Cosmic Lovin'

Someone up there likes me.

I've got good Kharma.

Lady Luck is on my side.

The Cosmos has smiled on me.

I don't know what it is, but good things have been happening.

Things like

MEG Grant came in for the Wordsworth Lakes project. This means that, a week in late May, I'm going to the Lake District. For free. Plus, for the first time, I'll have a research job that pays me. WIN-WIN.

Pulled an A- out of Matt Wickman's class. He is gettin' cookies or a shrine or something. Sweet mercy.

White Christmas in Georgia. 1.3 inches. Last time there was snow on Dec 25th in GA was 1882. And my brothers were nice enough to come outside, in the dark, and through around some snowballs with me. I love being home.

Lunch with an old friend from high school. Good sweet potato fries, good person.

Yes.

Let's hope my luck holds out a little longer--applying for Pell grants and a few scholarships tomorrow. Fingers crossed.

Even so, today was a great day.

Writing Breaks!

So, I was taking a break from writing a paper (as I am now) and I found these shoes on Modcloth.

I love them. They say- "Hi! I'm young and hip yet serious and competent." If I had a million dollars, I'd buy these. I just keep telling myself that they cost more than I make in a day. Or two. Or three.

Sigh. Oh well.

And yes, I use my breaks to look at (and now talk about) shoes. Deal with it.

Time doesn't fly. It evaporates.

There are 8 days left before finals, including today.

So, I probably won't be around much. Just a head's up. It's not that I don't love y'all, it's just that I don't want to fail my classes.

Anything I post will probably be related to class. Blegh.

I like to-do lists. A lot. They help me focus and stuff. And crossing things off makes me feel good. Sometimes I'll put something like "shower" just so I can cross it off. Lame, I know.

Here's my to-do list for the next 8 days:

1. 8-10 pages on Pride and Prejudice and Zombies as an adaptation- deadline extension to Dec 14th!!! Nick Mason is a saint.

2. 8-10 pages on the relationship of Gibbon's Sunset Song to Scott's historical novels

3. Tweaking above paper to include more theory junk for 451

4. 4 pages on reader-centered criticism and the use of free indirect discourse in Emma

5. Statement of Intent.

6. Study for the GRE.

7. 10 more pages for my creative writing portfolio

8. Abstract/proposal for adaptation conference

Then finals.

And Christmas shopping needs to happen somewhere in there.

I can do this. I just won't be sleeping very much. I really regret not being more productive over break. Oh well.

I'll be crossing these things off the list as I go along, so check back if you're interested in my progress. *Bold= crossed off

And for the record, taking 12 credits of English was a not one of my more brilliant ideas. (Yes, Clancy. Brilliant.)

Art Post 1: Surrealist-esque

So, last night I decided that if I wasn't going to do any work, I'd have something to show for it.

I've reading a lot about Dali and other surrealists, so

this what I did.

First series. India Ink on gesso.

"Fate"

(an appropriately pretentious name for what are really just drips)

Second series

India ink on gesso (again)

"Un-entitled"

And this is just a bunch of nonsense.

India ink on nothing.

"M Theory"

There you go.

The Day After

An object at rest will remain at rest.

An object in motion will remain in motion.

I'm a victim of Newton's first.

I haven't done hardly anything.

Save me from the laws of physics.

On the bright side, I made biscotti.

I'm bringing some to work.

And to my Professor's office hours.

Just to remind everybody of how much they love me.

If anyone has more leftovers than they know what to with--

Bring them to me, I know what to do with them.

But now, I'm going to finish dipping my biscotti.

Semi Sweet Chocolate and Butterscotch.

And then I'm going to go read my books.

And type my papers.

Watch me defy the laws of physics.

Thanksgiving

Watching Food Network on Thanksgiving when you've got a stomach bug.

Exquisite Torture.

I'm grateful that television doesn't have the ability to transmit smells.

I'm so cultured (aka Euro-centric)

So, this is what I did with my Saturday.

Woke up at 2(pm).

Read Vol 1 of Jane Austen's Persuasion

Listened to Carl Orff's Carmina Burana (5 times)

Read up on Frederico Garcia Lorca and Salvador Dali

Watched Little Ashes--film about Garcia Lorca and Dali

Made frittata.

Read about Lukacs and Sir Walter Scott

I have culture oozing from my fingertips.

I'm back: Stupid Tired Randomness Ep.2

Hello again. It's the wee hours of the morning and I'm using my blog as a last-ditch attempt to squeeze the last drips of work out of the ticking minutes. Again. This is becoming a really bad habit.

Anything you do between the hours of 3 and 6 am will either be absolute trash or absolute genius. Here's hoping for the latter.

Staff meetings should not be held at 8 am. Just sayin.'

Why am I still awake? So I can catch up. This weekend I made some poor school decisions and some good life decisions. I love how they don't always match up. So, I am making poor life decisions in order to make good school ones. It was totally worth it. But, by golly, I will be caught up. Or at the very least, be less behind than I am now. I am tired of drowning in work. More than I am tired of being awake. Time to get this over with. There's just no excuse for it.

I'm currently writing a 4-pager on some author-centered critics and applying it to Henry James' Washington Square. Lovely. In case you were wondering.

After that, some stuff about reader-centered critics and an application to the free indirect discourse in Jane Austen's Emma. Also a 4-pager. My plan is to turn the James one in no later than Devotional and the Austen one no later than dinner-time.

Also- writing poetry this early is a terrible idea. It makes for terrible poetry (see above...).

Blogs are the best way around writer's block. Thanks for reading.

Possible future posts: potatoes. dreams. death dreams. narcolepsy. sleep.

Engl 218R: Poetry Section

Sheep

Bare rumps and pink skin

Oily cotton piled high

Yan, Tan, Tethera.

Wendy

There once was a Peter, called Pan

Of kisses he was not a fan

So I got a button

Swiped from a Prussian

I see why he’ll never be a man

Revision

His hands were big & broad but soft & unlined

Turning leaves, sheaves of letters

In the saffron light on a bench the color of hummus.

How do you feel about icons?

“I like them just fine”

Mother Mary and her baby boy

Hide behind calligraphy’s

Curves and swirls.

And minarets form the periphery of

Iconography.

And he crosses out a line,

Deciding not to tell Mother Dearest

About the taste of the fogs in the mornings

Of damp silks and fresh yoghurt and

Mortar not quite dry.

The color of the sky

Prussian Blue. A mercenary color.

Cyan. Scientific. Subtractive.

Ultramarine. The expense of pharaohs.

Cadmium. Carcinogenic Mardis Gras.

Sky Blue. Hardly the right color at all.

Justice

Faces and houses in black and white

Left and right

Precedence etched in the skin

Crimes uncommitted written, a

Permanent punishment

Executed with needle and ink.

When I grow up

I want to grow up to be an old man.

Old men are cute. Old women are sad.

Old man clothes are cool. Old lady clothes are not.

Old men with canes are distinguished. Old women with canes are feeble.

Old men play chess and read newspapers. Old women knit and gossip.

Now, I realized I've constructed a false dichotomy based on stereotypes.

I know.

This is fallacious.

But I'd much rather be on the other side of this stereotype.

Especially today. In the yellow fall rain. In the cold and in my hat.

But old women get to be grandmas and make cookies and hot chocolate on cold days for squirmy dirty kids.

Gender roles.

I'd much rather do without them.

Stupid Tired Randomness

I've said it before, but I'll say it again:

Late policies need to be clearly stated in the syllabus. Just in case.

On a separate note, I'm obsessed with Katy Perry's Peacock. Offensive? Yes. Inappropriate? Yes. Irresistible? Absolutely. (Easily offended? then don't youtube this. don't say I didn't warn you)

My DrPepper tastes like soap. Or maybe my mouth tastes like soap before the DrP even gets there.

hmmm.

And I've decided to write my term paper on Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. Let's see how that flies.

I might shave my head. Or get an actual boy cut. Thoughts?

My other term paper is going to be about Walter Scott and Modernism. Yeah... the research for that is not going well. Apparently I'm the only person interested in Scott's reception and influence past 1850.

And I need a third one that focuses heavily on lit. theory. Suggestions? I'm thinking something Foucault-flavored. Which is like something grape-flavored, but in a more flamboyant gay french man who looks like Henry B Eyring's brother type of thing. BTW Foucault is not in my spell check. Go figure.

I'd go on, but I think I am sufficiently awake now to finish my research proposal. I hope you enjoyed what equates to drunk blogging.

Also-I have awesome family and friends. They rock so hard. I feel so loved :)

For your reading pleasure

For all of you that don't know, I write for my ward's newsletter. It is called The Fishbowl.

Here is the link.

I usually write these the morning they are due. In an hour or less. Usually less.

Enjoy! Or not.

FYI: This isn't everything I've written for The Fishbowl. A few are missing for some reason. And I think my editor deliberately inserts typos. Just so you know... those typos aren't mine. I am above typos.

Also- isn't this puppy sooo adorably can't-hardly-stand-it cute?

Go google puppies--it'll make you a better person. Or at least make your day better .

That is all.

Carbon Leaf

For some reason, I really like this song today.

"What About Everything?"

Holiday quiet on these streets, except for some stubborn leaves
That didn't fall with the fall, and now they clatter in vain
Holiday sky, midnight clear
Wind is high, hard to steer
Old muffler rumbles like an old fighter plane
In search of some rest, in search of a break
From a life of tests where something's always at stake
Where something's always so far
What about my broken car?
What about my life so far?
What about my dream?
What about.....

What about everything?
What about aeroplanes?
And what about ships that drank the sea?
What about...
What about the moon and stars?
What about soldier battle scars
And all the anger that they eat?
I am not in need

Get away and come with me
Come away with me and we'll see
If I was right on that night, that a future was made
Before time takes each year, like a knife cuts it clear
It's school, then work and then life that just sharpens the blade
I think about time for fun
I think about time for play
Then I think about being done, with no resume
With no one left to blame
What about fortune and fame?
What about your love to obtain?
What about the ring?
What about....

What about everything?
What about aeroplanes?
And what about ships that drank the sea?
What about...
What about the moon and stars?
What about soldier battle scars
And all the anger that they eat?
I am not in need

Holiday quiet on these streets, except for some reason me
The hometown harbor lights bright, the sailboats clatter in vain
Holiday sky, midnight clear
Wind is high on this pier
I find it hard to complain when compared with what about...

What about everything?
What about aeroplanes?
And what about ships that drank the sea?
What about...
What about the moon and stars?
What about soldier battle scars
And all the anger that they eat?
What about...
What about aliens? What about you and me and...
What about gold beneath the sea?
What about...
What about when buildings fall?
What about that midnight phone call...
The one that wakes you from your peace?
Well, I am not, I am not, I am not in need

This going to be the last time

This is the last time I'm going to apologize for my food allergies. I'm sorry.

But I can't change it. So it's not even a real apology. I never can be. This is one of the few times I can really say that it's not my fault. It's not my fault that I'm allergic to tasty things. It's not my fault that might impact people around me and their choices. If I could change, I would.

But the next person who cracks a joke about it, or tells me I can get used to anaphylaxis, or makes some off-hand comment about how I'm "allergic to everything" might end up in the hospital themselves. It's not funny--nobody's laughing. And no, I can't get used to anaphylaxis--it's physically impossible. Because I would be dead. And yes- I am more than aware that my body is a the immune system version of a drama queen.

Now, you may be thinking that this is just a rant--that is Emily is just being cranky and is lashing out. But that's not the only purpose of this particular blog entry. This is also about expanding horizons/understandings of the human condition in all its various forms.

Let's walk through what allergies mean to me. I have over 50 food allergies. That's just food. I registered positive for almost everything that they test for. I am anaphylactically allergic to a few, many cause asthma attacks and others cause less severe reactions like hay fever, hives, etc. Sometimes I have a reaction and I don't know from what. Those are the basics.

Because I have so many allergies, and with such severity, I have a lot of anxiety about it. A lot. So much so that it effects my life. I typically don't go to potlucks or ward functions with food. Cause I never know what's in what other people cook. This obviously has an impact on my social life. You might say I just could go and not eat. But I don't have to eat cayenne pepper or curry for it to kill me--its enough to be around it. Also--its rude not to eat and I'd much rather not have to explain my allergies to everyone and their dog. Plus it's none of their business. So I avoid the situation entirely. I'm also wary of eating out with friends, on dates, etc. Case in point: my most recent date took me to a chinese place. He got fried rice with shrimp and I had to cut that date real short real fast.

Then there's the chance that I walk into the breakroom at work and someone is heating up curry. I worry about those things constantly.

I'm also allergic to things like eggs, wheat, milk and soy. Not severely, but its next to impossible to avoid these things, so I'm always a little sick. Think about everything that has soy in it. That's right-anything processed. Having an allergy to egg totally changes the significance of getting a flu shot.

And there's guilt that comes with interfering with what other people want. What if all of my friends want to get mexican? or sushi? Then I feel bad for getting in the way of that. Or being excluded when they go without me. Either way, it sucks.

All this is not likely to go away or even improve. I've been through immunotherapy shots. But allergists can't/won't treat for everything. And based on the fact that each subsequent allergy test only turns up more positive reactions (positive reaction=allergy) this is only going to get worse as I get older. And because of my personal and family history with allergies, I will probably pass this on to my children.

Think about it. Put yourself in my shoes. Or in the shoes of someone with a peanut allergy. A little role play never hurt anyone.

But mostly it's people's insensitivity (which probably springs from ignorance or thoughtlessness). This morning, I woke up to a full-on asthma attack because my roommate decided she wanted a tuna sandwich for lunch. It is NOT pleasant to wake up to the inability to breathe. Its terrifying. And the after-effects of the meds aren't fun either. I'm going to be sick for the rest of the week. I do my best to make sure that those I live with, spend time with, etc. are informed. But apparently it's not enough to know that tuna can cause a hospital trip. And I'm sure what it takes to get that message across.

But I sure am tired of apologizing for it.

If you'd like to know more about allergies--there is the wonders of google to help you out. Or you can ask me. But don't ask me where my Epipen is. Its nice that you care, but if I trust you enough to put my life in your hands, I'll tell you. Because that's what you're asking. So if you don't know, don't be offended--I just don't trust you that much.

Baby, it's cold outside

Today's high was 55. I heard tale of flakes in the valley. There is a light dusting of snow on the mountains--like powdered sugar. This can only mean one thing:

Winter is coming.

Oh, Winter. My most conflicted season. Not only is it officially hot chocolate weather, but it is also closed-toed shoes weather. It mean its time to bust out the sweaters and heated blanket and replace them with shorts and swimsuits. And tights- it means about 4 months of wearing tights under EVERYTHING. And lotion-I'll use enough to fill an Olympic sized swimming pool before the sunshiney warmth of springy May shows up. Wearing more layers than I care to admit because my body can't manage to retain any of its own heat. Gloves and scarves and coats. Runny noses. Cold and flu season. Temporary blindness upon entering any structure because my glasses fogged up.

And snowmen. And snowball fights. And melting snowflakes on my tongue. Clear nights with the white mountains outlined against black sky. Thanksgiving and the post-turkey nap. CHRISTMAS. Going home where it isn't so cold. Family.

I love winter. And I hate it. I hate being cold. I love playing in the snow. I hate slipping on the ice. I love drinking hot chocolate. It's definitely a love-hate relationship. And I'm sorta of ok with that.

But that doesn't mean I'm not going to stop complaining about how cold it is.

October is a special month

Standing on a table is a completely normal thing to do.

Today, I'm feeling a little over-extended.

I'm behind on much of my reading. I have a ever-growing sleep debt. Work is really busy. And I keep getting pinged by small to-do things (respond to this email, call these people, do this do that ping ping ping). And on top of all this is the ever-more looming process of graduate applications.

And I actually have a life. With people I like being with, doing things I like doing.

There aren't enough hours in the day. There just aren't. Something's gotta give.

When I'm stressed, I get the urge to do one of two things: 1. Stand on top of something or 2. hide underneath something. So, I stand on tables, on my bed, on couches. I hide under desks, blankets and tables. When I'm really really stressed, I have the urge to stand on my bed with my blanket over my head. It weirds my roommates out.

I just want to hide. It's the coward in me. I know my life is awesome. It is. I love my life and my friends and I am so so grateful for the opportunities that I have. But I'd like to take a few hours and get a good nap, lounge about in bed maybe even read something frivolous and slightly smutty. Or paint. I haven't had the time to paint in over a year.

But I'm not going to do those things. Coward, be gone. I'm gonna work through my to-do list, being as productive as possible so maybe, in the (hopefully near) future, I can nap and paint and stuff without being a guilty shirker.

I think I'm going to be spending some time standing on tables.

EDIT: I realize that I'm using my blog as a cowardly escape/ I'm not helping my "I need more time" plight by blogging. I know. I know.

Moon Pies and Stuff

So, today I bought a Moon Pie. I know, gross. Here's why.

When I was a kid, I had a Moon Pie that one of my parents bought from the gas station. It was so good. Thinking about how good it was is making my mouth water.

Since then, I randomly buy Moon Pies, hoping to replicate that experience. Sadly, I never have. Each and every time, I am disappointed with the moon pie-ness: crumbly, dry grahamy crackery too-sweet frosting and too-fake marshmellowy ickyness. Ack. I ate one of those today. And I probably will eat one later, too. Just to make sure.

But I wonder about why that first one was so good. Was it because I didn't eat near the amount of sugar then that I do now as so seemed all the more delectable? Or was it because it a novelty (think about it--moon+pie=novelty food). Or is it the overlaying of time--the idealization that happens sometime in the interims between event, memory and remembrance? Or am I just trying to recapture the innocence of my childhood (whatever that means)?

I don't know the answer. Finding the answer will probably involve a life-changing epiphany that I should go to Brunai where nobody's even heard of Moon Pies, much less eaten one. Or something like that.

Do you guys have anything like my Moon Pie predicament that you do? I hope so, because this is weird and weird things should be shared. Please share :)

It's been a while...

So...yeah. long time no read eh? not a funny joke. I know.

I am a liar. I said I'd do all these bloggy things and I didn't. My bad. I swear I am not normally a flake. Just a flaky blogger. Forgive me, dear followers.

Today I alternate between being really excited for school and something close to Pink Floyd's Another Brick in the Wall Pt.2. It's intense. I'm just not ready for the kind of academically-inflicted monasticism that my schedule and ambition demands of me. Why can't I be a slacker?

Also- microfilm. Who scans that stuff? I want to know who signed off on the scans of The Examiner 1824-5. Because that ain't legible and that ain't cool. Way to be, UMI. Fail.

Other than that- summer is awesome. So awesome I don't want to give it up (hence the Pink Floyd). You WILL get an update on my summer as a whole. When summer is over. Which will be next Thursday or Friday. Or Saturday, depending.

Until then- I will continue to blast the tunes, be semi-irresponsible with my time and money and catch the last few rays of freedom-I mean, sunshine.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Today is Helen Keller's birthday. This video is for her.

Sunday Soiree #2

Okeydokey. This past Sunday, A, C and S joined me for Sunday dinner.

Menu:

Leek and Parmesan Risotto

Worcestershire Meatballs

Steamed Green Beans and Radishes

Homemade (round) Bread

Concord Grape Juice

Amy brought yummy cinnamon rolls for dessert.

I'll admit, the meal didn't turn out as well as I'd hoped. I'd never made risotto before and it wasn't as creamy or whatever as I thought it would/should be. This may have been because, as I realized hours later, I forgot to add the Parmesan cheese. DANGIT. But everybody had nice things to say and there were no leftovers. So I guess I can't really complain.

I'd also never cooked with radishes before. The day before, C and I went to the Farmer's Market, and she persuaded me to buy some. I originally planned on serving them with sugar snap peas, but at almost $5/lb. that wasn't happening. So there you go. I discovered that I don't really like radishes that much.

I was really pleased with the bread--it's my go-to, never fail recipe. And the meatballs turned out pretty well too.

Now for my peeps. A was going to bring her beau, but he had some family obligations instead.

Fair enough- family always trumps. But that's fine, we had some good girl talk, some good Gaga talk and I realized that certain people (A) want to live through me vicariously. Enough to get all sparkly eyed and giddy over probably non-existent possibilities. I had no idea... But we discussed some really important topics, like A doesn't really think Robert Downey, Jr. is all that attractive (shocking, I know) and how that might change our friendship. Just kidding (about the friendship part, not the Robert Downing Jr. part). As for the rest, I don't think I'm allowed to share those topics with the blogosphere. Sorry homies!

Next week: The G Family, K and maybe NT.

Here are the recipes:

The risotto recipe I got from the Better Homes and Garden Cook Book. Here it is:

1 medium onion; 1 clove garlic, minced; 2 tbl olive oil; 2 tbl butter

1 C uncooked arborio rice; 2 14-oz chicken broth

1/2 C finely shredded Parm. cheese; 1/8 tsp black pepper

Directions: In lg. suace pan cook onion and garlic on hot oil and 1tbl of butter until onion is tender (read: translucent). Note: I used about a cup of chopped leek instead of the onion and garlic. Add rice; cook and stir over med. heat until rice begins to brown.

Meanwhile, in another saucepan, bring broth to boiling, reduce heat a simmer. Slowly add broth to the rice mix, stirring CONSTANTLY. Continue to cook and stir until the liquid is absorbed. Add another 1/2 C. Continue to cook and stir until liquid is absorbed. Add in the rest of the broth 1/2 C at a time until all the broth is absorbed. (This should take about 15 minutes). DON'T STOP STIRRING

Stir in the remaining butter, the Parmesan cheese and pepper. Serve.

The meatballs came from allrecipes.com. Except I added about 1-2 tbl Worcestershire sauce.

The green beans were steamed about 7-8 minutes, the radishes about 4. I then tossed them in butter, salt and pepper.

My go-to recipe for bread. Here is the original recipe. But because this can make a really sweet loaf, I only used about 1/4 C of sugar and I only ever use 5 1/2 C flour, kneading in the last cup or so. Using all 6 C results in a heavy, crumbly loaf.

There you go peeps!

Sunday Soirée (#1)

So, this past Sunday, I invited three people over for Sunday dinner. One was my new roommie, P/T, one was my FHE bro, J, and the third was his roommate (my FHE Dad) M. The food was vaguely French themed and I tried out 5 new recipes.

I tried taking pictures, but apparently my camera needs batteries. I promise to hit you up next time.

Menu:

Lemon Tarragon Asparagus

Classic Vichyssoise

Homemade French Bread

Pound cake with Balsamic Vinegar Strawberries and Whipped Cream

For fun, I served Raspberry White Grape Juice in wine glasses. Swanky.

Okay. I'd never cooked (or even heard of) Vichyssoise before. Basically, it's a potato and leek soup, served cold. It was super flavorful, with basil, marjoram and thyme. And although the recipe only called for 1/4 cup cream, I put it 1/2. Creamy. Just another excuse to add yummy calories.

French bread wasn't that hard- except without any fat in it, it was really difficult to knead. Maybe that's why people are intimidated by it-they're afraid it might break their wrists off.

Balsamic Vinegar Strawberries. Unsettling, I know. Especially since the recipe calls for freshly ground pepper. But it was actually really good. It complimented to flavor of the berries- mellowed out the tartness and provided an interestingly earthy background.

So that's the food- now for the people. It was nice to be able to sit down and talk to my new roommate, especially in the context of non-roommates. I had met J before and chatted with him some, so I got to know him better. I'd never met M before, and he was a nice surprise. He's from my home state and seems like a lot of fun. Gets sarcasm. We bonded.

So, new food and new people. Maybe not a rip-roaring good time, but still a good time.

Next week: A., her beau, and S.

(Note: all recipes were from allrecipes.com)

School's Out

I would like to apologize for my long, unexplained absence from the blogosphere. I'm sorry. But to make up for it- I'm starting two series for the summer! Please, contain your excitement.

The first is a summer reading series. I'll read a book, then post my thoughts for discussion. I'll also announce the next book I'll be reading. The second is more cooking themed. Every week, I'll invite some friends over for Sunday dinner. I'll try to invite different friends and try different recipes. Then I'll post pictures and links to recipes/the recipes themselves and stuff.

These two projects have lots of purposes. First, they will force me to blog more consistently. Second, they will force me to read more AND come up with something to say about what I read. Third, I'll have to be social and network. Last, I'll try new recipes and stretch as a cook. Sounds like a plan, right?

So here we go, and stay tuned.

Skinny Jeans and Life Lessons

Once upon a time, I railed against skinny jeans, saying things like "they're too trendy," or "they make your hips look super-wide" or "they make your butt look flat." I absolutely refused to buy skinny jeans. I liked my boot-cut and my trouser-cut jeans just fine, thank you.

Last Thursday, I became a sell-out. At the whopping price of $14.50, I purchased my first pair of skinny jeans. I know. I'm ashamed of myself too... But I've been wearing them recently and here's what I've learned.

First of all, these jeans are insanely comfortable. They're easy to move and groove in (evidence: Friday night's dancing with K). On the down side, you know how after the first wearing, jeans start to get all lose and junk? Yeah- these jeans do that too. This is day 3 and they're loose in the waist, butt and thighs. In fact, the only place they haven't loosened up is the calves. My calves are still feeling nice and snug. But that explains why I thought the fit made other people's butt's look flat--it was probably the second, or third wearing of that particular pair. The flat-buttedness of skinny jeans wearers wasn't inherent necessarily the jean's fault or the result of the specific cut of the jeans--just the fact that fabric stretches during use.

I could go on, but I won't because I hate it when other people have really long blog posts. And just because I'm judgmental doesn't mean I can be a hypocrite. But here is what I learned from less than a week of skinny jeans ownership: don't knock it 'til you try it. I made judgements on skinny jeans and of skinny jeans wearers without an experiential understanding. This isn't a mortal sin or anything but I think it's indicative of how easy it is to judge without understanding, which is problematic (to say the least).

I know I am guilty (far too often) of making a quick, superficial judgement that I later have to drastically revise (sorry D.R.). What about the quick judgements that I never revised? What about the people that I've completely written off because of those unrevised impressions? But lets not dwell in the past, because that is neither healthy nor helpful. Instead, I plan on using this lesson in the future-- I'll try harder not to judge someone without walking a mile in their pants...Or something like that.

It's called "Oxbridge"

I love the smell of books. love Love LOVE. I love walking into a bookstore (especially used book stores) and inhaling that sweet, sweet smell of old pages and non-biodegradable ink. It's the best smell in the world.

Well, I've always said that if someone were to bottle that smell, and then a man would wear that cologne, I don't care if he has a face like a mailbox, I'd be all over him. Well, it's happened (but not the all-over part).

In a particular class, I sit next to this particular guy. He does not have a face like a mailbox. He actually has a very nice face. But the other day, I turned in his direction and BLAM! hit in the face with that wonderful old-books smell. Whoa. I don't know why (or how) he smells like old books, but I am now even more attracted to him. But that's not the point. The point is I was right. A cologne that smells like old books is the key to my heart, or at least, to my attention.

MLIA: Friends

My friends rock. Here's some reasons why:

-sincere compliments ("that dress is FANTASTIC"-A.G.)

-nicknames ("Ems"- D.R.)

-gum when I have nap-time breath (C.C.)

-random movies about Coco Chanel (H.G.)

- shared classes (C.C., H.G., A.G., C. S., D.R....)

- Oreos with a nice note when I'm heading out for a hard day (L.H.)

- thinking better of me than I think of myself (J.M. & T.U.)

- girl talk

- talking about puppies ( R.L. & B. G.)

- the ability to say "shut up" with a smile (B.G.)

- weird animals noises at IHOP (C.M. & S.S.)

- free Lady Gaga (A.T.)

- asking about me when I'm gone (R.P.)

- late night jigs of joy (H.G.)

- (slightly) inappropriate comments/jokes (you know who you are)

- alerting me to possibly awkward gchat statuses (R.P.)

- rides to the grocery store (L.S. & P. H.)

- boy advice (P.A. & P. H.)

- letting me borrow books (too many initials...)

- sharing pie on pi day (J.B. & R)

- best conversationalists ever (ALL YOU PEEPS)

- the list goes on....

Basically, I have some really awesome friends and they do more for me than I could ever list here, or anywhere. This semester I was planning on just being super-independent and a (lonely) workaholic. I'm really glad that I'm surrounded by people like YOU that won't let me do what I plan to do. I'm much happier for the interference. Thank you. You help everyday be a little better and my life a little richer.

Have an awesome day everyone!

A Mess of Pottage, pt. 1

I was in church the other day (it was a Sunday, if I remember correctly) and the Sunday School lesson was about Jacob and Esau. Everybody took the "Esau could've held out a few hours for some food, and didn't value his birthright and that's why its okay that Jacob tricked Esau for the birthright (because Jacob valued it)" stance. That's all well and good, but here's my beef.

We all know (or think we know) the stories of the Bible. But how many of us have actually read the scriptures and the stories as they appear in the Bible? Based on the discussion generated on Sunday, not many of us, and that includes the teacher. Now, I think I have a slight advantage, being I took a Bible as Literature course last semester in which we spent a good deal of time on the scripture relating to Jacob and being an English major, I've been trained to read critically. But all that aside, I think that too many people rely on Primary-perspectives and that understanding of scripture can inhibit growth because it's not actually based on what the scripture says.

Don't get me wrong, I do think there's something to be said for the meaning that you can get from the story. I think it's problematic when it contradicts the actual word of the scriptures or when it becomes the only meaning, the end-all-be-all.

To be continued...

This made me laugh...loudly...in the library...

I make poor decisions when I'm tired

With every passing second, I become less able to finish my assignment. And what am I doing? I'm blogging. Not annotating the bejeezus out of my bibliography or creating a cogent paper proposal. Oh no. It's three in the morning and not only has the Spirit gone to bed, but so has my work ethic. I have only enough responsibility clinging to the shreds of my consciousness to realize that I should finish. I can't give up and sleep. But at this point, that may be the best solution.

Why don't some professors put their late policy on their syllabus? They know someone (me) is probably going to turn something in late, and they're (I'm) gonna want to know how that's gonna hurt my grade. Not publishing it in the syllabus interferes with my agency. I can't make a good decision without all the information. And it's annoying as all get out. But at this point, I'm probably incapable of good decision-making, regardless of the information I have (or don't have).

I have roughly 6 hours before this annotated bibliography is due. It's supposed to be 6-9 pages, with a minimum of 10 sources annotated. I'll tell you right now, that ain't gonna happen. Dang. This is gonna hurt. In so many ways.

Where's my Zipfizz?

I've got a little time

I always seem to blog in the few minutes between classes. A paragraph here and there, always on the clock. Tip-typing away when I should be napping or looking over assignments or something responsible like that. But I'm not being responsible right now. I've printed what is due and I have 20 minutes to spare. So what do I do? I blog. And I go to this website. You should too.
http://www.mcphee.com/shop/

My knees are like a bowl of Rice Crispies Cereal

Well, as my last post mentioned, I "changed my pants" yesterday, and am now "pantless." Well, I was all in a funk about it late last night, so I decided to go for a run. At 1AM. Yes, I know its not safe, and that I'm not a good runner (or a runner at all), etc, etc, etc. But I needed to do something that didn't require thoughts, I needed to get out of my head. So, I went for a run. And I ran and ran and ran. Well, I walked too. Doing something that was just physical was very therapeutic. Just feet on the pavement, one in front of the other, breathe in, breathe out. Up the stairs, down the stairs. Feeling the muscles flex, and complain in under-used whines. Forcing my body to keep moving--pushing through effort of will. It was great.

I figure some things out on this random run. First, I am not in good shape. Not that I didn't know that. But I also felt much better about some of my recent decisions. I needed to do something for me, I couldn't keep pushing my own wants and needs aside for others. Not only that, but I needed to do something right now. I make a lot of decisions for myself for the future--studying hard so I can get good grades, so I can get into a good grad. program, so I can, so I can... You see? Now, I'm not saying going pantless was easy, or that it won't continue to be hard, I mean, I went on a long middle-of-the-night run because I was feeling cruddy about it. But it'll be okay. I made the best decision for me--and I feel that in every fiber of my sore legs, in every pop of my joints. But then again, maybe I didn't make such a good decision after all... maybe next time I'll try drinking.

Friendship is....

Awesome. Sometimes. Sometimes it's a bitch. My friend Leah once told me that friendship is like peeing your pants--everyone can see it, but only you can feel its warmth. But then the pee gets cold, and if you don't change, you'll get diaper-rash, but worse, because you are wearing jeans. I recently changed my jeans and let me tell you, I feel so much better now. Now I'm going pantless and it feels great. Woohoo!

German Philosophers

So, I've been reading a lot of philosophy recently, especially German philosophy. And I realized something--they all look like rapists and child molesters. Take a peek.

But here's Goethe.

And Kant- wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alleyway.

Schiller's not so bad. But he could disembowel you with his nose.

And my personal favorite- Fichte. I definitely would not want to meet him on a playground, or help him look for his lost puppy. He probably ate the puppy.

You see? I know- creepy.

Shower Thoughts: Ouch?

So, in the shower this morning, I discovered a grapefruit-sized bruise on my leg. It's a pretty shade of purple. It doesn't hurt, and that's fine. But what's worrying me is that I have NO idea how I got it. I mean, you'd think I'd remember that kind of trauma. Nope. Not a clue. I woke up this morning and there it was, pretty as you please, the same color as Crown Royal bags. Appeared, as far as I know, out of nowhere.

This worries me. I mean, what if my roommates are exacting their Emily-left-dirty-dishes-in-the-sink revenge and I sleep right through it? What else am I sleeping though? Am I sleep walking? Or am I just losing my ability to remember painful events that (usually) result from my clumsiness? What if I'm repressing an embarrassing biff? What else am I repressing? What if all my memories are in fact, made up, and I have no past? Maybe I'm crazy and the life I "live" is the result of experimental drugs given to me by evil doctors with weird mirrors on their foreheads? What if this isn't real? What if I'M not real?

At least, that's what I thought while I shampooed my hair.

In the five minutes before class...

Don't talk to me just now. I'm typing madly. I'm busy. And even if I weren't--don't talk to me just now. I'm in a good place for just this moment. If you talk to me, I'll lose it. You'll interrupt my equilibrium. Set me off balance. And I don't want to deal with feeling tipsy and topsy-turvy right now. I would like to be at peace for just a few more minutes. Maybe we'll talk later, but not just now.

Today I'm grateful for...

Whoever domesticated the first pig.

Whoever first smoked and salted a dead pig.

The inventor of the frying pan.

Dr. Robert Jarvick, the inventor of the artificial heart.

The Special Collections

Today, for class, I went down to Special Collections. I love that place. It's heaven on earth. I love having an excuse to go down there with all those old books. I guess its the antiquarian in me. But, really, aren't all humanities/English people just closet antiquarians in some way?



But I got to see and handle first editions of Ivanhoe, Waverly, and Emma. Cool, huh? Each had their own thing that touched the geek within. With Ivanhoe, it was owned by a friend of Sir Walter Scott's, so I like to imagine that it was a gift. Scott might have touched it. Yeah, I know.



With Waverly, it exuded the strongest old book smell as soon as I opened it. I don't know what it is about the smell of books, and especially old ones, that I find so....something. I can't explain. If someone were to bottle that smell, I'd buy it. And love it. But that book smelled GREAT.



Seeing a first edition Emma was nice because Emma was the first book I read of Jane Austen's. It was probably the first book I had read of that time period. I loved that book (and still do--I've worn out at least 2 paperback copies). In a way, Emma was the foot in the door of British Romanticism.

So, now my hands have that dusty feeling from touching old books. It's delightful.

So, I forgot to grab a sweater today...

So I was a little chilly all day. Not really enough to be truly uncomfortable, but cold enough to be aware of it all the time. But that's not the point. The point is I kind of like it.

When I'm this kind of cold, I am very sensitive to any change in temperature around me, even in the slightest way. That means I can feel the body heat of those around me, and I like that. I am always aware of the people around me in a very physical way, and that's comforting in its own way. Like getting a hug or holding hands or cuddling all the time. And who doesn't like those things?

But not only that, there is a weird attraction to these warm bodies, like magnets. I can't help but turn towards the source of warmth, to steal some of it. I don't like being a warmth vampire, but I do like the idea that this impulse is something cosmic--that the universe is trying to establish an equilibrium of sorts, to return to the center. I like that. Maybe because I like order, balance and symmetry. Or maybe because I like to be warm. I don't know.

Orff: Derrida:: cheese: apples

This past weekend, I had to read a ton of theory. Part of this delightful experience was my first encounter with Jacques Derrida (Sign, Structure and Play). I had heard tale of this guy, that he was super difficult (like unto Isaiah) and he would make my brain feel all stupid. I can't tell you how much I was looking forward to that reading. I actually read it 3 or 4 times before I started understanding.

My favorite piece of classical music is Carl Orff's Carmina Burana (a scenic cantata...). I love it. A lot. Have the thing memorized. It's sometimes a soundtrack to my dreams (and childhood memories, oddly enough). This is an epic love for epic music.

So, to make my foray with Derrida more bearable, I decided to play Carmina Burana while I (re)read. Thank you YouTube and UC Davis. But then something miraculous happened. I understood what Derrida was saying! I got it! And I don't think it was necessarily that the fifth time was the charm, it was the magic of Orff.

As different as these things are (post-structuralism/deconstruction and a 20th century rendition of medieval poetry) they complimented each other perfectly. One helped me understand and enjoy the other. Like eating alternating bites of apple and cheddar cheese--a weird combination but they compliment each other in a mind-blowing way. Or like bacon and chocolate. MMM.... bacon...

But anyways, I am always amazed at the real serendipity of life, and especially how contrasts line up in contrary and yet constructive ways. (And if you were hoping for more on what I think of Derrida, I let you know once it's percolated for a while.)

The greatest thing you'll ever learn...

So, I just watched Moulin Rouge with some of my roommates over the weekend (by the way, watching a romantic/ lovey-dovey film does NOT make you feel any better about your love life. Just FYI). When the film ended, one of my dear roommies kept saying "Love doesn't exist." This made me kind of angry. And it took a little bit for me to figure out why her blanket negation bothered me so much...

It was because her absolute denial of even the existence of love cheapened and denied my own experiences. If love didn't exist, then the feelings I've had for other people where something else, something less. Like, affection, lust, whatever. Not love. Now, I've had some rough times with love in the past, especially recently, and my love has caused me a great deal of pain, but I can never deny what I felt for those men. I have loved, and even though this roommate has not have this experience, that doesn't mean it doesn't exist, that it won't happen.

I think too many people are hopeless. They may be like my roommate, who, because they have never experienced love can not believe it exists. They refuse to see beyond their own lives, to hope in something beyond their own memories and surroundings. I think this view is too narrow, and not only denies the holder of such views hope for something more, for something better. All they have is what they have and what is given to them, and they do not look for anything more. Its a kind of life-apathy, a lack of ambition.

The other group has experienced love, but because they got burned or spurned, they doubt the veracity of their experience. I have one friend in particular who falls into this category. They lash out at love's reality or meaning become bitter and cynical. It's not necessarily that love doesn't exist, but that it doesn't exist like everyone says it does. Love is a farce, a fake, an unrealizable ideal. These people reject love, although at one point they would have done anything for it, and I think, deep down, still would. They are callous and pretentious, ignoring what they have felt, shutting themselves off to further possibilities and experiences.

I heard somewhere that to love someone unconditionally is to see the face of God. And I believe that. One of the most poignant and moving movie lines I've ever heard comes from M. Night Shyamalan's Lady in the Water, when Paul Giammatti's character says, talking to his dead wife a children, "I miss your faces. They remind me of God." Love is something profoundly spiritual, an ability that enables us to move beyond the constraints of our humanity. If love doesn't exist, then so much of what empowers us to be more than what we are is lost, nothing more than empty hopes.

I'm not trying to idealize love, or romanticize it. I know that love is work. Hard work, and lots of it. I know that love isn't always great, that sometimes you have to love the unlovable, that sometimes love isn't reciprocated. And love and the pursuit of love can cause a great deal of pain that some people would rather do without. Yes, love is hard, but perhaps that's part of why its so important.