actually going to be a huge issue; I still really like my bed.

I am not pleased.

2007-10-14T19:50:00.001-04:00

I put together one of my tall bookshelves yesterday, and now my back is really sore. Also, the FUCKIN' PENN STATE EMAIL WON'T WORK.

People are strange. Specifically, people named Leah.

2007-10-13T20:08:00.000-04:00

Leah won't stop laughing about a deformed cardboard skeleton that her mom sent her for Halloween. Won't stop.

This is sign number one thousand and ten that she is not normal.

Romanticized Trains

2007-10-10T01:13:00.000-04:00

Lately, my sexual fantasies have involved trains. Specifically, the romantic idea of trains from Harry Potter or French Kiss, complete with those cute beds, cute compartments, and cute brunches. Kind of like the trains that Carrie and Samantha thought they would be travelling in on that Sex and the City episode.

I sneezed about 8ight times today.

2007-10-07T00:44:00.000-04:00

If I'm developing mono again.... well, I'm sure you can imagine how pissed I will be.

Gardening Journal: Entry the Third

2007-10-07T00:26:00.000-04:00

The last couple weeks have been tough for our plants. None of Esther's survived. The only ones left are my two and some new flowers that Sarah bought. Hers looked pretty shitty today, though. I guess I'm the only one with a green thumb.

I've repotted Lolita, and she is continuing to grow to fit her, now larger, pot. Jasper was like that, too. Except he lived in aquariums and not a pile of dirt. Except now he lives in a pile of dirt somewhere because he's dead. Except he was still in his aquarium when we threw him away. Except it wasn't really me who threw him away, it was Bryant.

Lolita seems to be attracting these tiny black bugs. There aren't very many of them, but I'm sort of flabbergasted. I mean, are a few bugs a sign that there's a bug colony thriving somewhere in the vicinity? Isn't that what you have to assume with ants? These kind of look like ants, except they can fly. Shouldn't that make the threat of infestation, like, I don't know, TEN MILLION TIMES WORSE?

In spite of my intensive knowledge of entomology, I've decided to live and let live. I keep on thinking of those religious people (perhaps in the Middle East somewhere) who wear veils over their mouths so as not to unintentionally harm any living creature. It might also be all of the sci-fi books I've been reading that discuss, in great detail, a future human race who has relations with a COMPLEX BUG CIVILIZATIONS. Yes, there are books that fit into the giant bug subgenre of sci-fi literature. I think they might be similar to the robot subgenre of drama films. Anyway, even though these relations always seem to end disasterously, I have developed a sort of grudging respect for these organisms that can decimate entire Terran military fleets. My last reason to not launch an attack on these bugs (which you should ALWAYS do if trapped in sci-fi story) is that I have a feeling it would involve some sort of pesticide (and not just my waving around facial tissue in the general area of Lolita). I eat and live and breathe (and love and laugh and whatever else those stupid decorative wall plaques are always telling you to do) in this room, and don't want to ingest poison. Oh, but the poison is for little tiny bugs, you say? That's supposed to make me feel better? My EYES and AORTA and NIPPLES are little tiny things, and I don't want them to SHRIVEL UP AND DIE.

As usual, my Gardening Journal entry has completely lost sight of its gardening theme.

symbols

2007-10-07T00:21:00.000-04:00

Sometimes when I try to write out a number, I use the number as a letter. Accidentally, of course (or maybe subconsciously is a better word).

Observe.

5ive.
6ix.
7even.
8ight.
9ine.

I think that "6ix" is a particularly good case.

Creation Story:

When I was in high school, Dr. Whittington made us keep a portfolio of our assignments each six week period. At the top of my table of contents, I would inevitably write "4th 6ix Weeks" (or whichever) and not notice until someone pointed it out. That is the origin of this tale.

Gardening Journal: Entry the Second

2007-09-17T22:19:00.000-04:00

Our tiny rose plant looks pretty pathetic. It's turning sort of pale and crisp, and a thin layer of cobwebs clings all around it (acting as some sort of natural alternative to shrink wrap).

In summation: very fuckin' creepy.

I don't give a fuck what jesus would do.

2007-09-17T21:57:00.000-04:00

I'm so sick of reading in various places how "Jesus was a(n) ______!"

Fill in the blank: liberal, conservative, Democrat, Republican, pro-choice, pro-life, INFP, INFJ, feminist, chauvinist, environmentalist, capitalist... etc.

Who. The. Fuck. Cares.

It cannot possibly matter in the slightest way. I don't care who Jesus would have voted for, just like I don't care how he would have taken his coffee. For the record, I also don't care whether King Arthur would have supported the war in Iraq or whether Pecos Bill would have accepted homosexuals. Would Santa Claus have called Helen of Troy an equal, or would he have mocked her sleigh-driving? Sure, I'll answer that question when I'm ready to have a frivolous conversation, but not as a defense of my political beliefs.

Jesus, Arthur, Bill, Santa, Helen. These people are not real.

Gardening Journal: Entry the First

2007-09-13T09:59:00.000-04:00

I'm not entirely sure what a gardening journal is, but I know that Mom was talking about them this past summer, and I thought they sounded like the stupidest, most ridculous, absolutely worthless undertaking ever. I have since decided to try one myself, and perhaps lead this sad genre to the heights of genius. I might actually check some out at the library (yes, they are actually published), but until then, I'll have to wing it.

We actually have a fair amount of plants in our house. (I would like to take a moment to bemoan the fact that this new residence lacks a name! I mean, Alaska is now legendary -- to about 5 people -- but all I can call this place is home.) I have some sort of leafy thing on my small bookshelf. Her name is Lolita, because I simply cannot get over how much I adore that book. (Dissertation topic?) She still has the "Get 2 for $6" sticker on her plastic pot. I keep on meaning to repot her into a nicer container, but I have always found it difficult to locate a respectable amount of pots at Wal-Mart. I think there's a gardening store in the shopping center down the road (or I'm having another one of many hallucinations), so I might check that out. I'm thinking it needs to be blue. I try to water her every time it occurs to me, but I worry that this is still a pitiful amount. There are tiny clover like leaves that seem to be thriving. Esther called them weeds, but I feel attached to them. (Not to mention, the whole idea of "weeds" as inferior to "plants" is completely arbitrary and values domestically grown organisms over those that thrive in the wild.) Lolita has been listening to a lot of Ani D and Spoon lately. I guess that's to be expected.

I'm worried that this first gardening journal attempt wasn't quite a success. It's probably pretty boring to most people. That might just be inherent to the genre. Now I'm pondering whether a gardening journal is really appropriate for my audience. My students might be disappointed in me at my poor rhetorical abilities. I often feel that they shouldn't hear me speak outside of class, because it might smash the image of a cultivated instructor that I'm trying to present.

And now I've veered far enough way from my original topic that I feel I should just end this now.

Newsflash: This morning I woke up and I was cold!

2007-09-13T09:57:00.001-04:00

The Texas Anna would be very disconcerted by this, but I was so relieved. Air conditionning here is basically nonexistent, and the recent hot weather coupled with life-draining humidity has been killing me softly. As such, my electric fan has become my lover, but I think maybe it's about that time that we discuss taking a break. I mean, Pennsylvania should be cold, right?

mediocre advertising

2007-09-13T09:51:00.000-04:00

Steph and I had an amazing time. I would say more, but it would take about a thousand years for me to write everything down, and I've charged her with spreading the word. Hopefully this will entice others to Happy Valley.

Happy Valley

2007-08-14T18:22:00.000-04:00

Despite what Stephanie claims, Happy Valley is a real place and not out of a Care Bears movie. I know this because I now live here.

I think our backyard is haunted.

2007-06-29T15:23:00.000-04:00

Our cat has refused to go in the backyard for about four days. She usually demands to be let out about a thousand times a day, so it's odd behavior for her. Especially since it's clear that she wants to go outside, but seems too terrified to do so. She will creep up to the door and peer around the yard, but just sits there until you become sick of holding the door open.

I think it's either the birds (somehow) or ghosts. Unfortunately I got rid of my Catholic candles in the move, but I might have to retrieve my Virgin de Guadalupe air freshener from my car and cleanse the backyard of malevolent spirits. Maybe Deana or Ryan will come back to help me.

Two more items: I have mono, and I might start a gardening journal. More to come.

Rootbeer-flavored cough drops are really quite good.

2007-06-20T16:05:00.000-04:00

A week or two ago (back when I actually went to work instead of calling in sick), a girl comes up to the teller windows to dissuade us from walking by the library. There was a bird that allegedly attacked students by the library entrance. In fact, this girl claimed that it flew into her and tried to peck the back of her head.

Also, the biggest bird crap known to humankind is now resting on my car's front windshield. Seriously, this is monstrous. It reminds me of that [The] Office episode in which Packer leaves Michael a "gift" on his carpet. Maybe this was done out of birdlove.

I might reassume my suspicious stance against Lubbock birds in the summertime.

This bird hostility is really quite unwarranted. My brother saved a bird yesterday. It had fallen into a bucket full of water in our backyard, and Will happened to notice it splashing around as he was walking to his car. He unceremoniously dumped it out on the grass, then continued to work. We seriously thought it was going to die, because it mostly just layed there and looked pathetic, but eventually, it dried off, hopped around, and flew away.

Does reading Reading Lolita in Tehran make me Middle Eastern? I didn't think so, but someone I helped at work did. I'm adding this to my list of mistaken ethnicities.

Gah, my throat really hurts. And Lubbock is being taken over by caterpillars. Not good news.

Yesterday and today were good days. I talked to Steph and Sara, found Rainbow Brite stickers to put on my iPod, and painted my toenails purple. My life has become much simpler these past few months.

Here's a piece of advice to everyone: follow the instructions for medication. I used too much sore throat spray, and my tongue went temporarily numb.

Which reminds me of the antibiotics I was taking last week. The accompanying instructions said that it also treats and prevents malaria. I had heard a long time ago that there were two types of malaria medication: one gives you horrifying, emotionally-scarring nightmares, and the other will make you desparately ill. I was fine. I had one dream about giving birth which was horrifying at the time, but I'm over it now. I also had a dream that I was Elrond's chief elfin advisor. Last night I dreamed that our house was turned into a residence hall, and Liz and Trista were living in our front room. None of these are malaria-quality dreams.

None of this was really about much of anything.

No, my dream was not about being attacked by Amish townsfolk. Furthermore, my car needs a name and ladybugs are ambiguous omens.

2007-05-31T17:56:00.000-04:00

I had a horrible dream a few nights ago. I arrived in Penn State only to find that I needed to pass a swimming class before they would let me officially enroll in grad school. All of us were spread out in a huge pool and made to go through various drills. There I was, standing in chest-level water wearing a ill-fitting minidress that kept coming apart at the seams. As we were finishing up, we were informed that the class was going to cost us $17,000. Fuck. I decided to go back to Texas.

This probably stemmed from the fact that I'm sure everyone there thinks I'm an idiot now. While signing up for seminars, I noticed a really cool one about French decadence at the turn of the century. The course was billed as interdisciplinary, so even though it was through the French department, I automatically assumed that it was taught in English. The profs were really supportive and offered to do all of the paperwork and get it approved before the grad studies committee for me. THEN it dawned on me that maybe, just maybe, I should quickly double-check any sort of language requirment. Sure enough, I'm a moron. The readings are all going to be in French, and although I'm okay at the language, I'm not going to be able to fuckin' understand a philosophical text written in French. Sigh.

On a somewhat brighter note, my parents traded in (H)Ellen for a newer green car. As of now, she has no name, but I'm considering Edwina. Why Edwina? Well, I was watching Hold the Dream, the continuation of a staggeringly long story about Emma Harte and her family. One of her daughters is Edwina, and she's a total bitch. I feel for her, though, because her name is absolutely awful, and for some reason this compells me to immortalize her.

To be honest, I miss my old car. Granted, I realize I become ridiculously attached to inanimate objects, but she was the only car I ever had, and I still remember how ecstatic I was when I found her in our carport 6 years ago. Hopefully someone nice gets her and never ever plays John Mayer through her almost blown out speakers. Maybe I can get visitation rights?

Driving back to Alaska (see what I said about ridiculous attachments? I named my friggin' apartment!), I noticed a ladybug flying around in the car. This must be a good omen since, if I remember correctly, ladybugs are supposed to be good luck. In Under the Tuscan Sun, they are connected to sex. Crystal took one look at my new car and said that it had a good-sized backseat.

(Note: I stand by my story about a ladybug biting me in the 9th grade. I still have the red dot on my hand.)

Speaking of Alaska, I miss Sara. Hopefully a trip to New Mexico is in the cards this summer, because Pennsylvania is very far away.

Most of this just refers back to previously-mentioned topics.

2007-05-27T15:53:00.000-04:00

Last week I was standing in the yard with Dad, when some more fighting birds showed up. I pointed them out to him, only to have him explain that no, we aren't going to be stuck in a Hitchcock movie, and that the birds are mating.

Sara and I went to the drive-in last week to see Shrek the Third (which I enjoyed) and Next (which was beyond horrible). I had never been before, but would now recommend that everyone go at least once. I got to eat nachos and drink tea. Here are two observations that I made while at the drive-in, although they are not directly drive-in related:

1. In Shrek, there is a scene in a tavern where someone is singing Charlene's song I've Never Been to Me. Cah-razee.

2. Jess was right, our Anthro Folklore prof works at the snack register. Her hair is longer now.

birds

2007-05-17T19:55:00.000-04:00

Over the past year, birds have become a new interest of mine. I painted a purple one and it hangs on my wall. We have a spotted ceramic pigeon that sits on top of the television. Our shalt shakers (yes, plural) are two big-eyed owls that I found at an estate sale. I think my next tattoo will either be a dove or an owl.

Still, birds have been a little odd lately. I'm worried that I'm in Hitchcock's story and that we will have to hide out behind reinforced doors until our food supplies dwindle enough to force us to brave the open air.

At my parents' house the other day, two birds were fighting in our lawn. A little one was hopping around on the ground, while the larger one was flying a few feet off the ground and trying to gouge it with its beak. For some vague reason, it really creeped me out. My mom and brother shooed them away.

I was stopped at a red light in my car a day or two later, and I looked out my window to see a bird hovering outside of my window. It kept on moving in these frantic, agressive jerks and seemed to be trying to attack me through my window. As a testament to the cleanliness of my car (go ahead, laugh), at one point I jumped and dived to the side because I thought for a second that my window was down and that I was about to be a victim of a killer bird attack. After regaining my composure, I looked around, and it seemed like there were a few birds that were having some sort of aerial rumble on all sides of my car. Nobody else seemed to notice or care.

Just a second ago, there was a bird perched on a stop sign, puffing its chest and looking downright menacing. I'm probably not being fair, because a week ago I might have just thought she looked cute.

Maybe next week.

Ode to Work

2007-05-15T21:22:00.000-04:00

What is wrong with work? It has been acting strange.

Crystal: Do you like deviled eggs?
Anna: Yeah, they're good.
Crystal: Rusty and I love it.
Anna: Oh yeah?
Crystal: That's what our family has once a week.
Anna: Well, I like them a lot, but apparently nowhere near as much as you guys.
Crystal: Really? The beer is cheap.
Anna: Wait, what are you talking about?
Crystal: Double Dave's.

I walked in today and saw a black gift bag with Congrats Grad written in silver. Inside, there were Texas Tech salt and pepper shakers. In all seriousness, these are freakin' cool. I have some that are little white owls, so now I have a mini-collection. The weird part was when I realized there was also a silver cross with God Bless Texas Tech engraved on it. A Double T was at the intersection where Jesus would theoretically have been.

A few thoughts:

1. Even for a religious person, this seems like a weird gift. It looks like Jesus has been replaced with Tech. Isn't it blasphemous to pray to a university?

2. I have worked there for a little over three years. After all that time, who would still assume I was Christian?

coincidences

2007-05-09T21:12:00.000-04:00

I finished Eats Shoots & Leaves by Lynne Truss, and James Thurber was mentioned many times. Just like here and here.

On The Colbert Report last week, the singer Charlene was mentioned. I can't remember the precise context, but it was during The Word. Sara didn't recall when I played I've Never Been to Me for her last semester, so I had to remind her by playing it again.

for posterity

2007-04-29T16:32:00.000-04:00

We went to the park last night to swing. After convincing Mandy that we need at least one of us to face each direction on the seats so we wouldn't be caught by surprise and molested, we told each other stories. I'll probably have a hard time remembering all the details, but here they are.

Sara went first:

Once upon a time, there was a pea named Gene who was the prime minister of his land. He felt himself to be superior to the other Pealanders, so he didn't have many friends and was lonely. Since this is a fairy tale, Gene decided to go on a quest to find a wife. He traveled for awhile and came upon a carrot. Gene was not homosexual, so decided to keep going, but for some reason the carrot covertly followed him on the rest of his journey. Then Gene got to Asparagusland and was just in time for a bull-riding contest to win the hand of the princess! Unfortunately Gene, being a pea, had no hands or arms or legs or any other useful body part to help him stay on a bull for 8 seconds. At this point the carrot emerges and offers to magically conjure hands for Gene in exchange for Jean's prime minister position. Gene refused and decided to continue his travelling until a solution presented itself. He arrived at the ocean and met the Sea King. The Sea King didn't know how to help Gene, but instead referred Gene to Ursula. Unlike the vindictive, manipulative, Disney Ursula, this one wasn't as powerful and simply granted Gene's wish without requiring a sacrifice of his voice or soul or anything else. Newly equipped with the necessary appendages to ride a bull, Gene returned to to Asparagusland just in time to make the registration deadline for the contest. Gene won the bull-riding contest! In the midst of his celebratory revelry, however, the Asparagus King decided that a pea (regardless of how many hands he has) has no business marrying asparagus royalty. Grief-stricken, the Aspargus Princess and Gene pleaded their cause with the utmost sincereity and eloquence. The Aspargus King, being the vindictive, manipulative king he was (similar to Disney's Ursula), agreed to allow the union in exchange for Gene's soul. Yes, this king was willing to make his daughter's husband soulless in order to gain power. Well, poor Gene felt that he couldn't give up now, not after having come so far, so he reluctantly agreed. Once the Asparagus Princess and Gene were married, however, she decided that it sucked being married to a soulless man. She gathered up a crowd of asparaguslanders to storm the castle and retrieve Gene's soul. They murdered and ate the king, according to Asparagusland's caniballistic customs. After their success, the happy couple moved back to Pealand to have many asparagus-pea children and live in peace. Unfortunately, the carrot returned and demanded that they give him their firstborn child or he would kill all of the other children. At this news, all of the Asparaguslanders and Pealanders joined forces to kill the carrot and end his evil shenanigans once and for all.

my story:

After circling the sun for many many years, the Earth grew weary of its role in the universe, especially since Mars lost its own indigenous populations millions of years ago. It is lonely being the only planet in a solar system with any civilations to talk about. The Earth decided it would go and find other planets with which it would have more in common. Unfortunately, it forgot to take into account that once it slightly deviated from its prescribed course, all of its life forms would die. Nevertheless, now that the Earth was a barren planet, there was even less to tie it down, so it decided to continue with its journey. As it left the solar system, it ran into Pluto who was being ridiculed and ostracized because of its recent demotion from planethood. The two decided to ditch this solar system and travel off together. They traveled for a long time through the universe until they were sucked into a black hole and squashed into tiny little particles! Since it was black, there was no way for them to see it before it was too late. Black holes capture light, but fortunately sound waves can still escape. Knowing this, the Earth yelled out a distress signal. The moon, who had been horribly overlooked and left behind, was still loitering around the old solar system and heard its old friend the Earth. Rushing to the rescue, the moon sped throughout the galaxy. Once it realized, however, that the Earth and Pluto were in a black hole, it approached cautiously so as not to be sucked up. The moon eventually decided to abandom them to their fate and have its own adventures instead. As it travlled through the universe, it met a comet. They decided to travel together, but the comet was going too fast for the moon. They decided to compromise speeds, so the moon travelled a bit faster and the comet travelled a bit slower, and all was well. Their egalitarian relationship should be a model to us all. They travelled for a very very long time until they reached the end of the universe and ran into a big wall. They could go no farther, so they rested and played cards instead.

After a couple false starts, Mandy finally told her story (surprisingly, it wasn't about brothels):

There was a ducked named Quaid (I think that was his name, but I'm using it anyway) who was on a farm. Quaid was wandering around the grounds one day when a laser shot at him from a bush. He was confused and frightened, and only more confused and frightened when a little green man emerged from the foliage. "We've been looking for you for ages!" the little green man said. Apparently Quaid was the long-lost king of some Jeebie Jabba galaxy about 20 thousand light years away. In that civilzation, the king doesn't subject his people to new scientific experiments, but allows them to be tested on himself. In this case, the king was turned into a duck and transplanted to Farmer Bob's farm on Earth. He also had amnesia until the little green man reminded him of what actually transpired. Unfortunately, the little green man's spaceship had crashed on Earth and now they couldn't go home. For some reason, the little green man lasered all the farm animals (maybe he was really hungry?). After gorging themselves on steak and chicken, Quaid felt sick. On his home planet, it is usual for the citizens to eat a lot of steak and chicken (well, their own versions which had lasers coming out of the ears), but a Earthling duck can't digest that much meat very well. Farmer Bob came out and saw all the bones from his dead animals. Quaid and the little green man were the only ones left alive and Farmer Bob eyed them very suspiciously. I don't remember what happened next, except that they probably killed Farmer Bob and they somehow solved their earlier transportation problem and made it back to Quaid's home planet. In his absence of a great number of years, his people had replaced him with a new king. It didn't really matter that much, however, because by then Quaid was very old and died soon after returning home. The ending is happy, though, because he was given a proper Jeebie Jabba funeral.

Intended for Humans

2007-04-28T16:03:00.000-04:00

Considering the weather has been tempermental recently, Friday was a gorgeous day. I wasn't planting flowers (or spreading mulch) with an organization this year, but Melanie and I hung out in Memorial Circle for awhile that afternoon. We got free t-shirts and hotdogs and boldly loitered on the grass as frisbees sliced through the air around us.

I had a really nice time with Nathan that evening. Jalisco's margaritas and coversation, followed by monstary pictures at his house. Nathan is strange and I don't see him too terribly often, but he's a good guy, despite his blatant misogynistic comments that are intended to throw me into a tamtrum. Time spent with him is always interesting. Part of me is always envious that his life is so open to possibilities right now, and I've just committed myself to a 6-year doctoral program...

Mandy, Sara and I saw Music & Lyrics again last night. Yes, again. It's not the best film in the world, but I like Hugh Grant and it was only $2. My favorite line in the whole movie is when Sophie Fisher (Drew Barrymore) and Alex Fletcher (Hugh Grant) are trying to record their song Way Back Into Love. Sophie is really nervous and the first few words she manages to whisper are so airy the microphone barely picks them up. Alex stops her and says, "just a little bit louder, because this song is intended for humans, okay? Way Back Into Love, take two." Hugh Grant's delivery always gets me.

If I could combine Melanie, Nathan, and Hugh Grant into one person... I think that would be pretty exciting.

James Thurber's Mom

2007-04-27T18:25:00.000-04:00

"You can fool too many of the people too much of the time."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Thurber

Now I feel guilty for disliking him, especially since I realize how often I've heard that quote before. Sorry, James Thurber, I shouldn't have blamed you if my crossword skills were lacking.

This is the cool part:

"Thurber describes his mother as a 'born comedienne' and 'one of the finest comic talents I think I have ever known.' She was a practical joker, on one occasion pretending to be crippled and attending a faith healer revival, only to jump up and proclaim herself healed."

I'm warning you, this will be very (very, very) long.

2007-04-26T17:35:00.000-04:00

The weather was really nice today. So nice, that after I walked all the way from the English Building to Holden Hall just to remember that Historical Archaeology was cancelled, I went back to sit outside of the Engish building for an hour and a half until I was scheduled to work. I really think that the English building and surrounding area (except for the vast dirt field by the library) is my favorite part of campus. I first decided this during my freshman year when I had some time between my Sociology class and a Women's Studies conference. I sat by the statue in the courtyard of the two stone hands cradling a bunch of letters and finished 1984. Then later when some Gordon people wanted to wander around campus late at night, I made everyone go by this statue and we climbed up and looked for the letter A. It is there, alright, but close to the back where the wrists are. I remember sitting on a bench in that courtyard on a date once, and while I'm most certainly not going to repeat that exact experience again, it was at least comforting that he appreciated the courtyard as well and suggested we go there. Sometimes after a UDems event in the English lecture hall, we would linger in that area and talk about politics until the dark drove us home. After my Art History class (by the way, it was great, go take one) we would descend from the exit and cut through the courtyard. When I was wasting time before or after French, I would sit on those benches and do the daily crossword. For our English major brochure we're completing for our senior seminar, we're going to try and take a picture of the three of us by that fountain to put on the back. Who knows, maybe it will be picked to replace the fliers that are being used now.

About that brochure, I would always recommend getting margaritas before starting a project like that. It seemed to work out well. And it was also nice that the three of us are really bossy, which sounds problematic, I know, but it just meant that we got along. After looking at the English Department website, it mentions how we are "pioneers at the frontiers of the humanities" and that phrase is going to entertain me for years, I think. Pioneers? I guess. According to someone, anyway. In our senior seminar class today, Dana was taking pictures of everyone. She would tell Stephanie and I to pose, then someone would say "Facebook that!" and most people would laugh except for the few who sigh and start complaining about the insipid qualities of such sites. It started getting strange when, during the middle of someone's presentation, she began taking pictures of random people in the class without their knowledge - including Dr. Conrad. She captured a nice one of him looking like a badass and erudite as he leaned forward to catch what someone was saying.

So, Historical Archaeology. Not bad as far as Archaeology classes go, but it's really not quite my thing. Luckily I've only had to take a few to get my Anthro degree. The last few classes we've been preseting our Refuse Analysis projects. That really just means that we had to keep a log of all the garbage we threw away in our kitchen trash, switch anonymously, and share our findings with the class. It actually sounds interesting, but it was harder than I thought. That's all normal academic schoolwork stuff, but the part that pissed me off is coming up. A grad student (a number of Anthro classes have both grad and undergrad students, since our department is so small) gave her presentation. Since there was a ticket for the movie 300 decided the subject must be a guy since that's "such a boy movie." Then she said that it seemed like someone was cooking a lot, so he must live with a girl, since "most girls cook." Not cool. I saw that movie and I don't really cook. According to her, I'm a guy. I already said that this was a hard project, but I don't think it's appropriate to base your conclusions on personal generalizations you make. She didn't have any statistics about action/epic movies or cooking. All she used was these strict stereotypes about girl and boy things. Damn. Fuckin' idiot. And that's not a generalization, because I have first-hand knowledge of her idiocy in this particular case.

Anyway, when I was walking back from Holden Hall to the English Building today, I came to the Southwest Collection and had to, like I do at least twice everday, decide which way to go. Sometimes its a "by the library" day, and sometimes I follow the street and go under the trees. The same goes for when I'm leaving English class and I have to decide which of the many ways I want to walk to Archaeology. I realized today that I associate lots of different memories with certain areas, even when they are as similar as adjascent sides of buildings. Vibes. But, just like time travel, it always reminds me of how small coincidences can become so important. Like the people that I randomly see and start a conversation with, which leads to an activity or a new friendship, etc. For example, today I saw Julie and she reminded me about her pool party this weekend. Being the idiot that I can be, I thought it was last Saturday, but wouldn't have realized this unless I ran into her. And I reminded her that, since Mike is back in town, we were going to the Fox & Hound tonight. Usually I am learning about plantation sites at that time, but as luck or fate or Buddha would have it, I saw someone I don't usually see that often. Ok, not a life-changing or riveting example, but it's important to me.

When I say that I sat outside the English Building, I really mean that I worked on the crossword a little (fuckin' James Thurber quote, I don't even know who that is!) then took a nap. I really love public naps, even though they make me a little paranoid. I had to make sure that a part of me was touching each of my belongings in case someone wanted to steal my Archaeology notes or university paper. My arms and legs all fall asleep really easily, so it can be hard to situate my comfortably. In the end, my left hand was completely numb I remember dreaming, but now I don't remember what about. Damn. On the London-Paris trip, we would sometimes go to one of the parks (Hyde Park in London and that one in Bath were my two favorites) and play games or nap. Something about feeling the sun and being able to sleep while not exaclty being alone is really relaxing. The thing I hate about naps now is when people cover the windows and turn off all the lights. Then I feel like I'm missing out on part of the day and it makes me disoriented when I wake up. Public napes, however, trick me into feeling that I'm still participating in society. And I will always choose sunlight over darkness. At work someone came in and talked about how nice it was. I enthusiastically (too enthusiastically?) and told him about my nap in the sun. Crystal mentioned how she hasn't been outside at all today so she doesn't have a clue what the weather is like. This was a really sad statement, I thought. I realize I'm not the most outdoorsy person, but one of the nicest things ever is being able to lay outside and read a book.

Dr. Elbow came in today and I mentioned that someone gave a presentation over her interview with him in my senior seminar. Apparently he entered some photographs into an exhibit that were about his trips to South America. Dr. Dennis and him have done work like that together, so I've seen lots of the slides she was talking about. Then he asked me about grad school, and I learned that he got his PhD in Pittsburgh. He started talking about the area and seemed to know it pretty well. Apparently we are really good friends now. Before he left, he got on my case for not filling out my Honors exit survey and graduating senior data form. "If you had done that, I would have already known you were going to Penn State and wouldn't have had to ask you!"

Summary: I like the English Building, the sun, crosswords, and public naps. I do not like James Thurber or gender stereotypes.

H

2007-04-23T20:05:00.000-04:00

I am reading Backlash: The Undeclared War Against American Women by Susan Faludi, and she mentions how the Harvard psychologist Richard Herrnstein "...predicted that the genius pool would shrink by nearly 60 percent and the population with IQs under seventy would swell by a comparable amount, because 'brighter' women were neglecting their reproductive duties to chase after college degrees and careers - and insisting on using birth control. 'Sex comes first, the pains and cost of pregnancy and motherhood later,' he harumphed."

So much going on here besides blatant sexism: classicism, xenophobia (Herrnstein's worried this will harm the US's global standing), etc, but what really gets me is the word "harumphed."

Such a great word! Considering all the harumphers I know (mainly Dad and Sara), I should be using it a lot more often. For some reason it reminds me of Winnie the Pooh... was there a similar word in those stories? What are those creatures Tigger is afraid of?

[frantically searching online...]

HEFFALUMPS!

Earth Day

2007-04-22T20:57:00.000-04:00

Today we moved Mom's Rose of Sharon from the side to the front of the house.

Male Feminists

2007-04-22T15:47:00.000-04:00

(Not all the male feminists I know are like this by a long shot, but I've still noticed this trend recently.)

I'm sick of having a conversation with a guy about feminism, reproductive rights, etc., and having them say: "Well, even though I'm male, I'm still a feminist (or pro-choice or whatever)." No one should have to be defensive about their gender and I think it's commendable that people can connect with others beyond those arbitrary boundaries. That's like saying a heterosexual person can't support gay rights or an ethnic majority must automatically be racist. Feminism isn't about pitting women against men, but recognizing a system that disenfranchizes all sorts of people by endorsing strict social roles (gender roles included). I'm never the one who implies that men can't be feminists; it's always them. Which begs the question: do they really understand feminism?

pink is okay if it's lemonade

2007-04-11T20:48:00.000-04:00

The new facelift for Facebook doesn't really bother me one way or the other, EXCEPT for the new Inbox tab at the top. Whenever anyone gets a new message, it just shows up as a number in paratheses. What happened to the charming little envelope icon? I have been conditioned to rejoice when I see that icon. I love love love getting messages, but this new method of announcing a new message doesn't seem very satisfying.

Other than that, I saw a million and one people at the Phi Beta Kappa iniation. And I just promised to keep in touch with about 4 professors, which in hindsight, was very foolish. I got to see Kambra! She was so excited to see Sara and I that she started crying. I miss her, and I stand by what I said (about a year and a half ago): I would marry her if it wouldn't cost so much to feed her. This is the woman who wants to eat her way through Italy. I ran into several profs that I know only because they have credit union accounts. Dr. Dennis challenged me to come up with a creative use for my PBK key. Apparently he knows someone who used it on his leather jacket zipper. Artie Limmer came by and took a picture of Dr. Dennis, Sara, and I. It's a little odd, because I don't think I ever introduced them to one another. I did meet one of the guys from the national office or whatever. I walked up to get pink lemonade, and he was getting iced tea. He congratulated me and asked what my plans were. It turns out he has a BA in English, so if this English professor thing doesn't pan out, I know I can always fall back on PBK as a career option. To top it off, the vegetable selection wasn't very good, but we ate Rosa's after anyway.

Penn State, Margaret Atwood, and black swans

2007-04-09T02:17:00.000-04:00

So, I've decided on Penn State for a variety of reasons. Most importantly, their program seems to be more student friendly. The specifics aren't interesting to anyone who isn't personally involved, but - let me tell you - they seemed to take more of an interest on my campus visit than Iowa did. Not that I expect people to bring the routines of their lives to a halt to entertain me for two days, but showing up to appointments would be a nice gesture. Financially, personally, professionally, spiritually -- it just seems to be the better decision.

My life is now cyclical. I was born in State College, and I'm returning there to get my PhD. Mom was going through pictures the other day, and she found one from years ago where Dad was wearing a dark blue tshirt that said State and I was wearing a dark blue tshirt that said College. We stood next to each other to spell out State College. In hindsight, I love this picture: Dad got his PhD there, and I'm now going to do the same. I don't think I'm particularly photogenic, and Dad doesn't always smile in pictures, but this one actually turned out decent. I like it.

State College seems to be about 4 hours away from lots of places: Philadelphia, New York, Washington DC. Someone from there insinuated how 4 hours was a long time to drive somewhere, but they apparently haven't ever travelled anywhere in Texas. I drove (read: Melanie drove, I passengered) 6 hours to see Barack Obama, so I can handle 4 hours easy.

I love Margaret Atwood. I'm semi-obsessed with her right now and am reading nothing else.

Yes, black swans must mean something, Stephanie.

Iowa

2007-04-04T19:45:00.001-04:00

It's very cold.

Canada Geese

2007-04-02T19:28:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, we went to Mckenzie Park to feed the ducks. There were two lazy Canada geese who didn't want to swim very far to chase down a piece of bread, and a handful of ducks who were tentative about swimming too close. After trudging through the wet grass and over the bridge, we stood there eating the bread and discussing swans. I want to drag them back with me to fly kites.

signs signs everywhere are signs

2007-03-14T12:55:00.000-04:00

My dad sent me a recent Chronicle article written by a PENN STATE ENGLISH PROFESSOR about what it's like to live in Stage College. That translates into about three signs for Penn State. The guy also mentioned Iowa City as another typical college town. I guess that's another sign for the Univ of Iowa. Furthermore, last week my brother's friend walked into the house wearing a Univ of Michigan tshirt. Sign. I should really be keeping track of all these signs, because I see them everywhere now. Or I should stop being superstitious and make decisions based on reason. We'll see.

early retirement

2007-03-14T00:51:00.000-04:00

It's not entirely fair to say I've been an isolated hermit during this first part of Spring Break. I've been out to dinner with people, and I've conveniently been at home during a mealtime or two, but I've also spent a lot of time with only Anna. She has done yoga in the mornings. She has filled out her (dead-on) March Madness bracket. She has read in peace. She has taken naps. It sounds like she's on retirement.

A glorious retirement, I might add, because being an isolated hermit is quite wonderful.

The employee at Starbucks expressed sympathy for me when he saw that I was lugging around Ulysses and two secondary texts. Apparently it's not trendy to do homework over Spring Break. He seemed to forget, however, that it's always trendy to go to Starbucks. And I was wearing a new bra, so he underestimated just how cool I really was.

I read "A Good Man is Hard to Find" by Flannery O'Connor (Univ of Iowa graduate! sign?) last night. Very chilling story, and I ended up really creeping myself out.

I had a pretty in-depth conversation with myself in the bathroom mirror earlier today. I was imagining my upcoming visit to a prospective university's campus, and I think I got carried away.

As much as I absolutely worship only Anna time (don't get me wrong, I really do), seeing real people helps to keep me grounded. Usually Sara is the bathroom mirror, for example. I don't want anyone to come back to Lubbock, yet, but ask me again by the time the weekend rolls around.

I will make a pun involving the word "lame."

2007-03-09T01:26:00.000-05:00

Let me tell you about my wart. It's on the bottom of my foot and has only recently developed. My Will-brother had a wart on the bottom of his foot, but he waited so long to treat it that the doctors had to eventually cut it out. Rubbing it with Head & Shoulders shampoo or putting duct tape on it are two examples of folk remedies that I've heard. My junior high English teacher told us about a magazine that would buy warts - if you told them how many you had, they would send money and the warts would eventually fall off. In my Folklore class a few semesters ago, I remember hearing a wart remedy that involved burying a piece of cloth that touched the wart. At least, something like that, although what I just wrote doesn't really make sense. I opted for a bandaid-like treatment that I found at Wal-Mart. It seems that progress is being made, but today my wart began bothering me when I walked. So lame.

creating awkward moments is my specialty

2007-03-07T20:04:00.000-05:00

Today at work, a student came in and asked for change for her five, including two dollars worth of quarters. Only having three quarters in my tray, I walked around Crystal to reach her drawer. "I'm going to grab some change real quick," I said as I slowly pulled the drawer out so as not to bump her. She leaned sideways uncomfortably to give me room. "Sorry, but I'll try not to hit your baby." She freezed, then turned to the guy she was helping (the one who never smiles and always seems rushed to get out of our office) and quickly explained, "Oh no - I'm not pregnant! Anna's just weird." He waited a beat, just staring at the two of us. Then his face relaxed and he cracked up. He walked away, folding his bills into his wallet and chuckling down the hall.

personal boundaries

2007-03-07T12:27:00.000-05:00

I am in the library and I almost sat down next to this truly creepy individual, but I noticed who he was at the last second, did an exaggerated bug-eyed cartoon face, and scampered away. I have no idea if he noticed, but I also don't care in the least. I saw him in the library elevators once. He asked me how I was doing, then TOUCHED MY STOMACH. There are few instances when people can get away with that. Maybe if I was pregnant, and always if I'm about to have sex. Neither was the case here.

http://openet.ola.bc.ca/sociglossary/

2007-03-06T22:44:00.000-05:00

sex
The biological classification of individuals as males and females. Sociologists would note, however, that even though this is a classification based on biological differences, it is a socially constructed classification.

gender roles
Social roles ascribed to individuals on the basis of their sex. The term gender differs from sex because it refers specifically to the cultural definition of the roles and behavior appropriate to members of each sex rather than to those aspects of human behavior that are determined by biology. Thus, giving birth is a female sex role, while the role of infant nurturer and care giver (which could be performed by a male) is a gender role usually ascribed to females.

Austin 2007

2007-03-01T22:01:00.000-05:00

Ahhh! Such a great time!

First and foremost, I locked eyes with Barack Obama. That has to be understood. For a split second, he stared right at me. I don't think he noticed Melanie's or my homemade Barack shirts, but he knew Anna Crawford was there, I'm sure of it. We stool for four hours in the rain, but I would do it again. This weekend? Definitely. The rally was fuckin' unreal. Obama was like some sort of rockstar and we almost expected him to materialize amidst smoke and lights. One thing that stands out was how intense he was. He would begin to talk, and when the crowd was roaring too loudly for him to continue speaking, he would stop pacing long enough to stare us all down. He always looked at us, watching the supporters, talking about what we wanted to hear, and never played to the cameras. He may be young and charismatic, but he's also serious: about the campain, about change, about getting us back on track. I can't emphasize enough how focused and intense he was. Melanie said she wished he had smiled more, but I think he showed me what I needed to see from him. "I'd vote for that."

It was nice to feel on vacation. Even on the weekends in Lubbock when I'm not really up to much, I'm still in Lubbock. That means I'm still thinking about my thesis, or whether I work this Saturday or next, or when I'm meeting my parents for dinner, or which bills I have to pay, or why Michigan hasn't sent a welcome wagon to congratulate me on my acceptance yet, or which friends I still need to call back before they completely wash their hands of me. It's tiring. I didn't take any homework at all to Austin (haven't been back since ACL 2005, wow, so long ago), and only checked my email twice. I slept in and drank soy milk and made some friends and let the humidity poof up my hair and realized that I can deal with heights to some degree and found a jar of naked plastic salsa babies and didn't lose a game of Spoons. It was fantastic.

I feel that the weekend was nicely balanced. Tearing up at Obama's allusion to Martin Luther King Jr. and taking a picture of creepy dolls' heads because I thought they would make Steph laugh: again, such a great time.

V-Week in no particular order

2007-02-18T18:06:00.000-05:00

My parents gave me a card with a twenty in it. I saw Vagina Monologues with an old friend and a new one. I gave advice even though I never take advice. A group of us went to Pei Wei then a movie made for humans. Some friends came over and ate red velvet cake with frosting and sprinkles. I got to talk to both Steph and Ryan on the phone. Mandy gave us her *pop-up Valentine with a bloody knife*! We set a pinecone on fire and unsuccessfuly tried to steam open a letter. A Scotsman and I disagreed about the British monarchy. Jess gave me a candy Valentine outside of the English building. I heard some good school-related news, ranging from graduate programs to the commencement ceremony. I was creepy and brilliant and funny. Our professor threw conversation hearts at the class. A man with big earrings gave me a red condom and brochures about STDs. I lost a few bets.

Monday

2007-02-12T23:47:00.000-05:00

Seeing Stephen Colbert go off on the Australian Prime Minsiter? Absolutely fuckin' priceless.

Boylan with impatience!

2007-02-03T18:42:00.000-05:00

There was another Ulysses quote I was trying to remember that was about a Goddamned Idiot, but it escapes me now. Boylan is a character in the book who made a pun when he was waiting on someone, and I love puns. My plans of staying the whole 24 hours (I'm sure the Marathon lasted a lot longer than that judging by how far behind we were getting as the night progressed) did not even come close to being realized. I stayed approximately 10.5 hours, which is still an impressive amount of Joyce. Granted, there were many breaks scattered throughout the evening: Celtic music (which was really enjoyable, and I almost regret not waking up on time this morning to see them perform again - 20 18 16 14 12 10 8 6 4 2 none - 19 17 15 13 11 9 7 5 3 and 1!), smoke breaks, coffee runs. It was great when, at midnight, it was announced that the English Dept had a $75 tab at the front, so we were encouraged to go help ourselves. By the time I left, I drank a lot more tea than coffee, but finally got the Oreos I had been craving since about 7pm. And I got to see some really hideous Prom-esque dress/tops on three girls who walked in but didn't stay long. They must have been cold, but, anything for fashion, right?

The actual readings were semi-good. I was really hardcore about paying attention at the beginning, so now I don't have to read for class for the next week or so. And even though it was impossible to stay mentally focussed for that long, I was able to get used to the way Joyce wrote. Something kind of clicked, and I don't think it's going to be as much of a struggle anymore. He's not intimidating anymore, but a friend with whom I just spent 10.5 hours. I don't really feel the need to see him tomorrow, but the next time I do see him, it will be better because we are comfortable with each other now. And our class seems more comfortable with each other. We've run (part of) the Ulysses gauntlet together, and some of these people are pretty awesome. I'm glad I went (despite the uncomfortable church pews which are one more of the many reasons that makes me grateful I never went to church), and I'm also glad I left when I did so I could get something done today instead of sleeping through it.

The painful part of the readings was listening to people who, umm... suck at reading. And I don't just mean some of the phrases in foreign languges. Although I think that, since we knew our lines beforehand, it would make sense to try and work on the pronunciation. But there were some people who don't even seem to know their native language. Or who take half an hour to pronounce "Grafton Street" or "moustache." These people, we should softly take by the hand, and lead them somewhere else where I don't have to listen to them for ten minutes straight. Melanie messed up on a French phrase, and actually started laughing toward the end of it, because she heard just how bad it sounded. I forgive Melanie because I like her. Bias? Of course. Besides, us unpopular people have to stick together. We were sitting out in the front taking a break, and an acquaintance asked to join our table. We graciously welcomed her, only to have her excuse herself five minutes later and ask the people on the couch behind us if she could sit with them.

Later a drunk friend with a drawn-on moustache deliberately grabbed my head and entoned that he loved me, so maybe that makes up for it. Popularity comes and goes. Ulysses, on the other hand, will be here for the rest of the semester.

a short mention of Rolfe

2007-02-01T20:03:00.000-05:00

Snow really makes me aware of the depth of the air around me. When I was driving in it earlier, I kept on getting distracted by the way it seems to hang in the air and flesh it out. Especially when, later, the streetlamps came on and I could see beams of snow in the darkness. It was really beautiful snow, too. Huge flakes that actually do "stay on your nose and eyelashes" (I really do love the Sound of Music for all it's corniness, except for the part about the one girl who is "going on 16" and has to depend on Rolfe the Nazi-Bastard). Furthermore, I'm going to take snow today as a really good sign (not that I necessarily feel one way or the other about "signs," but I watch for them out of habit). Maybe I'm somewhere snowy next year? As long as I don't dress like the crazy person I am, I could take the cold weather. And maybe my footprints will be warm.

a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose

2007-01-31T00:09:00.000-05:00

I know I'm not even close to being an easy to person to get along with sometimes. I can be moody, difficult, and inconsistent. I can be analytical beyond belief (you think you know, but you have no idea). I can also be extremely sensitive over things that, in hindsight, maybe aren't so important.

But some of you people are no picnics, either.

an outing with Absent Adam

2007-01-29T01:20:00.000-05:00

Adam was feeling a little squished between Mike and Sara, because all seven of us were crammed into a booth. Fortunately, he wasn't eating anything, so he didn't have any plates to further crowd the table. Unfortunately, this was a sign to everybody that Adam is anorexic. Bryant concluded that Adam and Mandy have this in common and they should start a club. I was a little remiss in introducing him to everybody, but actually Mike claimed that they had met at least once, even though I don't recall when this would have happened. Kenneth was impolite and refused to acknowledge Adam's presence because he couldn't see him. He then insulted the rest of the table by calling into question our levels of sanity. We eventually dismissed his opinion as boring and rude. I said something funny (yet immemorable) at one point, and Adam laughed. Mike blatantly lied and said that Adam was laughing at one of Mike's jokes instead, and Sara fiendishly corroborated the story by claiming to have heard the joke as well. Nobody was able to actually tell the joke again, so I remain dubious. We asked him for his opinion a few more times, but other than that, he was relatively calm and patiently waited while I drank a million cups of coffee and was the last one to finish. In retrospect, we should have sung him Happy Birthday, but I facebooked it and called him on the phone, so that will have to do. I must admit, Adam, even Absent Adam, is always good company.

Shout-Outs

2007-01-24T01:52:00.000-05:00

To Sara for being the responsible roomate and not hating me for being a mess in every aspect imaginable. And for listening to me discuss the same aspects of my grad school applications over and over (and over and over).

To Bryant for convincing me to go see Of Montreal and for buying me beer (I guess I should thank Paul for the second part, too).

To Stephanie for leaving me long facebook messages. I've always been excited to see that little envelope. It's the only way I know I'm loved. (And now I want to take Bryant's shout-out away, because he sends me pointless messages just to get my hopes up that I have something intriguing to read.)

To Mandy for being as enthusiastic about Balderdash as I am. Everyone needs to have someone in her life who thinks she is funny and will vote for her Balderdash answers even when they are blatantly ridiculous.

To Will for hurting his finger in an interesting way (mallet finger, to be exact).

Poseidan? Me? Yeah, maybe.

2007-01-17T01:16:00.000-05:00

In the shower, I like to stick my arm out and aim a stream of water on targets found on the floor of my bathtub (strands of hair, clusters of soap suds, etc.). I feel like a water goddess who controls torrents of rain and can flood entire cities with deadly accuracy. I would rather lightening bolts shoot from my arm, but water will have to do. For now.

Cubism as a Religious Experience

2007-01-11T20:13:00.000-05:00

I hope this clarification actually clarifies something.

When I first saw cubist art in elementary school, I didn't particularly care for it. I liked curvy lines better, and the blocks seemed so contrived and ugly. No, cubism was not for me as a 10 year old, but I have since changed my mind.

My art history class a few years ago coupled with the Paris portion of the LP trip really turned me onto modern art. Seriously. The Pompidou and the Tate are some of the best places in Europe -- probably even the whole freakin' universe. It's not just the art, but the whole time period where people were experimenting in different mediums (and combining them) that challenged fundamental thoughts about what art and creation are. Gertrude Stein (as aggravating as she can be) even went so far as to rethink the basic linguistic structure of her sentences. Pablo Picasso (along with Braque, Gris, and Cezanne, obviously, but Pablo's my man) altered the way that paint can be used to visually represent an object, and I think -- from my 22 year old perspective -- that it is genuinely fascinating.

I think my problem when I was younger was that I thought good art was art that recognizably looked like something. The closer the artist could get to reality, the better. I didn't understand why someone would want to take a painting and break it up into different forms, or why someone would want to mess with perspective in a new way. It certainly didn't make the painting any prettier.

When I took my art history course a few years ago, the professor (or maybe the textbook? We'll give her credit since she was a badass.) made the comment that Picasso was trying to show all sides of an object at once. That's why it seemed fragmented and as if nothing fit together, because that's not how our eyes actually perceive things.

That's analytic cubism anyway, but even with synthetic cubism, this inclusive tendency is found. By creating pieces that had all sorts of 3-D objects and crafts on them, they were expanding horizons. Instead of presenting an object or an idea using just paint, they were showing different sides of it using different materials.

Gertrude Stein goes fuckin' nuts in Tender Buttons, but even in texts that are seemingly more straightforward, she plays with perspective. In the Autiobiography of Alice B. Toklas, Stein is actually writing from Alice's point of view about herself. In class, we talked about how this affords her more freedom in the text, because she can present her actual thoughts as she thought them, and how she fits into the story that includes many many other characters. It's as if we are both inside a painting experiencing the environment and standing in front of it able to see its entirety and how it fits into the frame. She is able to show more than one side of herself by appropriating different perspectives, the internal and the external.

To me, these are all attempts to transcend one point-of-view. It shows how every experience is relative (culturally relative, even!) to where one is standing. Cubism is a way to show everything -- a guitar, a person, an idea, life -- from, not only two different perspectives, but from all perspectives at the same time. The idea is not profound, but I like it, and I like cubism. It's not about squares, but about discovering the different forms of an object and realizing that it is natural for things to seem contradictory but to actually be part of the same thing -- if only one had the opportunity to see it all at once. And it's not simple enough that all it takes is to take a step to the left or right. I can't actually get into someone's head and -- with all of their collective memories and experiences -- see things they way s/he would, but at least recognizing that prevents me from assuming too much.

Maybe even just calling this a cubist idea is one perspective (ethnocentric even?). In a class last year we read a folktale from the Congo about a two-colored robe. A man was wearing this robe that was red on one side and blue on the other, and he walked between two farmers' fields along the boundary. These farmers, who had formerly been friends, began fighting over what color the robe was and became enemies.

In the end, I think the walking man was the devil and the farmers made up, but think about if Picasso had been there. He could have painted a picture of the man and shown how the robe was both red and blue (without being purple, alas).

The Invention of "Indoors"

2007-01-08T18:29:00.000-05:00

I refer to my apartment as Alaska because Sara likes to keep the temperature as if we were trying to preserve meat. I, on the other hand, prefer to be comfortable in my own home and not be forced to hide my beautiful body underneath jackets and blankets. I was telling this to someone at work today (Mark Stoll, if you know him) because he said that married people (or roomates in this case) always have thermostat wars. I told him that if I was going to wear a coat, I would just go outside. The reason we invented the concept of having an indoors was so we could control our personal settings. What is the point of having walls (besides obvious structural or privacy reasons) if not to keep out cold air and keep in warm air during the winter? He just looked at me for a beat then said that I am extremely illogical. I fail to see why I need to wear a sweater if I am in an environment that is capable of being temperature-controlled. It's the principle of the thing.

Bandit Queens

2007-01-06T18:22:00.000-05:00

I am rereading the book Laws of the Bandit Queens, and am remembering how much I love it. Not really a book, I guess, as much as a collection of photography and personal stories about and by various feminists. It includes Jeanine Garofalo and Alice Walker, two of my favorite people. I think lots of the stuff in it is pretty inspiring and really helps me focus on the things that I find important.

That being said, New Year's resolutions.

One. Unpack. In preparation to begin packing. This resolution seems really ambitious and slightly conflicted. If you know me at all, you know there are still boxes that haven't been completely unpacked since I left to move into Gordon two thousand years ago.

Dos. Be a good UDems member. If all goes according to plan, we are going to have new officer elections at the beginning of the semester, and for once, I will get to be a normal Democrat instead of a Democrat officer who has to do all sorts of bureaucratic nonsense (read: SGA nonsense). One thing that always bothered me, though, was how few people off of our mailing list actually came to meetings and, furthermore, really participated in events. I resolve to actually be committed.

Trois. Keep in touch with people. I could have done a better job of that after high school, but I get another chance with each new wave of graduations, which includes my own this semester.

Other than that, I'm a fuckin' Bandit Queen. A fuckin' bandit queen who had (or almost had) another water issue this morning. The first one has been resolved since Tuesday when some nice man came and put on a new knob for my bathtub faucet. This morning, however, the water was unexpectedly turned off for a short period of time before I had a chance to rinse the shampoo out of my hair. My crises seem to occur when I have no clothes on.

I looked out and saw a sight...

2006-12-30T21:21:00.000-05:00

...Canada geese instead of rabbits.

The wild rabbits are scary. In Spanish.

2006-12-28T22:20:00.000-05:00

Joel cannot say that phrase in Spanish, despite his claims to be "Spanish-speaking." Promotion at work turns mild-mannered tellers into braggarts.

The drive-through area is creepy, no way around it. Something about it seems like a desolate wasteland and staring out over it all feels like I'm looking at an alien landscape from behind protective glass. Today, (because of the game?) there were more people than usual wandering around the grounds (and driving the wrong way through our drive-through lanes) and they seemed lost and as if they should be wearing big astronaut suits.

The rabbits are by far the worst. Growing up in Lubbock, jackrabbits from a distance seem more normal to me than the sweet ones in pet stores. Long ears, brown, fast. Normal rabbit. But up close? Scary motherfuckers. They have wild eyes, sinewy limbs, and menacing teeth. Really disturbing. They make me grateful for the thick window that perpetually blinds me with sunglares and inwardly sigh for the people who are outside in their midst.

I have a toolbox, a story, and pots.

2006-12-22T18:40:00.000-05:00

I took a shower last night, and, like any normal person, tried to turn off the water. I soon learned that the knob was broken, but I continued turning and turning, hoping it would catch. Anyway, I ran around the apartment (yes, still naked) trying to find some way to stop the fuckin' water. I found a clamp thing in my toolbox (one of those flowered decorative boxes that comes with lotion sets) and stood in the bathroom for awhile trying to figure out what to do. In the end, I completely took apart the knob and various levels of metal and plastic that were underneath it until I reached some long metal stick that I turned until the water stopped pounding straight from the faucet to the drain. Yes, it's true, I saved the aquifer. Unfortunately, maintanence never came today to fix it, so I guess I get to take another shower using a clamp.

At work today, someone told me the story of St. Christopher, the patron saint of travellers. He was a giant who wanted to serve the most powerful master, and wandered around looking for it. Apparently some versions have him fighting the devil and winning. So he also carries travellers over rivers since he's so huge and can just walk through them. One time, this small child carrying a ball in his hand needed to be carried across a river, so St. Christopher put him on his back and set off. St. Christopher starts having a harder and harder time, until the boy actually helps the giant across. It turns out that it was the Christ child and he was holding the globe in his hand. Find most powerful master: check. Travellers who see St. Christopher with his staff should beware, because he trying to warn them about an avalanche or something else horrible. I agree with the woman who told it to me (who was wearing a St. Christopher medallion that sparked the conversation) that it's a nice saint story compared to the guesome bloody ones where saints are martyred in horrific ways.

I finally got pots for my plants (plural!) so they will love me back. I was wandering around Wal-Mart like an insane woman because I couldn't find the fuckin' pots for way too long. I can never find anything there. St. Christopher should have sent me a sign.

Crystal thought I said I was going to buy pot at Wal-Mart. If only.

There, Stephanie.

Yes, I work a lot over the breaks.

2006-12-21T13:59:00.000-05:00

(Except for this spring break, which I hopefully get off!)

At work someone wished me a Happy Malcolm X-Mas. She pumped her fist in the air as she said it. It was really great. This lady is always lots of fun. She has a million tattoos and a bird she sometimes brings in.

Someone else wished me a Happy Christmas, then stopped himself and said I looked Wiccan. He sort of pointed in the general direction of my head and mentioned that I wear a star charm around my neck.

On a side note that's not necessarily related to the holidays, I have also been referred to as Italian, Jewish, Greek, Mediterranean, "that Romanian exchange student," someone just generally foreign, and Spanish (that was only exciting because we were in Spain when people kept on saying that). One man many years ago when I was in the 4th grade-ish said I looked Asian. Yeah. That one I don't see at all.

Today has been a much more optimistic day. People aren't complaining and are instead talking about things for which they are grateful. It's really much nicer.

Winter Equinox. First day of winter, shortest day of the year. I don't have a problem with winter, but I definitely have a problem with not having as much sunlight. The sun and I are extremely good friends. I don't ever feel completely awake on a dark day. This could be a problem if I ever move away, and I will have to get one of those light boxes to stare into everyday in order to stay sane. Don't laugh, because I totally see it happening. I have a friend (Kelly Blikre!) who even braved the terrors of a tanning bed to try to combat seasonal affective disorder when she thought she might have it.

something always happens at work

2006-12-20T18:17:00.000-05:00

At work today, someone asked me if I was a TA, and seemed really surprised when I told her I was still working on my BA. She didn't seem surprised, however, when I told her I was an English major (she ignored Anthro, like most people because it is less familiar to them). Apparently I have a "face" like I'm "thinking all the time about books." I don't really know what that means. I like books, so it's a compliment... right? Or she's implying that I look like some loopy out-of-touch crazy lady. But she gave me a chocolate bar, so she's cool.

Speaking of books, there were a couple awkward times today when people asked what Lolita (the book I am reading) is about. One man was visibly taken aback when I said that the title character is only twelve years old. Then he kept asking follow-up questions and I felt like I was reciting the events of a soap opera. At least it's not as bad as when I was reading Flowers in the Attic, a book overflowing with incest and arson. That got me some weird looks.

in between naps and games of freecell

2006-12-19T17:53:00.000-05:00

While at work, I converse with folks I see everyday, as well as complete strangers. Chit-chat isn't hard (nor very original): weather, holidays, how busy everyone is, shopping... etc. And damn, lots of these conversations tend to be pessimistic. If I answer that I'm doing excellent, people are taken aback and want to know why. If I shrug and make a non-committal face, that is overlooked as a normal response. One lady said, "See you next year! Hope it's a good one. Can't get any worse." She never struck me as being someone who was battling many difficult obstacles. Obviously, I can't know this for sure, but it made me wonder why everyone downplays their lives all the time. Right now, it's how much Christmas shopping costs and how cold it is. In the spring, everyone just wants to get the year over with. Over the summer, people have been busy with activities and travelling (as if travelling was a bad thing). Next fall, folks will complain about hectic schedules. Well, I'm really happy right now. And I'm not the only one, either, I just don't feel like being self-deprecating at the moment.

bikini waxes

2006-12-18T19:04:00.000-05:00

suck

now I'm left "cleaning up the mess he made"

2006-12-17T17:13:00.000-05:00

John Mayer and I are not especially close friends. I casually accepted him in high school and would listen to him on the radio driving to and from school. Those days of my affection for him are long-gone.

I think he's a dick. I don't think he necessarily means to be one, but I really don't like his lyrics, and I find ideas that seem fundamentally opposed to my own in them. And not in the "wow, he's really opening my eyes" way, but in the "I will never be able to enjoy this song again" way.

Take for example, Daughters:

* * * * * * * * * *
I know a girl
She puts the color inside of my world
She's just like a maze
Where all of the walls all continually change
And I've done all I can
To stand on her steps with my heart in my hands
Now I'm starting to see
Maybe it's got nothing to do with me

Fathers be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers be good to your daughters too

Oh, you see that skin?
It's the same she's been standing in
Since the day she saw him walking away
Now she's left
Cleaning up the mess he made,

[chorus]

Boys, you can break
You'll find out how much they can take
Boys will be strong
And boys soldier on
But boys would be gone without warmth from
A woman's good, good heart
On behalf of every man
Looking out for every girl
You are the god and the weight of her world

[chorus]
* * * * * * * * * *

Ignoring the fact that this girl might just not like him (understandably) and this whole song is a rationalization of his rejection, there are still several problems. It paints women as fragile creatures depending on the men (and their mothers, to a lesser extent) in their lives for happiness. And boys? Well, "boys, you can break / you'll find out how much they can take / boys will be strong / and boys soldier on." And each boy will grow up to be the man who is "the god and the weight of her world." I mean, holy shit, wow. I hate you, John Mayer. And it's not because my father didn't love me, but because I refuse to be patronized by your sappy lyrics that play to a female's sense of insecurity and a male's machismo.

On to his newest release (well, at least the most recent song of his I've heard), Waiting on the World to Change. To give the entire lyrics here is, in this case, unnecessary. He basically just crones his "waiting on the world to change" mantra throughout the whole song. He claims that the young generation is misunderstood and portrayed as standing for nothing, and that the television lies to you. Media definitely warps information, and I agree that our world needs help. I'm not really sure what John is saying beyond that, though (I guess he is misunderstood). He says that one day "our generation is going to rule the population"... and then? Oh, right. "We keep waiting (waiting!) on the world to change." John acknowledges problems, then suggests that everyone wait until we grow up. Fantastic Fucking Idea, John. That fits the definition of standing for nothing, John. I'm so glad that you can cleverly disguise inaction as a form of social revolution, John.

Until you and I work through our issues, and you stop being an asshole, I will never buy your music, John Mayer. And I hope no one else does, and then your trendiness can die alongside your feeble ideas.

Happy Birthday to Me!

2006-12-11T13:39:00.000-05:00

I have a paper due today about the way foreigners are portrayed in Willa Cather's My Antonia. Great author, great book, great times. Except that it's my birthday and I'm writing a paper. I was expressly raised to do only frivolous things on your birthday. Actually I'm not technically writing my paper right now so it doesn't matter.

I love birthdays, except 22 isn't really special. It makes me feel old. Not decrepit old, but grown-up old, a lot older than 21. I feel like I should already be formed as a person with clear paths. The thing is, I'm horribly irresponsible and irrational. I never eat properly, and have discovered that it's possibly to go for days on only a couple hours of sleep. I'm the worst adult ever. Except maybe for Stephanie (who's back for Hannukah break!). We are horrible together!

I was working on grad apps this morning. Went and got transcripts, dropped off some forms to my profs who are writing recommendations for me. Illegally parked in the English parking lot while I ran inside really quickly. Will be mailing three of them tomorrow (UMichigan, UT, Duke) if I can get my shit together on time. Which goes back to the responsible thing.

UT is the only anthro program I'm considering, and it's actually really neat. They have concentrations on the Mexican-US Border and the African Diaspora. My favorite is probably the Activist specialty. Lots of times there is a division between applied and academic approaches to anthro. This program, however, is showing how neither good academic fieldwork or political/moral implications have to be sacrificed for the sake of the other. Especially now when globalization is threatening the survival of so many traditional cultures (and languages) I think it is -- dare I say -- responsible for the discipline to step up to the plate and help navigate these issues. It sounds really exciting, and is the only thing I think I would give up a PhD in English for. (ahh! preposition!)

But why do I like stuff like that? Because both my parents have degrees in anthro? Yeah, probably. What if they were musicians or sailors. I've been told that I have piano hands. Maybe I should have been a pianist or something. And I actually think it would be incredibly thrilling to be a sailor. Not in the trendy pirate way (although, yes, pirating would be exciting) but in the explorer way. Go spend time with obscure tribes and such.

Hopefully next year I will either be reading books about modernism in a small shack in the middle of a snowy cornfield or reading books about international development projects and eating ramen. Oh, the choices.

But in all seriousness, they sound like good choices.

Label Jars, Not People

2006-12-07T21:52:00.000-05:00

I like to name things. My plant is Enoch. My computer is Monica. My car is either Ellen or Helen depending on her mood.

Then I thought, by anthropomorphizing things that are non-human, am I degrading them? Am I saying that I only assign value to things if they are more human, like me? As if humanity was the pinnacle of existence and I was showing my appreciation by awarding favorite objects with human attributes? Maybe.

Or maybe that's not a bad thing. When my cat yells (Siamese cats don't meow) at me, I don't get mad at him for treating me like another cat. His behavior towards me suggests that we are peers, friends. It is a gesture of equality, and although he sounds like a bitter goat, I know I am one of the loves of his life.

His name is Zack, by the way.

first snow of the season

2006-11-30T19:15:00.000-05:00

I think my snowexcitement comes from the fact that I spent 18 years living in Lubbock and have experienced 5 times as many duststorms as snowstorms. I've been talking and thinking about snow all day, and several issues have come up:

My favorite sound is snow crunching under boots.

I am supremely grateful for my boots. It is incredibly satisfying to be able to walk through a never-ending puddle instead of prancing around the edges.

I am disappointed that ice-skating was cancelled this evening.

Lorelei Gilmore worships snow and I really enjoy that show. At least until after Rory and Logan stole that boat. Now I can't stand the fact that -- to paraphrase Stephanie -- the new Rory gets excited about a Berken bag while the old Rory would be too busy reading to care.

Nathan streaked across campus today. In this weather. Yup, true story.

Tomorrow is the Carol of Lights. The C of L is the best thing I will carry away with me from my time spent at this university. While that was much more dramatic than sincere, I still look forward to it each year. As I explained to Stephanie last year, I love Christmas carols, even the Jesus ones. With this weather, it will feel more Carol-of-Lights-y, unlike last year when I insisted on wearing my coat and scarf and was hot the whole time.

Dr. Conrad was talking about when he went to the Univeristy of Iowa and how this would just be normal winter weather for them - no biggie. In his 6 years there, class was only cancelled once. Iowa and Michigan are my top two grad programs of choice, and this somehow seems like a good omen.

Or a bad one, because I apparently can't drive in this weather. Or walk upright.

I am willing to overpay for coffee when I don't have to make it.

2006-11-22T02:12:00.000-05:00

I went to Starbucks and ordered a Peppermint Mocha. It was as fulfilling as I had remembered from last year. The red sprinkles and holiday theme gets me every time.

Hearts! Stars! and Horseshoes!

2006-11-19T20:03:00.000-05:00

I absolutely should not take naps. They make me disoriented and my dreams are incredibly surreal. Today I dreamed that I "downloaded" a necklace from my computer, which would actually be pretty nifty if it worked that way, arriving through your printer (I think it was an owl charm... or a bat... or a mouse). Then my old roomate and my current roomate were cooking in the kitchen, but I couldn't go out there because I was still looking for pants. Then when I looked in the mirror, I realized that both of my tattoos had turned into hearts. Hearts. I do not like hearts. That has to be the scariest ending possible.

The rest of November is going to be pretty horrid, I think. I have to finish all eight thousand of my projects, write the first two chapters of my thesis, and apply to grad schools. My goal is to be done with all of the grad school business by my birthday so I can celebrate in peace. I knew last spring that this semester might physcially kill me, but if I can just get through a few more weeks, then it's smooth sailing.

Next semester: Diet & Exercise (the description said it was "concept-based," which I hope means we just do worksheets rather than pretend to go upstairs and work-out then go to the trouble of sneaking back to the parking lot); Senior Seminar (with Conrad, love this guy, going to be amazing); Studies in James Joyce (with Shelton, who I've never had, but I hear she's a pretty unreasonable feminazi, we shall see); South American Archaeology (I don't really want to take this, nothing against archaeologists, but I would rather talk about other things than rocks and pottery fragments for a whole semester -- my mom would be so disappointed to hear me say that); and another individual study (with Frangos, best prof ever).

My dream really reminded me that things are pretty well. Worst case scenerio, I wait until the last minute to finish anything, which I've done before and it's worked out pretty well. My papers aren't great, but they work. I don't get all my apps in, but really only two of them have deadlines in December, most of them are in January or February. My thesis just plain doesn't get written. I have an extra spot next semester to take something less demanding.

In the end, I like my tattoos and they are the only permanent things in this discussion.

Walking home in the company of Chad, Chuck, and Ishmael.

2006-10-24T22:31:00.000-04:00

My science & society seminar gets out at 9pm every Tuesday, and I've made it a habit the last couple of times to walk home. Walking home in the hot sun at 2 in the afternoon is not so much fun, but after it is dark, the air is cool and the shadows hide all of the trash and imperfections. It is refreshing to be able to wander home among the treeshadows and hulking architecture.

Tonight as I was leaving I noticed that I had a missed call from 763-5409, not a number I recognize. A man answered, and I got the impression he mumbled something about the army, and, sure enough, he did. Apparently the army recruiting office accross the street from campus calls numbers in a huge database (so says a man named Chad). I was convinced at the beginning, however, that it was a prank call. What kind of recruiting office lets their staffers drink lots of alcohol and have access to a phone? The highlight was the slurring man in the back (alias Chuck) who would yell things into the phone like "Anna!! Are you in a sorority?? Kappa Kappa Gamma Theta Phi, Anna!! This is a prank call!! I'm a pornstar!!"

I ended up talking to Chad for the next 15 minutes until I got back to my apartment.

G.I. Jane. Apollo 13, NASA, and astronauts. Push-ups and how they aren't really necessary to join the army. All Tech students are tree-huggin' vegetarians who protest the military. Chad knows a Mexican named Ishmael who went to Iraq, converted to Islam, and now likes to blow things up. I should teach Ishmael English since he only speaks Spanish. Chad won't teach Ishmael himself because Chad would rather Ishmael to continue to mow Chad's lawn.

At this point, I called Chad an asshole and he put me on speaker-phone because I'm a hoot.

Some people claim that people, especially young women, should not walk accross the campus alone after dark. I can't remember ever being scared, but now that I know that we have people like Chad and Chuck and Ishmael imbibing lots of alcohol just accross the street, I feel more secure.

Video Games, TV, and Fast Food: My Virtual Afternoon

2006-10-23T22:03:00.000-04:00

Roland Son (real person) and Phoebe Buffet (character from Friends) were flirting inside of a video game. Roland was merely a spectator, but Phoebe was kicking some major ass. Phoebe defeated the last alien-robot-insect and begain flying in circles around the globe as a hippo while Roland commented on how sexy she looked.

Earlier, I was dreaming about going to all the different fast-food chicken places (Church's, Popeye's, and KFC's) in order to buy one or two menu items from each. Apparently I was trying to create the Ultimate Mega Chicken Dinner and was no longer worried about the negative political ramifications of eating at KFC.

This is what happens when I fall asleep watching Friends instead of eating dinner.

P.S. I had sleep paralysis yesterday morning for the first time since I moved into Alaska. My sleeping patterns are erratic and possibly influenced by an incubus fiend.

At the Library

2006-10-22T22:48:00.000-04:00

I like to line up my Skittles and eat them one by one as I am reading. I like to listen to Joni Mitchell or Beethoven.

Noam Chomsky and RELEVANT topics

2006-10-18T17:50:00.000-04:00

Today in class Prof Williams brought up Noam Chomsky and commented on how Chomsky is neo-liberal politically, yet his linguistic theory is pretty elitist and imperialistic (Chomsky is interested in how language should be spoken and concentrates more on standard forms of language than how they are actually used in the field). Williams even went as far to say that some anthropologists don't even read Chomsky's work on linguistics for precisely those reasons. To ignore a great intellectual because of a personal dislike for his work is "not science," as Williams put it. We have to give Chomsky credit for being pretty revolutionary at the time in his cultural context. Williams brought up the contradictions in Chomsky's linguistic theory versus his political opinions and someone (who has an annoying habit of responding to my questions in class with irrelevent answers when they were specifically directed to the prof... you know, the actual linguist) pipes up with...

Yeah, all of the liberals that I know seem to talk about a bunch of CRAP and then not know enough to back it up with anything. [Not word-for-word because I try not to commit anything this guys says to memory.]

It's as if you were having a conversation with someone about pumpkin pie (the best food ever, I might add) and someone interjects with "yeah, Halloween is a terrible holiday because pumpkin-carving is tedious and not worth the effort" You might respond, "yeah, I guess we were talking about pumpkins so I see the tenuous connecting thread. BUT you're a moron."

The girl next to me and I decided to stuff him in a garbage can after class. I love bonding with people.

The moral of this story is: always be prepared with a barbed come-back, because telling someone to "be nice" and a solid hour of scathing glares (even from an entire class) probably doesn't have much of an impact.

"I've been to paradise, but I've never been to me."

2006-10-13T21:37:00.000-04:00

Perhaps not the worst, but one of the worst, songs ever recorded is by Charlene. The lyrics are so sappy and... strange. Apparently Charlene has been to Georgia and California, Nice and the Isle of Greece, and danced like Harlow in Monte Carlo, persumably because she was postulating that these locations would rhyme nicely when set to music. She has also been "subtle[y] whoring" with a "Preacher-Man" and been "undressed by kings." I don't know where Ryan H. Tatum (as he likes to be known) found it, but he sent it to me and I thought at first that it must be satire. Because it is THAT BAD. And it invades your thoughts when you should be watching out for pedestrians on campus.

The most outrageous part is the spoken section, but mostly because of the way she talks:

Hey, you know what paradise is?
It's a lie
A fantasy we created about people and places as we like them to be
But you know what truth is?
It's that little baby you're holding
And it's that man you fought with this morning
The same one you are gonna make love to tonight [soft, yet knowing chuckle]
That's truth
That's love

All I have left to say is that I can damn well undress myself.