My blog is pointless.

What a wonderful thing to read after having yet another conversation about my current state of depression and frustration with the bullshit that makes up a graduate career (see comment on previous post).

I'm attempting to not slip back into the bitterness that consumed my personality at the UofC, but frankly, I'm having a rough time of it.

So - Coxxy, Fuck you. I write because this is one of the few places where I can say a few nice things, entertain my friends, and waste time while I attempt to avoid grading papers, reading for my orals, and dealing with pedagogical bullshit. In addition, fuck you because you made me feel even more crappy on a day when I really didn't need to feel crappy. And Fuck you because not everything that I write has to be politically, anthropologically, sociologically, historically, morally, or even entertainingly relevant - I write enough on enough depressing history and politics during the day (see: gothicist) for that shit to completely control my outside life too.

Case in point, I just had to ask the boyfriend for a detailed account of how one is "hanged by the neck until dead" so that I can relate the subtleties inherent in Bierce's telling of "An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge". Speaking of which - the force of a70kg man falling about 1.5 meters is about 686 newtons, which shoves your odontiod process [bony appendage to 2nd cervical vertebrae] through your spinal column. If it doesn’t work on the first drop (the major force), then you strangle to death. I have to know this bullshit to back up my reading of the subtleties of the speaker's relationship to his strangulation vs. actual hanging as it relates to his vision of the grey eyes of the federal solider that shoots at him (the confederate vs. federal troops in the civil war) and his obsession with "grey"- thus his obsession with the south destroying itself perhaps because he is secretly opposed to slavery (because really he should have been in the military). Blah Blah Blah. All for my students all for tomorrow - what a charming conversation to have with my love - and he knows all of this because he had to take apart a human being piece by piece.

So if my life isn't depressing enough - then you come along to make it just a little more shitty. I am not required to account for my usage of this free webspace, nor am I required to live up to some random blogging standard.

So fucking fuck off you arrogant fucker.

And don't read my blog.

Let's talk about brand loyalty...

So usually I don't care a bit if the stuff I'm using comes from one place or another. I'm too poor for moral scruples and I don't usually have the patience for department store sales.

But my pen - my pen is important to me.

So I was thinking - gosh, Katie, you're almost out of ink in your favorite pen!

That was darn right - I was almost out of ink in my favorite Pilot V5 Rollerball liquid ink Extra Fine Pink Pen.

Yes, pink.

So I'm looking around online and can't seem to find the cool 3-pak of pink, turquoise and violet that I bought before. Maybe it was just the office supply store I was looking at...

Tried another, nope.

And another.

Turns out that they don't actually sell these pens in the US (I learn via the Pilot pen website). The only place to get them is the UK, and that the fact that I got it in the first place was a total fluke.

Now I'm determined - I want my damn pens. So I look at UK office supply stores but overseas shipping costs are prohibitive - like 40GBP i.e. $74.58. Damn! For a split second I contemplate actually buying them - but that would be truly insane.
Art stores? No!
Specialty stationary stores? Shit, no!

And then I finally found an obscure auction of V5 pens on ebay, I just bought 14 pens for the delightful price of $10.75. I’m currently contemplating going and getting the other posted set.

After 3 hours of searching I breathed a sigh of relief. My pens are on their way. Some may think this to be perhaps a little odd, but think of how assiduously you search for that one sweater or that particular brand of hand moisturizer. Now, when the sweet, unblemished, pastel lines of my pens mark my students' papers; I know that both they and I am getting the best markings that writing implements can make.

On Freaking Out.

Hello all,

This is just a friendly note to inform you that KT is babbling incoherently on the floor. She sat down with a calendar and her orals lists today and figured out that she needs to read 4.8 items a week to read everything for her orals.

She is currently reading Last of the Mohicans while shoveling beef stew into her mouth and muttering something about instantiating the sublimity of the supernatural in Native American mythos.

She also would like to inform you that she will now be living in the Regenstein on the 2nd floor instead of the departmental lounge (except for Mondays - when she abandons all hope for productivity).

I'm sure this will pass - or she will pass out. You know, whichever.

Signed,
Her Computer

I feel like the biggest bitch right now.

I had to smack 'em hard today. Papers were handed back and I saw misty eyes hurrying for the door.

If only my students knew that giving them bad grades makes me feel shitty too.

I also had to lay down the law about attendance and assignments, as well as personally remind people that they are slacking.

Shiiiit.

So I'm in the Reg, contemplating work I must do and what I'm going to say to all of them on Friday...

Urk - wish me luck.

Weekend fun.

I currently have a headache. But I feel that this headache was so well earned with fun yesterday and this morning that frankly - it almost feels good.

Last night I grabbed the train down to meet the ever-convivial prenebriated Jett and his charming roommate Jacob for dinner @ Leonas. The sign, I am told, has slowly been losing letters - so Leonas became Leons and now it is simply eons - which is apparently a warning to indicate to prospective patrons how long it will take for your waitress to arrive.

Ok, so the help wasn't great, but the food was amazing (some complicated chicken-pico-avacado-mayo-sandwich-thingy with a side of pesto pasta). Yum. This was preceded by the most obscenely large long island I have ever seen. This bugger was three times the size of a bar long island and was flavored with peach schnapps - making it delicious and deceptively non-alcoholic tasting.

Post dinner we headed down to meet Steph and Carl for further inebriation at a bar whose name I cannot remember, but which had really good lemon drops. At some point during the evening I decided I needed a cigar - so Steph and I ran over to the Walgreens to grab something cheap. After wandering (quite drunk by this time) into the store and being vaguely confused at the utter lack of clerks, we began to wander around - eventually coming up0n a rather shocked stocker who informed us that they were already closed for the evening and how did we get in there anyways? (I probably would have been more embarrassed about the whole deal, but frankly this did not seem odd to me at the time, and I imagine that we didn't look all that threatening in matching knit black-cat hats with ears and pom-poms.) Making a hasty retreat, we ran to the liquor store across the street where the man behind the counter insisted on petting the ears. Odd.

Aaaaanyways, we had a great evening - there was impromptu dancing, and I crashed Chez Steph and Carl on a very comfortable futon. (I also had my very first ride in a cab! Yippee!) This morning, vaguely hungover, we all watched TV and my charming hosts concocted something ultra delicious for breakfast using tortillas and french fries and eggs and salsa and cheese and sour cream, and really - it was astonishingly good. Steph and Carl are so cool.

So I am back at my apartment, thinking about curling up for an afternoon nap and then reading for Monday. What a delightful weekend.

Since I seem to be posting a lot today why stop now?

Allyson played me this song, and I think the world should hear it.

http://www.deirdreflint.com/media/The_Boob_Fairy.mp3

it is positively hysterical.

do you remember me?

I looked at myself in the mirror this morning

"self, you're looking pretty crappy"
"thanks, brat, you're looking pretty unpleasant yourself this morning."
"do you even remember who I am anymore?"
"Of course - you're KT"
"and..."
"a grad student"
"great - I always wanted that as my marker in the world"
"well, what do you want?"
"I want to be a grown-up"
"sorry babe, you have a few years to wait"
"I WANT TO BE A GROWN UP!"
"you're acting childish."
"I WANT A LIFE RIGHT NOW! - I DEMAND A LIFE OF MY OWN RIGHT NOW!"
"wait"
"wait?"
"yes, wait."
"I'm always waiting - I've been waiting"
"doesn't matter - you have to wait"
"and a house?"
"wait"
"and a husband?"
"wait"
"and a job?"
"wait"
"and children?"
"wait"
"and not moving every year or two?"
"wait"
"are we there yet?"
"no."
"will we ever be?"
"wait and see"

I just finished grading papers.

I would go into the subjectiveness of grading, but my students might come upon this blog and I don't want to deal with the fallout.

I am currently in my bathrobe and jammies, wrapped in a duckie blanket and doing a little foot dance.

I often wondered what my professors wore / did while grading my papers - so for those of you interested, I procrastinated by:

Making tea
Making bread
Singing in the shower
Falling asleep
Jumping on my sofa
Jumping on my bed
Running around in circles in my living room
Doing a headstand (that turned out rather poorly - I should check the wall for nails first)
Making beef stew
Making salmon salad
Painting my toenails
Surfing on Ebay
Sewing a quilt
Blogging
Designing a little sheet on excel to house my students' names and grades
etc.

I have decided that paper grading leads to cooking as an inevitable consequence. I haven't cooked so much in a week since, ever. Everyone I know is welcome to come share in my culinary excesses - just let me know first so I can clean my whipping-worthy apartment of shame. It has sprouted what I like to call "work centers" but what are actually "projects I haven't bothered to clean up." These tend to dominate all surfaces of the apartment and are usually composed of paper, fabric, and sharp things with handles.

Now all I have to do is think up something interesting to say about "Gorilla, My Love," which frankly, I don't understand at all. I have to teach this to a room full of anxious students who just really want to know how they did on their paper (which I have now graded but have to give to Veeder for a 2nd grade). Maybe I'll pull a "what did you think?" or "how do the names the main character adopts change / mitigate / instantiate her personality?"

Maybe if I use a lot of jargon they won't notice.

I would work on this tonight, but really, I'm tired out and need to relax. I think I'll read Last of the Mohicans (orals), which Berlant calls "Last of the Moes" for which I will always love her .

Ooooh - stew's ready!

Headache.

I have just found out that reading poor prose has the ability to cause me physical pain. Thus - grading papers has given me a headache.

Aw, piss.

If I finish 5 every day, then I will have them all done by Friday. 4 down, 1 to go.

How long should I be spending grading a paper? I'm down to about 1 hour per... but I think that this is probably too long.

Anyway - Happy Birthday to Allyson who is currently in class. You are the scholar I could never be. I wish you much drunkenness in the next few days.

Ok... I'm better now.

Peppermint has rendered me incapable of smelling anything.

While talking to the boyfriend on the phone he murmurs something about "psychotic break" and "phantom smells". - That's what you get for dating a psychiatrist.

Of course, I'm still jacked up on caffine - so I can't sleep yet. Maybe I'll grade papers until I get tired (that shouldn't take too long).

There's this smell.

I don't know if it's because I've been grading papers for 4 hours, or because I drank a lot of coffee today, or perhaps a combination of the two - but smells are totally driving me nuts.

I readily agree that some of my senses don't work so well. I can't hear for shit, I have lost feeling in the tips of most of my fingers (metalsmithing will do that to you), and I have a palate as advanced as the next ravenous wolf.

But sight and smell are the two that actually function with some kind of accuracy.

Except today, or, especially today.

I could smell the gasoline off the car in front of me on the freeway, I could smell the coffee I drank on my skin 2 hours later, I could smell the inkjet vs. lazer ink on the papers I have to grade. My kitchen smells of gas although all the burners are off, and my radiators smell hot. And there is some mysterious smell from this particular kind of really annoying decaying berry on the tree outside that is driving me batshit insane and caused me to crawl around my apartment like a bloodhound with my nose to the floor trying to detect the funk.

If this seems odd, that's because it is - Currently I'm going the carpetbombing route of full on burning peppermint oil strikes. If the funk persists, I may have to get the flamethrower.

wait -- is... my... neighbor... making...fried... rice... again? NOOOOOOOO!

Peanut Butter and Jelly.

I think that this delighful food has been woefully ignored by the elite culinary world for too long.

maybe I have been watching too much Iron Chef.

I was in Trader Joe's the other day and found a jar of cashew butter. Failing to buy it, and then kicking myself for having failed to buy it; I went home to seek what little solace I could find in the humble creamy Jif. Being health-conscious (although what level of consciousness remains to be determined), I had bought the reduced-fat variety one day at the store. I also had some sugar-free strawberry jam and potato bread from my breadmaker.

I have resolutely avoided the PB&J since childhood when my father (believing it to be the world's most perfect food) made us sandwiches for any meal of which he was in charge.

Somehow, however, this particular sandwich was really good. Really really good. I started thinking about how shocking it would be to go to a chef and say "I want crushed exotic nuts creamed with sugar and spread over freshly baked bread- served with sweetened crushed vine-ripened fruit." THAT sounds exquisite. In fact, the PB&J is downright decadent.

Clearly I am killing time. You see - I talk to the boyfriend at 9, and it is currently 7:30, which means that I only have 1.5 hours before I go run on the treadmill. This is not enough time to do really anything except perhaps blog and fool around on the internet. I'm feeling way way too lazy for a craft project, and I have nowhere to dry cashmere. I don't want to read, can't sleep, and I'm not hungry. I just took a shower, and it's Sunday so everything is closed.

You know what I'm talking about right? One of THOSE evenings - where you are bored and restless.

So perhaps I'll plan my week:

Orals: Last of the Mohicans, Kant (really, this week I'll actually do it), Edgar Huntly or Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, and probably Lefanu or Poe or someone easy.

Teaching: Read Carver and whatever I'm supposed to teach on Friday (oh I am such a slacker) - grade papers

Office hours: tomorrow, which will either be swamped or deserted depending (as there is a paper due that day).

Social: Nothin' yet.

Crafts: Work on the throw, start on Theoden crown for Brian, and storyboards - yes - storyboards.

I am not a super-spy.

I am, however, after a visit to Amber's fantastic bar "Old Town Pub" in - you guessed it - Old Town, and the liberal application of post-driving booze chez moi - drunk.

Which means that if I can coordinate my fingers and such to type I will probably say something interesting, or - most likely, not.

And since I currently have a drink in hand (actually it's still in the bottle - so I am inhabiting a persona here - or rather I am inhabiting the futurity of myself - soon to be more drunk) I raise this metaphorical glass in a toast to:

1) my brilliant class of undergrads - who, although initially reluctant to speak, are some of the smartest little buggers in the history of undergrads and continually make discussion a joy and a treat.

2) to Noelle - who has had a crappy holiday and really deserves some kind of toast in her honor (even if the super-spy event has collapsed).

3) to foot baths - because you keep my feet warm and frisky and relaxed.

4) to appletinis - because (although I agree with Jett that you are not real drinks) you are, however, delicious and oh so alcoholic.

5) to anyone, anywhere who thinks that a good smack on the ass is a little bit fun

6) to the abject object in the back of my refrigerator that constantly avoids my "gaze" in an attempt to avoid the instantiation of rejection and thus refuse or "garbage".

7) to my sister, of whom I have seen neither hide nor hair for many days - in hopes that her muffin baking exploits are going well.

8) to my boy's "Knights of the Old Republic" Jedi character who has apparently blown up a man-eating shark -- you go girl --

9) to drink to drink to drink to drink to drink!

10) to talking to friends who are progressively becoming more drunk on the phone.

11) And also, with a parting bow, to cashmere - soft, sweet, brushed from the bellies of goats, and the most delightful and cosy garment on the planet. (I am currently on an expedition? exploit? excursion? to get my sister to raise cashmere goats on her farm - thus creating a never-ending cycle of cashmere goodness. Is this over the top? totally - Am I over the top? yes Am I sane? not tonight).

Cheers!

Duh.

So apparently somewhere along the way I forgot that graduate school is supposed to be a LEARNING experience. Apparently my brain found no room for mistakes of any kind and believed that all profs. expected me to come to school with a complete working knowledge of everything and the ability to write perfect prose.

Clearly this is wrong - and I figured out just how wrong today.

So I went to see Berlant - hanging my head in shame for this horrible (and upon rereading, incomprehensible) paper that I had written for her. And she was really nice and listened to me as I babbled on about how I usually don't write this poorly, and that I think I became obsessed with my archive etc. for, like, half an hour. And then she leans over and says what has obviously been on my mind the entire time "don't worry, I still respect you"

And I ran into the lounge and told a fellow student "she still respects me, even after that shitty paper!". At this moment, a professor who had been sitting in the lounge (unseen by me) started laughing aloud. And it comes to me in a triple shock 1) they expect us to make mistakes 2) the reason I was so upset about the paper isn't that I did poorly, but rather that I was tryingt to impress her and failed, and 3) she knew all that and said just the right thing to make me feel better.

Rock. and yet - Duh.

Damn I can be thickheaded sometimes.

Weekend.

Picked up the boyfriend in Milwaukee on Saturday evening and met Ivan and Al for dinner and movies @ my place. Mulan was watched, some extrodinary vodka-cream-spinach-pasta was had and merry conversation escaped from the lips of happy friends. This morning we all went out for Tiffin goodness surmounted by marzipans dipped in chocolate. Then I drove back up to Milwaukee to drop the boy back off at the Badger Bus terminal (sadly sending him back to Madisonia).

Alas.

Tonight I will drink an appletini, crawl in bed, plan my week, and possibly read - all else failing I will sleep.

Tomorrow I will awake refreshed and ready to attack the Regenstein with the full force of my studious nature - or a stick, you know, whichever

Captain's log, stardate er... whenever: addendum

So after writing my perky post-teaching post I attempted to remove a zip-tie from some packaging material using a trusty folding knife.

I bet you all know what's coming.

Of course I cut myself with said knife for about 1in across my thumb (1/8 in deep). I pull out the knife and walk over to the bathroom and have this internal conversation:

"self, that has to be one of the moronic things that you have ever done"
"tops off a great day, don't it?"
"yeah - um... this doesn't look so good"
"no, it doesn't"
"should we go to the ER?"
"call the boyfriend - he'll know what to do"

having formed this resolution staring at my reflection in the mirror, I grabbed a clean towel, put my thumb way way above my head and grabbed the cell.

My wonderful and concerned boy thought I would need stitches for that size cut.

piss.

So I change clothes, pack up some books, and wander over to the Northwestern ER. - The people were delightful, and they had me out of there in less than an hour (not a busy night).

There was really only one problem. I'm allergic to lidocane. That means no anesthetic, folks. I can say with absolute certainty that really - stitches hurt like a bitch.

now I am back at home and my whole arm aches. And I need to get dinner. And I didn't get my liquor. I think I can think of a good way to solve all of these problems together. It's off to a pub for me tonight.

Teaching.

So I taught my first ever discussion section today. I think it went pretty well, but there were a few minor snags that I should note - since I am tired and about to hit the sauce... I will make it as brief as possible.

1. I accidentally insulted a student.
2. They hated my interpretation and thought it was untenable.
3. I believe that they think I am a moron.
4. I have no idea what we talked about or if it made any sense whatsoever.

On the good side...

1. they talked ALL HOUR!
2. they talked to one another and not just to me (there was, like, a real discussion)
3. People laughed at my jokes.
4. They smiled.
5. I let them go home early.
6. Someone who was being annoying apologized for his annoyingness after class!
7. Someone came up after class and said that she secretly agreed with my interpretation all along.

Thus, good outnumbered bad almost 2 to 1 and I am happy. Thanks to Steph for calming me down afterwards and offering helpful advice. Thanks to Amber who so graciously hosted me in her apartment the evening before after we abandoned the Evanston bar scene (oh so sad) for the exotic banana-vanilla rum in her cupboard.
Ah winter quarter - you will be survived.

My mother.

My mother is one of the most charmingly wonderful yet strangely helpfully annoying people on the planet.

Let me relate to you a conversation that happened this morning:

9:05 am (if you are a grad student you understand that I am NEVER awake this early) [home phone rings 10 times]

[I roll over and pull my pillow over my head in a vain attempt to recapture that delightful dream about beaches, and boats and some kind of entertaining nightlife]

9:06 am [cell phone rings] since it is plugged in near my head there is now no chance whatsoever of remembering what I was dreaming so a hand emerges from the blanket-cocoon and grasps the cell

"Hello?"
"Katie, it's your mother" (tones of urgency in her voice)
"Hi" (muzzy thinking is just registering the idea that mom=parent=someone I should talk to
"You didn't answer your home phone - I let it ring a long time"
"I was asleep"
"Oh no! I'm so sorry (is she really sorry? who can tell?) I just wanted to give you a call and let you know what's going on"
(suddenly wide awake) "what's the matter?"
"it's snowing"
"..."
"Katie? It's snowing"
"yes... and..."
"and its supposed to get worse through the day - I've been watching the TV, and you are supposed to get a lot of snow this afternoon - its a winterweatheradvisorysoyoushouldprobablypacksomeclothesinyourcarjustincaseyougettrappeddown inhydepark"
"uh.."
"so you can stay with a friend because by the time the plows come through your car may be buried in snow and then you won't have anything to get yourself out with"
"I keep a shovel in my trunk?"
"you should call someone just in case and really you should get down there soon because you're in the window of less snow right now and soon it's going to start snowing harder and you'll have a hard time getting down there so you don't want to miss your window."
"window?"
"window when its not snowing - you might want to think about heading out soon - your class is over late, isn't it - it might be too snowy to drive home so you should think about staying at a friend's house"
"ok mom, I'll pack some underwear"
"you might be stuck for a few days" (seriously)
"ok."
"sorry I called you so early"
"ok"
"I love you"
"I love you too, mom"
"you know I just worry about you"
"I know"
etc...

**sigh**

It would be more charming if this didn't happen all the time. She finally stopped calling me about the severe thunderstorm watches and warnings, tornado watches and warnings, heavy fog, and freezing rain... but there's something about snow that lingers. Of course, now she's intensly apologetic when she calls - knowing that it is annoying, but also torn with the idea that if she doesn't warn me then if something happens to me she will be responsible (how this works, I'm not sure). Although I would prefer to have a mother that thought about me enough to make sure I am safe compared to someone who didn't - I've come to treasure these little moments in the morning. They aren't as annoying as they used to be, somehow. I think that this is her version of still tucking me in at night and making sure that there aren't any monsters in my closet or under my bed.

licking the flagpole - and other Wisconsin wonders

In Wisconsin last weekend something happened which is - I believe - one of the most annoying and not immediately life threatening weather phenomenon on earth: freezing rain.

This was no ordinary slush storm. It rained, then everything froze solid (creating a nice thick layer of ice) and then it warmed up just enough to rain again but not thaw the ice crust. Rain+cold+more rain= more slippery than a greased weasel in jello.

I pride myself on being somewhat hardy in winter weather, but when I fell down 3 #&!*ing times on my way to the mailbox, I knew that something was horribly, horribly wrong. Since I blame everything up to and including acts of God on the parking enforcement in Madison, I sat in the middle of an icy sidewalk in cold, soaked blue jeans and shook my fist impotently in the direction of the nearest "2 hour parking" sign. With a sigh I attempted to reach my car, only to find that I could not actually get up enough traction to get over the slight convexity of the roadway.

Of course this was New Year’s Day. Of course every place that delivers food was closed (DAMN YOU GUMBYS!), so of course the boyfriend and I, clinging to trees, rocks, and fences had to make our way to the nearest Shell station in order to buy an overpriced frozen pizza for dinner.

All of this bitterness was dissolved the moment we made it to Harvey street with its sloping curves and gently pitched sidewalks.

We skated all the way home hand in hand.

Delightful return to seeming normality.

I'm back - I know, I know, you're all looking at this screen smiling and shaking you head... scrolling down to see the last 5 times that I said I was back and failed to actually inhabit backness.

This time is different. This time I have to CA MWF, so I actually have to stay in town. The boyfriend is back on rotation, my orals are in full swing (meeting tomorrow), and my social life is back to semi-normality. This is long long overdue.

I hate to complain, because my holidays really were fantastic - but there is something to be said for dieting, running, working, getting up at a reasonable time and cooking my own dinner - not to mention actually sleeping in my own bed in my own apartment. I have not slept in the same bed for more than 5 nights for the past 2 months (usually a different one every 3). Madison, Racine (my parents) , Florida, Racine (his parents), Madison, Rochester, Chicago, Racine (my parents) --- you get the picture. I knew that it was bad when I tried to remember where I have been in the last 2 weeks and kept getting confused. I tried to think back and there have been 3 consecutive months of houseguests or travel - which means my apartment is horrifying and my car is loaded down with miles. I'm looking forward to sitting back and experiencing the fine comfort of solitude and my apartment interspersed with SHORT trips to Hyde Park and afternoon meetings with friends. I never thought I would get sick of driving, but there it is.

I have, however, had an delightfully pleasant day topped off with aparagus, carmelized onions, and hummus on flour tortillas (a concoction of Jett's roommate Jacob which I shamefully stole for my personal recipe collection). I currently have a loaf of bread baking away in my new breadmaker, and my apartment is filling with that fresh baked bread smell.

I'm rambling. It's late and I need sleep.

I promise I will post more often.

--KT