Quote of the day

A grad student who will remain anonymous said today...

"I'll have to go to the library and check out the girlflesh"

I love this, and I have no idea why.

It reminds me vaguely (as someone pointed out) of the title of a possible bad trashy novel "Girlflesh".

Or perhaps it could be a horror film "Return of the girlflesh"?

A LOTR spinoff: "tonight you shall taste manflesh, and um, girlflesh, and possibly womanflesh, and personswhoprefernottobegenderedflesh"[not as catchy as one might hope]?

In any case, it is definitely a completely tasteless yet naughtily interesting term to be used at the earliest possible convenience.

Prospies!

Today was prospective student day. This is the day when I get all geared up to tell people the truth about my program in a way that doesn't make it sound like the "circle of hell that Dante forgot". This includes statements such as: “it's really academically rigorous”, “it’s intellectually challenging”, and “you will learn more here than anywhere else” (all true, and yet not the whole truth).

Actually, I'm in a much better place with my schooling than I used to be, so the bitterness is at a minimum. But I do let them know some things about where is not a good place to live (Hyde Park), what they should attempt to avoid if they join the program, good people to work with, not so good people to work with, and generally the idea that Hyde Park is evil and you must find outside activities to temper your schooling (besides the ever-interesting love affair with alcohol). Basically I'm full-throttle promoting the "balanced" grad. student life (if this is possible, I've heard that some people even manage it?!)

And the food was delicious. I'm telling you, they pull out all the stops for prospective students. There was salmon, hummus, mushrooms florentine, 5 kinds of beer, free beer all night, wines of every flavor, Perrier, exotic desserts including something chocolate and delicious with prickly pear - it was good. I don't know if it's the "grass is greener" effect, but I'm feeling like I didn't get this good a spread as a prospie. Ah well...

Classes look good, social life is in high gear and I am looking at the first day behind me of my last quarter EVER of classes. Yipee (this yipee to be tempered later by seminar papers, lectures, and massive amounts of reading [check back for the bitter KT]). Ahhh first week.

Ahhhh. Weekend

Ok, this has to be, hands down, the best birthday that I ever ever had.

Highlights:

Dinner at Portabella off of State Street (unbelievable food, lots of it, waitresses that really are pleased to help you, and an art-nouveau atmosphere that makes me want to move my stuff in and make a cot out of the plush booths – oh, and garlic olive oil for dipping your bread - delicious)

State Street bars: Stillwaters, Monday's, Paul's Culb, The State, and the Beautiful BW3 – i.e. nowhere skanky. Stillwaters has booths that feel like you’re sitting inside a wine barrel (not a bad thing). Monday’s is your basic Irish pub. Paul’s Club has a huge fake tree “growing” out of the bar with branches that cover the entire ceiling (complete with leaves). The State is your basic 3 floor neon-lighted night club. And, frankly, I have already dedicated an entire entry to the delightfulness that is BW3.

The well-intentioned but grossly inaccurate rendering of a "sex on the beach" using 8 (yes 8) different fruit liqueurs. The other bartenders were watching over my waitress's shoulder making helpful comments like "what are you making?" and "are you sure?" It was unholy nasty, but as my boyfriend says “it’ll get you drunk”.

Sweet Sweet BBQ chicken wings.

My boyfriend and I sharing a Monte Cristo cigar from the ever-charming Knuckleheads as we walked back down lakeshore path.

That last tequila shooter.

Drunkenly singing songs from "Guys and Dolls" on the way home

PARTY PARTY PARTY PARTY PARTY PARTY PARTY PARTY

It is my birthday tomorrow! And as I will be far far too drunk to post, I am letting you all know my thoughts.

So far, my quarter-century has been interesting. I have apparently done all the things that people wanted me to do since childhood correctly: meaning I have now jumped through enough flaming hoops (go doggie go!) so that I can line myself up for a new set of flaming hoops in my next 3 years of grad school.

That said, I think that on the whole, things could have been worse. Actually, looking around at some of the people that I left high school with I know that things could have been worse. And better. But I'm pretty happy here in the middle: learning about obscure theoretical shadows of a former century, living in a studio with my antique collections, figuring out who the hell I am, having a loving if overbearing family, great friends who care about me, and a charming boyfriend.

Thus I greet my new year with a humble spirit and a happy heart. Thank you, world, for this gift.

Got my paper back from Gothic...

He liked it, I did well, but... Apparently my writing style leaves something to be desired. I argue, I don't write.

Eh - What the hell can I do to fix that? I've spent so much time driving my tendency towards flippancy out of my prose and learning to structure a coherent and complex argument that my style has suffered. Who exactly is going to teach me this skill? How precisely does one create flowing, exciting, riveting prose?

Damn.

This is getting out of hand...

I currently have 13 plants living in my apartment.

My confusion and frustration with this fact comes from my damn attachment to animism and general pagan-ness that does not allow me to throw a plant away when all it needs is a little care. This is also what makes me pick up beach glass and take it home. Oh man - somehow I can rationalize this with my love of eating beef. I am just a walking hypocrite.

In any case, my current frustration is brought on by the fact that I picked up another two plants this weekend (a charming violet having white flowers with frilly purple edges, and a Calandiva which is a succulent plant with a load of little orange-yellow-peachy-pink flowers on it). I think of these flowers like um… charming Victorian-era ladies dressed up to go to a ball – elegant, voluptuous, and delightfully delicate.

This has brought me to my current total, and it is getting a little out of hand. This started when I lived in the international house (also known lovingly as: "evil pit of festering death", "home of elevators that terrify non-residents", "disturbingly infested with ants", and "not all that international, and not really a house"). This was my first year where friends were having the same freak-out moments that I see the 1st years having now and thus I spent most of my evenings alone. So I collected plants to keep me company. Oh man does this sound sad now.

Anyway, I had a philodendron that was growing strangely, so I cut it off and suddenly was inspired to try rooting the cut ends (BAD IDEA) so now I have 6 of those damn plants that (again) I can't or won't kill.

Then the ivy. I bought it at the co-op my first week of grad school and it was really really tiny - and now it's, like, huge. I have to twist the vines together so that they don't hang on the floor. I'm thinking that it is surviving the U of C much better than I am - perhaps because it isn't sentient and doesn't need to produce papers about the role of taste in Hawthorne (just a guess). This one is like a professor, perhaps – scraggly beard, constant need for beverages, pushy, and with an ego growing ever larger.

The jade plant is a mess, It won't stay in the pot and simply refuses to grow in a decent vertical way, opting instead for a sprawling, crawling trek across my windowsill to perhaps make friends with my...

Other violet. This one has pink flowers and will not stop growing no matter how much I neglect it. I've had to repot the damn thing twice and it still expands and flowers in a most charming yet annoying way.

Two more: the dusty miller (whose lacy friend didn't make it on the trip here from Racine), and the Hens and Chicks, which also had to be repotted last week.

Now I love growing things in that abstract greenery sort of way, but when I look around my apartment all I see is green green green. Actually, most of the plants I don’t mind – it’s the philodendrons. They’re pure evil, they put holes in your wall, they grow all stringy and scraggly, they need constant attention, they never look nice – actually, they’re like a really needy beer-swilling mechanic boyfriend.

Perhaps I can give them away - does anyone want a philodendron?

huh. I'm on Google. Interesting. You have to put the title in quotes, but it's there.

Update

I don't know if it's laziness, or just the fact that not much interesting has been happening, but I haven't posted in a few days so I thought I'd give you all an update:

Thursday - I went down to Julius Meinl and spent forever there in a comfortable chair drawing on my comic book. I also bought some tea, which means that I can have deliciousness everywhere I go. Looked at the three fantastic bookstores in Evanston, and collected the handful of books mentioned earlier.

Friday - Down to Hyde Park for rummage sailing - I not only got a charming sliver-plated water pitcher and matching tumbler, but found a pair of unbelievably ugly earrings to match the double-knit orange monstrosity of a dress that I picked up last year. Oh man am I going to freak the hell out of everyone someday - I will be as a huge glowing column of blinding orange light! Spent the rest of the day kicking around Hyde Park and generally attempting to kill time until…

Saturday - Met the boyfriend for dinner! He was delightful as always, and we watched "Lost in Translation" which is actually a really good movie. I love the bit with ripping the stockings: that was charming beyond reason. Boyfriend and I agree that Bill Murray is one of the few people left in the acting profession that can do physical humor without looking like an idiot. Got hissed at by boyfriend's cat, got back to my house late, got an incredibly good deal on the Kenneth Branagh "Hamlet" tapes ($4.99! (you have to understand that I have been waiting to buy this movie for about 4 years because I didn't want to pay the $30.00 for two stupid VHS tapes -- I had almost given up hope that I would ever get a good deal and then – like magic I was attracted almost against my will into an FYE store and there they were, gleaming in their shrink-wrap)), also got "Girl Interrupted", "A Midsummer Night's Dream", and "Star Trek: First Contact" (if you don't understand, you never will), and am now missing My Love terribly.

Sunday - At home in Racine (parent's house) - fairly ordinary day, went shopping with Mom and Grandma. Good food, good company, good deal on a teapot (don't have to make tea in a saucepan anymore!), and good vintage clothing given to me by my grandma. I now have a black dress to die for, and a purple and pink plaid mohair coat (giggle if you like, but it is damn cool).

Monday - Shopping with Mom for wonderful things like jello, crackers, soup, potpies, and other sundries to make life in Evanston livable. Thanks, Mom. This was also an evening of Twix bars, being sat on repeatedly by our quite evil cat (she sits there and gives you doe eyes until you pet her and then 10 min later she whips around and bites you – just to let you know that it’s time to stop petting her now), and watching "Pirates of the Caribbean" (Argggg).

Tuesday - Drove back to Evanston - and on the way stopped off at a charming antique store where I got a lid for the white and red enamel pot that I forgot in my mom's van while shopping on Monday. Ah well... I'll just have to get it on the way up to Madison this weekend. Watched a movie, ate some soup, polished some silver, decanted the glögg into a charming ex-whiskey container, read "The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents", and slept.

Wednesday - Hummm... That's today. Well, I started working on my comic book again this morning after giving up in despair around Monday. I have 8 pages in various stages of completion (all of which suck). Tonight is blogging, movie watching, making dinner, and variously wasting time. Tomorrow, I'm sure, will be more of the same - This weekend to MADISON!

Books Books Books - is anyone interested in the books I have bought over the last 2 weeks?

Probably not - but if your eyes are still following me here, you will probably be unable to look away. The glowing screen beckons to you. You are not interested and yet you hear the call of the cathode ray tube. Do not fight; you will succumb to its power.

Interestingly this is exactly the reason that shows like "Forever Eden" still survive.

Ok: the books.

Folkways by William Graham Sumner 1906. (Interestingly the day after I bought this book, my orals advisor recommended it for my list. Apparently I'm psychic this week)

The Best Supernatural Tales of Algernon Blackwood [1929] edited by Felix Morrow 1973. (It has a story called "The Occupant of the Room" which is skin-crawling-creepy. Very gothic book - bought it because I had never heard of him.)

The Essays of Robert Louis Stevenson edited by Malcolm Elwin 1950. (A reprint of one of my favorite writer's essays. Not only does it have fun pictures, but it has "A Plea for Gas Lamps" with the lines: "The word electricity now sounds the note of danger...a new sort of urban star now shines out nightly, horribly, unearthly, obnoxious to the human eye; a lamp for a nightmare! Such a light as this should shine only on murders and public crime or along the corridors of lunatic asylums, a horror to heighten horror" (Stevenson 162). Wow, let's hear it for gaslight folks - just looking at my incandescent bulbs now gives me a cold shudder... )

Twisted Tales by Christoper Ward 1924. (This seems to be some kind of book of parodies of famous texts. It even has a Sherlock Holmes-esque tale called "The Polonius Problem". What's not to like about that?)

And a final book that is a gift - so I can't tell you about it.

I am collecting far faster than I can read - and interestingly still procrastinating. 2 pages 1/2 done for my comic book - I need to work faster, but something is keeping me from my task. I secretly think that they're slipping crack into my tea at Julius Meinl... it calls to me like the sirens song - keeping me from my work and derailing all attempts at reasonable drawing.

I hear your call Himalayan Toffee... I am summoned to your presence and cannot resist...God help me.... The little mints! The little mints!

Post Quarter letdown.

Bored.
Lonely.
Boyfriend is out celebrating St. Patties with his Pediatrics friends.
Friends here are leaving for more comfortable climes.
I'm just here.
Snow.

Happy green beer day everyone.

More freaking snow - damn that groundhog!

I want to like the snow - snow is good (er. in the cosmic sense) - and yet and yet I seem to be unable to actually feel happy about this snow right now.

Contrast verse from the beginning of winter:

The snow...
Like whipped marshmallows
Or sugar wet, but sweet...
When we would stand outside
And catch flakes on our tongues
Melting like cotton candy.
Crystallized water,
Falling as the dreams
Of a child
Playing in this
Perfect
White
Promise
Which covers
All the sins
In a blanket
Of Pure
White.

With verse made impromptu by yours truly on the spot today:

Fucking
Damn
Stupid
Chilly
Snow....
Bleah.

It's charming the contrast that a couple of months will make.

Assiduously working on my comic book. Page 1 is 1/2 done.

only 19 more to go... I feel much like the children in Annie - running towards Daddy Warbucks house, which runs in my memory somewhat as follows:

"what street are we on?"
"53rd."
"and where do we have to get to?"
"144th."
"Oh my goodness, Oh my goodness"
"come on"

Antiquing!

Today was a very big driving day. Evanston to Hyde Park to Kenosha to Racine to Evanston to Hyde Park to Evanston. Whew. This, however, was totally worth it, as today was a day of antiques, donuts, and Olive Garden (mmmmm breadsticks) punctuated by moments of wry humor, silly singing and thrift-store shopping. It is Kerri's Birthday today, and so I decided to take her up to Kenosha and Racine for an antiquing adventure. The awesome store in Kenosha was sadly closed, and despite my impotent banging on the door and cries to the gods, remained closed all afternoon (I must be losing my touch - I used to be able to call lightning bolts - Maybe I need to change my breakfast cereal). In any case, although one antique store failed us - the other two were charming and revealed many great and delightful deals from their dusty depths.

Kerri and I have totally different antique likes and dislikes, which leads to the oft-repeated and humorous conversation...

Me - "Kerri - come look at this" (I hold up random Item of crockery) "This is totally you!"
Kerri - "Eh." (looks around) - "Now this is very you. (holds up item of costume jewelry)"
Me - "Eh"
Kerri – “But it’s shiny?”
Me – “I dunno, it’s just eh.” – “But this pot has a calendar on it.”
Kerri – “But it’s just, eh.”

This is the PERFECT way to antique shop. If we liked the same things, we would constantly fight over them - there would be accusations and hair pulling, it would not be good. Liking totally different things ensures that we never argue over a piece - and thus - calm general regard for the goodness of all things antique is retained.

It was a good day - and now I am utterly exhausted. Left home at 7:30, got back at 10:00. Need sleep.

The tiny creamers!

Anne took me today to one of the happiest places in Chicago. Why? "By Fiat!" I retort, stamping my foot.

We went to Julius Meinl: and I had some tea that I swear was hand-blended by the archangels and steeped in the golden chalice of life, i.e. it was quite tasty. For some reason (my aforementioned inability to remember names of any kind) I can't remember the name of the tea - it was a word that started with H and then toffee. I definitely remember toffee. In any case, I shall have to return and buy some. I balked at the idea in the store - $7.95 for 4oz of tea! But later found out that this makes about 35 cups. Alas - should have gone with my gut instinct on this one.

The most delightful part (according to the whimsical self that I am) is the tiny carafe of creamer that they give you with your tea. It couldn't be more than an inch high, full of thick creamer and utterly delicious. It's like actually having tea instead of having some processed biodegradable waxed cardboard cup shoved at you across a counter by a disturbingly handsome 17 year old in a Starbucks T-shirt. Julius Meinl, I salute you - if only for saving tea from this bitter and unholy end.

And I bought a picture of a bandit, a scallywag - climbing down some knotted sheets out of a window. This is one of the more charming engravings I have - if only because he has striped pants. Definitely a pirate - perhaps it's the goatee that makes this picture so charming. In any case he looks as though he's about to jump off the rope, rescue some damsel, and sail away on his pirate ship to a deserted isle. Wow, apparently my imagination is working overtime today - Of course - the choice was between this engraving and one of an angry chained priest in a cell looking particularly malevolent as he commands someone to leave. Although I do have a soft spot in my heart for frightening clergy, this one lost only because the priest oddly reminded me of Rasputin and it would be impossible to explain to my friends why I found this piece so enchanting (er - it's his, um - fiery eyes, and er- the hay, and he's um... just really scary). Not a good conversation starter - more of a conversation stopper (and an odd look generator). If people are going to look at me funny, I would prefer that they do it for my bandit (who is now hanging above my bed).

Done.

It's over. I'm done. They're packed up and finished and ready to hand in tomorrow {sigh of relief}.

Other than that? I have been a very very busy girl the past two days.

Last night I get a call... Anne's bored, I'm bored - I bring down junk food and caffeine and we watch disaster movies until 3am. I still declare that "The Towering Inferno" (a 70's film about a burning high-rise that has explosions of: helicopters, people, faulty wiring, 2,000,000 gallon water tanks, several rooms, and a scenic elevator) is a cinematic triumph and a spectacular comedy.

Kudos also to "The Poseidon Adventure" - the only film where a renegade Reverend leads a motley crew consisting of: an ex-hooker, her husband, two children (being constantly "touched" by the reverend), a hippie druggie, a Jewish couple, a Scottish galley waiter, and a nice bachelor that eats alfalfa pills (no kidding). They all attempt to escape a cruise liner that is flipped upside down by an utterly implausible tsunami. Special points for the Christmas tree scene, calling the god Poseidon "that cat there", and a really slimy preacher.

I'm afraid that "The Towering Inferno" wins overall because (as I explained to Anne) there are only so many things that you can play with in an upside down ship but you can fly in helicopters to lift a scenic elevator off a high-rise. Ahhh - 70's disaster flicks.

Thus, I ended up sleeping on Anne's comfortable floor - and I stayed in Hyde Park all afternoon today in my silly plaid flannel jammie pants to hang out in the Regenstein and generally work a little, eat lunch at the bagel, buy books from Powells, and head back here to finish up "The Amber Gods" (my paper has lovingly been titled "Walking the Knife's Edge").

I am also secretly planning to finish writing my comic book over this vacation - wish me luck!

1 down...

That's right, my taste paper is done. Final count of 21 pages and 4 drafts. I stapled it, put it in my binder, and WILL NOT look at it again. Amber Gods to be finished tomorrow.

So the question is what to do with this afternoon. After some quality computer-gaming (Morrowind: Tribunal and Bloodmoon), I think there may be the creation of something shiny and necklace-like. My word, yes! That sounds like a splendid idea!

Rhinestones... Yipee!

Apparently my blog posts are coming in pairs this month.

I have one idea for a post - post it and POOF, another thing to randomly complain about drifts through my head.

I want a binding machine. For those of you who don't know what this is, it is one of those amazing devices with strange spikes on the top that puts papers into those little plastic comb things that get stuck to everything (wow was that non-descriptive, that's like saying a cat is an animal with these ear things, that likes to bite things and has fur). Well, you'll just have to ignore me if you don't know what this is.

I am convinced (for no apparent reason) that my life could be totally organized, perfect, and pristine, if only I had a binding machine. Being a grad student I tend to collect randomly large amounts of photocopied material every quarter and I could TOTALLY bind all of that together into neat little stacks based on author or subject or something and thus not have to sort through a huge stack of Bourdieu in order to find those 3 pages of Foucault that I really need. The creation of this initial bound masterpiece of organization out of my current piles of paper will take approximately a billion years. I know that it is just the very anal person inside of me that likes office supplies and shiny folders who wants this machine - and that I will eventually lose interest in it like oh-so-many toys before, but I just can't get it out of my mind.

Just think of it: Gleaming reams of paper, neatly bound into little books of information. Everything labeled and organized. An entire bound set of my photocopies of obscure "language of flowers" texts printed from microform. A bound copy of all the information relating to gift-giving practices in the 1800's. A bound analysis of grave marking practices in the 19th century. I would be a binding god.

In rereading this entry, I believe that I have just produced the best evidence possible for OCD. Hopefully this is just end of the quarter nonsense.

And the Binding combs come in 5 COLORS! Yipee!

One paper written, one to go.

I just finished the bibliography for my taste paper, and frankly I know that I need to do a final spot-check read-through for grammatical errors, but I don't want to look at it anymore.

Page Count = 21
Endnotes = 2
Sources = 18
Word count = 6,956
Sanity = 67.259% and rising

Tomorrow I get to get up really early, wander back over to the cement monstrosity that is Northwestern University library, and finish up my analysis of "The Amber Gods". If I can get the damn thing cleaned up tomorrow, I will celebrate by rewarding myself with something cool yet mysterious, exciting yet daring, meaty yet satisfying - you guessed it, a pot pie. Perhaps there will be alcohol, perhaps not - in either case, there will be cleaning.

In 10th week, your best bet as a procrastination tool is cleaning. It has the "look, I'm doing something useful" feel about it; while simultaneously being a way to avoid footnotes, that pesky conclusion you were going to write, and general formatting in the Chicago style (why isn't the MLA good enough for the U of C? The world may never know). Thus, my bathroom has already received a thorough scouring - and my bedroom was vacuumed! Amazing - I didn't remember that I had brought in an oriental rug - the strata of clothing was beginning to fossilize, and I know I should have just left it alone (with just a little more pressure and another year I'm sure that I would have had some diamonds forming under my pile-o-socks.)

Mined from my laundry:

1 package Cinnaburst (which my spellchecker wanted to replace with: coniferous) gum
98 cents (3 quarters, 1 nickel, and 18 pennies - I knew I had a penny stash somewhere (gumballs Ho!))
1 Canadian penny
3 hair ties
1 lost necklace
1 box of cinnamon Altoids with "Sindy" on the cover (collectible Altoids!)
A Llama (I have no idea how he got in here, but I've decided to name him Ned)

And now a drink from my personal exploits this evening with my refrigerator full of liquor and 5 minutes of enthusiasm. If anyone has made this before and it has an actual name, please let me know - but as for the moment I christen it the: Muddled Kitten

It is prepared as follows

10oz milk
1 measure Captain Morgans
1 measure Malibu
2 measures Kahlua

shake with ice and strain into a plastic dixie cup - or saucer, if you want a truly kitten-like experience. Trust me, if you leave this out for your barn cats, they will surely be muddled in the morning.

Mmmmmm pot pies

Let me tell you, folks - Today was a bad day. I found out that one of the people who I desperately want to be my orals advisor may be leaving the university for good. Oh man does that suck - this means that all of my carefully-laid networking plans are all for shit and I have to start over from scratch looking for an advisor. As if this was not annoying enough, I spent the rest of the afternoon avoiding certain people, thinking about my papers and being ADVISED. This has got to be one of the most painful painless processes possible. That is: I hate to go to advising because I feel as though I should have some reason for taking a class other than "it looks easy, and I'm tired", and so I have to pretend to be chipper and perky regarding my next 10 bleak weeks (trust me, if you had my class options to choose from, you would agree on my assessment of the situation) or alternately, I can be forthright about my not wanting to do any work and have my advisor think that I'm insane. She is actually quite nice, and the process itself is not painful in any way - it's just the anticipation of the advising that does me in (much like a flu-shot). So sitting on the floor outside of her office for 20 min was probably the most painful waiting possible leading up to the least painful discussion and a moderately irritating process of getting forms signed. This makes no sense whatsoever, please ignore all of what I have just said.

Bleah.

And - as if this was not annoying enough, seminar was a parade of petrified people pontificating on the perilous problems of personal taste, Pope, and the Picturesque (who knew?). So here I am sitting in my comfy chair trying to clean up my paper such that I won't be ashamed to show it to Anne tomorrow and eating a pot pie.

Pot pies are god's gift to college students. You can forget about those little white worms of pasta known as ramen and the ubiquitous pop-tart, pot pies are where it's at. They are little stews of goodness baked into a pastry shell 5 for $3. They store forever, they take mere minutes to cook, and PRESTO, comfort food in its own dish! (This rant brought to you by Lakeshore Drive - known more lovingly as "asphalt of pain", "goddamn slow" and "full of cops and taxis" - While driving home after my not so nice day and fighting traffic, I determined that I would head straight for my local Jewel, pick up some pot-pies, Mt. Dew, and Milk [for pina-coladas] - this has taken me from downright grumpy to oddly perky in 2 hours flat)

Thus, my menu for the evening (with my apologies to dietitians and calories everywhere):

1st course: Grandma's potato salad - Who's grandma? I do not know - apparently there is some grandma out there who does nothing but sit around and make potato salad for Jewel. I mean, it's kinda freaky when you think about it - would you eat a "meat" sandwich? Then why potato salad made by some ubiquitous "Grandma" figure that is probably a surly 20 year old in a hair-net?

2nd course: cookies - created by the goddess of deliciousness, my sister.

3rd course: Pot Pie (of course) - a turkey and mushroom gourmet pot pie. Can anything that comes in a cardboard box with its own microwave instructions be legitimately be called gourmet?

Beverage: Mt. Dew - proud sponsor of dislocated shoulders, road rash, and hyper-extended knees everywhere.

10th week.

ahhh 10th week - the time for all those little neuroses and facial tics to kick in - a time of caffeine, of fast food, of alcohol, and of toner cartridges mysteriously running empty in the middle of a printout. This is that moment when every grad students' nerves are twanging, when they wake up from the middle of a dream in a cold sweat muttering "My god! Kantian aesthetics and the sublime! I have to say this in my paper! How will I say this in my paper?!" and then fall back into a semi-sleep where they occasionally jerk a leg and words like "liminal", "instantiate", "uncanny", "aporia", and above all "Times New Roman" escape through their tightly clenched teeth.

It's moments like this that let you know you're alive - in the Buddhist sense, of course, where existence is suffering.

Personally? I'm attempting to navigate all that picky little crap work that I have been putting off in my papers. My first drafts are fast and loose, usually with large sections missing and a helpful comment in red going "Insert argument about liminality here". These are indecipherable later (although at the time I swear I knew what I was talking about). This is also the time of the Appendix, the Endnote, and the "insert quote here" that I never got around to doing. It is also the moment for last minute source-finding on random little things that I swore to myself that I would find a source for (like the prevalence of diamonds as used in wedding rings in the 1860's, the various incarnations of the language of flowers, and the actual text for the vows in a Christian or (if possible Catholic) wedding ceremony). Oh, and of course, it's the moment for revisions and additions to an argument that I thought was just fine a week ago. Just a week to go, folks, but assuming my continued rate of progress, an absence of any carnivorous plants showing up in my bedroom, and the assistance of a miracle from some god-like entity - I just might make it.

Newly edited for my sanity.

That's right, folks - you can say all you want about blogging integrity, but I am willing to turn tail and run when the need arises. I have heard of the possibility for some importantly scary people to see this blog who would not like what I have written. This leads me to several questions and in my not-really-famous-but-I-like-to-think-so-way, I will number them for you.

1) I am a graduate student. My life is an unending series of flaming hoops through which to jump, and people whose nether-regions I must kiss. I have no interest in making my life any harder than it is.

2) Anyone who goes looking for comments about themselves should be careful - you never know what you're going to find - and if you'll like it once you find it. I am honest, often brutally so, but hey - that's just a friendly service provided by your local KT.

3) After careful analysis of all of the previous posts - they now contain what I would be willing to say to someone's face. My integrity is now in not hiding behind the relative anonymity of this medium.

Becky, forgive me. You were correct, and I am an incredible idiot.

Becky - as I have been promising to post - is one of the few friends that I have left outside of Chicago. Very cool - likes chunky jewelry and has a fascination with screen-printed plates that I cannot comprehend, and which is yet oddly cool and indescribably funkalicious. She has a real job, unlike us graduate students, and is the voice of sanity and reason in my otherwise academically ingrown life. My particular favorites are when she calls me up and tells me that I am working too hard, talking life too seriously, and need to go drink. Everyone needs friends like this - they are the little drop of crazy glue that keeps all your mental faculties together. Of course - I do the same, telling her that she needs to leave work sometime before 3am and dragging her against her will to the tortilla-chip bliss that is Chili’s [why the apostrophe? I do not know].

We've been through hell and back together, and I wouldn't trade her even for a particularly shiny Swarovski rhinestone tiara (and that is saying a LOT, dear readers, if you know anything about my predilection for shiny objects and costume jewelry).

With this in mind - I dedicate yet another cocktail in honor of the friendship of Becky [knowing full well that since her and my tastes differ on almost everything, I will love it and she will hate it or vise-versa]:

Pink Lady: (this needs explanation, as Becky is NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES TO BE UNDERSTOOD AS A GIRLY GIRL - despite her rather large collection of handbags and propensity to buy pink things)

caster (superfine) sugar, for frosting
1 1/2 measures Plymouth gin
1/2 measure grenadine, plus extra for frosting
1/2 measure double (heavy) cream
1/4 measure lemon juice
1 measure egg white.

"Dip the rim of the champagne saucer into grenadine and then into caster sugar to create a bright pink, frosted rim. Shake the cocktail ingredients with ice and strain into the prepared glass. Garnish with a cherry"

Despite the egg white (or without it altogether) I am sure that this creamy pink delight would match perfectly with the bag with the big pink B on it.

Hummus pizza? Who knew?

Good night, bad BAD dancing - Jett doing disturbing german accented improv interpretations to "justify my love"; if I could even figure out how to instantiate someone's alterity, I would, just for kicks and giggles. Dear god - if every day could only be that amusing.

Oddly helpful day.

Dear readers -- today was a good day.

My presentation went better than could possibly be hoped (X smiled when I was finished! Hallelujah!), and this means that tonight I can sit here and blog instead of running to the library in order to do massive amounts of research to change the paper that I already have (mostly) written.

But today was more about being someone to bounce ideas off of than actually producing ideas of my own, and I'm feeling really good about this.

First - I saw three cats on Harper St. this morning. Now, I know it's going to be a good day when I see one, but three means that it will be extra special nice [I feel (totally unscientifically) that I have some sort of affinity with cats, and thus by fiat I have decided they are good luck for me]. And today, I helped three people with their papers today (1 in class, one over lunch, and one over a second lunchette I was talked into for the glory of fried chicken). Coincidence? I think not.

So with my highly unscientific assessment of the supernatural situational alignment that led to my being useful to others today, this either means that I am totally done for the day helping people with their papers, or, alternately, that I am some kind of paper-problem-solving machine for the day, capable of rendering vague but cool ideas into a structural form.

That said, if anyone wants help, tonight is the night to call. Of course, if the previous of the two statements is true I will steer you in totally the wrong way, but you pays your money and you takes your chances.

SO this is it...

Ok, I'm ready - I have two pages of outline to support me, I have my convictions behind me, I have apathy working in my favor - I am ready to give this presentation. Hopefully *crosses fingers* everyone will say totally random and uninteresting things about it and bat it around ineffectually and then move on. The other option, of course, is that they will find a big flaw that I don't know about (or that X will hate it).

We shall see how it all works out! - Tomorrow I will let you know if it was a rip-roaring success, a miserable failure, or an eh.

With that particular rant bracketed, my life is otherwise good - I'm thinking in the cosmic sense here, i.e. ignoring the big pile of laundry and dishes that I need to do, and the milk in my fridge that has gone a bit more than off [More like OFF]. Is it bad when the vegetables say hello in the morning? I would like to throw them out, but they seem to be building some kind of primitive aqueduct using my celery and bottled water, and I would hate to cut them off in the midst of their cultural achievements. I draw the line with the mini toothpick siege machines - the ones that hurl olives. When they reach the seige warfare stage, the zucchini will have to go.

I can no longer live on packaged tuna; I may have to venture out to the bell-o-taco tonight (may the culinary gods forgive me)