I will be more productive for the remainder of the semester.
I will get all of the assignments currently in my possession graded by Friday.
I will exercise 3 times this week.
I will enjoy the Film Festival this weekend.
I will take Vitamin C every day this week.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
A total crap day
Woke up in a panic. Tea and pancakes helped the panic subside. Did no grading. Went to Goodwill, tried on blazers. Blazers do not look attractive on my body. Despaired of ever being able to look professional and adult. Realized that I need a haircut. Cannot afford to go to my regular haircut guy. Purchased a copy of Watchmen. Realized have no time to actually read Watchmen, b/c must work on research. Took class on tour of art museum. Everyone showed up on time, but they did not really pay attention or take notes. I don't know how I will represent the information presented today on the exam. Started to freak out about writing exams and quizzes. Came home. Bus was full. Apparently am suddenly the crazy lady who smiles and talks to strangers' babies. Baby did not smile back. Am possibly quite monstrous and scary to babies. Had to sit on sideways facing seat on bus. Subsequently felt carsick. No interesting mail or email. Am here alone, except for cats. Have promised to prepare dinner, have no energy for making dinner. Panic has returned, full blast. May possibly throw up or cry. Joyous.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Wit escapeth me...
Last week was Spring Break. I did many productive things. Such as:
Other than loving being on vacation, I've been feeling kind of blah lately. And now that vacation is over, I'm left with the blah, plus the guilt for all the actually productive things I promised myself I'd get done over vacation, but didn't. Can I have another week off, please? I promise I'll spend it in the library...
- Purchase a new bike.
- Ride said bike.
- Grade papers.
- Work on quilt project.
- Learn to knit lace.
- Read the final 4 Harry Potter books for the zillionth time.
- Sleep.
Other than loving being on vacation, I've been feeling kind of blah lately. And now that vacation is over, I'm left with the blah, plus the guilt for all the actually productive things I promised myself I'd get done over vacation, but didn't. Can I have another week off, please? I promise I'll spend it in the library...
Monday, March 9, 2009
The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle... the PETA version.
It took me about 12 months to become a fairly strict lacto-ovo vegetarian.
It started with a lenten resolution. Going off to a fairly hippie college and becomming friends with a lot of vegetarians was the next step. The cafeteria mystery meat made the whole path easier. By the time the next spring had rolled around, not only was I not observing Lent, I was convinced that I would never want to eat meat again.
I still don't observe Lent, not in the traditional sense of abstention and pre-Easter purification. But I have started eating meat again.
I stopped practicing regular lacto-ovo-vegetarianism a few years ago, and began occasional forays into the world of pescatarianism. However, I still publically identified as a vegetarian - just "one who eats fish" despite the fact that that term is self-contradictory, and that it used to make me really really angry. Why did I do it? For the same reason all the other people that I used to be so stinkin' self-righteous about did it - nobody knows the difference between a pescatarian and a muscatarian or a vascatarian or a secretarian, and the people of this world, bless their collective souls, are more able and willing to wrap their minds around a contradiction in terms than a new latin term. Also, I just got tired of explaining it all the time.
But, yes. Now I don't just eat fish-that-are-not-vegetables, I also eat meat-that-is-not-a-vegetable. Like cows and chickens and stuff.
It still bothers me that something has to die so that I may be nourished, but I am more comfortable now with the way that life circles.
The violent, inhumane way that most meat animals are treated in this country is still a problem for me, but I am comfortable purchasing meat from responsible farmers who treat their animals well.
I used to feel that I was making an environmental impact by choosing to eat low on the trophic scale. I now feel that I can make more of an environmental impact by trying to eat locally and with the seasons.
I am not any kind of a vegetarian any more.
I am scared to be public about this, because I do not want people to expect me to eat meat as a given. I'm certainly not a meatatarian just because I'm not a vegetarian. The smell of raw meat still squicks me out. I still don't like the texture and taste of some meats. I still eat mostly vegetables/grains, etc, but every once in a while, I eat some meat. A few bites of chicken or beef, a soup made with home-made stock, a few bits of some kind of salty, cured meat added to a stew for flavor? Sure, I eat that. But I would probably gag if I tried to eat a pork chop or hamburger.
There is no comfortable label for my new eating practices. I liked having a label. It simplified things.
It started with a lenten resolution. Going off to a fairly hippie college and becomming friends with a lot of vegetarians was the next step. The cafeteria mystery meat made the whole path easier. By the time the next spring had rolled around, not only was I not observing Lent, I was convinced that I would never want to eat meat again.
I still don't observe Lent, not in the traditional sense of abstention and pre-Easter purification. But I have started eating meat again.
I stopped practicing regular lacto-ovo-vegetarianism a few years ago, and began occasional forays into the world of pescatarianism. However, I still publically identified as a vegetarian - just "one who eats fish" despite the fact that that term is self-contradictory, and that it used to make me really really angry. Why did I do it? For the same reason all the other people that I used to be so stinkin' self-righteous about did it - nobody knows the difference between a pescatarian and a muscatarian or a vascatarian or a secretarian, and the people of this world, bless their collective souls, are more able and willing to wrap their minds around a contradiction in terms than a new latin term. Also, I just got tired of explaining it all the time.
But, yes. Now I don't just eat fish-that-are-not-vegetables, I also eat meat-that-is-not-a-vegetable. Like cows and chickens and stuff.
It still bothers me that something has to die so that I may be nourished, but I am more comfortable now with the way that life circles.
The violent, inhumane way that most meat animals are treated in this country is still a problem for me, but I am comfortable purchasing meat from responsible farmers who treat their animals well.
I used to feel that I was making an environmental impact by choosing to eat low on the trophic scale. I now feel that I can make more of an environmental impact by trying to eat locally and with the seasons.
I am not any kind of a vegetarian any more.
I am scared to be public about this, because I do not want people to expect me to eat meat as a given. I'm certainly not a meatatarian just because I'm not a vegetarian. The smell of raw meat still squicks me out. I still don't like the texture and taste of some meats. I still eat mostly vegetables/grains, etc, but every once in a while, I eat some meat. A few bites of chicken or beef, a soup made with home-made stock, a few bits of some kind of salty, cured meat added to a stew for flavor? Sure, I eat that. But I would probably gag if I tried to eat a pork chop or hamburger.
There is no comfortable label for my new eating practices. I liked having a label. It simplified things.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
It's rain-snowing outside, and to keep the melancholy at bay I've got a pot of spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove. Instead of melancholy, nostalgia comes rushing into my heart as the house fills with the smell of garlic, tomatoes, roasty olive oil and black pepper. I've been eating this same spaghetti since before I can remember - the picture from my first birthday party show me wearing it on my face. We ate spaghetti once a week growing up, if at all possible, then on a Thursday, we eat it for Christmas Eve, and now every time I go home to visit, my mom makes spaghetti to welcome me.
It's one of those organic family recipies - I couldn't tell you how to make it if I tried, because I don't measure anything - I just add this and that until "it looks right." Which is how my mom makes it. Which is how her mom made it. Which is probably also how her mother-in-law made it. It cooks on the stove all day, simmering, simmering and covering the countertops in about sixty gazillion little crimson splatters which will piss me off tomorrow, but today don't bother me a bit because they're a part of the game, and the spaghetti wouldn't taste right if I covered it with a screen while it cooked.
What do you cook when you miss home?
It's one of those organic family recipies - I couldn't tell you how to make it if I tried, because I don't measure anything - I just add this and that until "it looks right." Which is how my mom makes it. Which is how her mom made it. Which is probably also how her mother-in-law made it. It cooks on the stove all day, simmering, simmering and covering the countertops in about sixty gazillion little crimson splatters which will piss me off tomorrow, but today don't bother me a bit because they're a part of the game, and the spaghetti wouldn't taste right if I covered it with a screen while it cooked.
What do you cook when you miss home?
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Neologism
Potluck Panic: The state of frantic and or frenzied dismay one finds oneself in when one has agreed to attend a potluck, but cannot think of something appetizing to prepare for the gathering. Condition may be aggravated by a) having relatively little edible food in house and not wanting to go to grocery store on a rainy day, and b) knowing in advance that another potluck attendee is bringing something fabulous, and wanting to ALSO bring something fabulous, but not something identicle to that which Other Potluck Attendee is bringing.
Condition in those overly prone to Caring What Other People Think.
Suggested therapies include:
a) Learning to Not Give A Fuck.
b) Going To The Grocery Store.
I think I will opt for a dose of B. Pride beats Sloth today in the Smackdown of the Seven Deadlies.
Condition in those overly prone to Caring What Other People Think.
Suggested therapies include:
a) Learning to Not Give A Fuck.
b) Going To The Grocery Store.
I think I will opt for a dose of B. Pride beats Sloth today in the Smackdown of the Seven Deadlies.
Friday, March 6, 2009
I am SO blogging this
Eloise (my new laptop) and I are out and about today, and so I have the fine opportunity for sharing some of the Very Valuable Things I am Learning About Humanity with all of you lovely people in real time. yeay.
For example, two rather egotistical undergrads are sitting in the cafe next to me, studying for some sort of Philosophy Of Science exam. They are spending most of their time Talking in Very Loud Voices about how much smarter they are than their professor, who is "Far too insistant about everyone else adopting his definitions for words." It should also be noted that their profesor "is British, so there's no way we can expect to understand him as if he actually spoke English." And that in general, they find his english to be "exceptionally poor."
Also, complaning about how the sample questions on the study guide are 'ridiculously vague' and proclaiming that when the professor is SO STUPID they Just Don't Care. Oh thank god, they have just declared they should stop studying because "At this point, it's just pandering," "well, there's not much difference between pandering and understanding."
Poor, poor undergrads. Their time is so wasted here at college, doing an undergrad degree. There really is nothing they can possibly learn here. It's too, too bad and sad that they don't immediately recognize the brilliance of Some People and admit them into grad programs straight out of high school.
I told Jesse that we should also Talk In Loud Voices About Stuff That Makes Us Sound Smart, and his response was "I like hot dogs." Then we spat our tangerine seeds out on the sidewalk and wiped our drippy tangerine-juice-hands on our jeans.
I am so glad that I am not 20 and an arrogant little snot-rag any more.
Also I am glad that I do not teach philosophy classes.
For example, two rather egotistical undergrads are sitting in the cafe next to me, studying for some sort of Philosophy Of Science exam. They are spending most of their time Talking in Very Loud Voices about how much smarter they are than their professor, who is "Far too insistant about everyone else adopting his definitions for words." It should also be noted that their profesor "is British, so there's no way we can expect to understand him as if he actually spoke English." And that in general, they find his english to be "exceptionally poor."
Also, complaning about how the sample questions on the study guide are 'ridiculously vague' and proclaiming that when the professor is SO STUPID they Just Don't Care. Oh thank god, they have just declared they should stop studying because "At this point, it's just pandering," "well, there's not much difference between pandering and understanding."
Poor, poor undergrads. Their time is so wasted here at college, doing an undergrad degree. There really is nothing they can possibly learn here. It's too, too bad and sad that they don't immediately recognize the brilliance of Some People and admit them into grad programs straight out of high school.
I told Jesse that we should also Talk In Loud Voices About Stuff That Makes Us Sound Smart, and his response was "I like hot dogs." Then we spat our tangerine seeds out on the sidewalk and wiped our drippy tangerine-juice-hands on our jeans.
I am so glad that I am not 20 and an arrogant little snot-rag any more.
Also I am glad that I do not teach philosophy classes.
To be considered....
Do Carnies have children? Is the society of Carney-dom one that reproduces itself through propagation and sexual reproduction, or does it rely on recruitment a la the Shakers?
Case in point: there are people who are Carnies, but are there people who become Carnies?
But yet, have researchers ever identified a juvenile Carnie while doing field investigations?
Some traits typical to the population (small hands) may well be genetically linked. Other traits however (poor dental health/hygiene, fondness for cabbage) may just as well be a matter of socialization and social-economic position.
If, indeed Carney-dom is sexually reproductive, does one need to be concerned about genetic bottle-necking in the population? Is it likely that this is an exogamous population?
Case in point: there are people who are Carnies, but are there people who become Carnies?
But yet, have researchers ever identified a juvenile Carnie while doing field investigations?
Some traits typical to the population (small hands) may well be genetically linked. Other traits however (poor dental health/hygiene, fondness for cabbage) may just as well be a matter of socialization and social-economic position.
If, indeed Carney-dom is sexually reproductive, does one need to be concerned about genetic bottle-necking in the population? Is it likely that this is an exogamous population?
You were always on my mind
It's one of those days of false spring, when the snow is almost gone and the temp is reaching towards 50 degrees. I love and hate these days. Love them because, well, who wouldn't love a bonus day of not-having-to-wear-a-down-parka before April is officially here. Hate them because they are so tempting, so full of false hope. "Look, Spring!" they say to me. "Get out your sandals and get a pedicure. Pack away those winter things like hats and pants." After 6 years in the Midwest, I've learned not to listen too closely. One day of 50 is not a promise that my vitamins-D and -E deficient pasty skin will soon be fortified against acne with a healthy summer tan. It does not mean that it won't snow again.
It does mean that I can get my bike back out of the basement for at least one day of tooling around town. I'm a fair-weather biker. I have tons of respect and a little awe for the people who are crazy/dedicated/skilled enough to bike through Madison all winter long, but I like being reasonably warm, and reasonably not dead too much to contemplate doing it.
I love biking. I feel so strong and confident and capable when I'm out on my bike. I don't have to worry about finding a parking spot. I'm not reliant on bus schedules. It makes me feel free in that little-kid way of running across a sandy beach to get splashed by the frigid pacific waves and loving every sparkling, salty minute of it.
I've had the same hybrid for 6 years now. It's a good, sturdy bike. It was a great fit for me when I first moved here. It gets me around town, it's comfy, it built my confidence in my physical ability to be more than just an occasional rider of bikes. Now that 2+ years of yoga have strengthened my legs and improved my balance, I'm tempted by the idea of a road bike. A lot of my friends do a lot of long-distance riding during the summer. I went on one medium-distance ride with them last year - just 20 miles or so, and I loved it. It was the best Saturday ever. But my bike isn't built for longer distances than that - it's too heavy and upright, and so my muscles don't work very efficiently to power it. A 60 mile-ride is out of the question, unless I magically wake up one morning and find myself in better shape than Lance Armstrong. But I've got spring fever, and I've got it bad, and the idea of spending more glorious sunny Saturdays with friends riding along beautifully green bike routes to small rural towns for breakfasts and picnics, exploring and enjoying Wisconsin, is making me drool.
And so, I dream wistfully of road bikes, but tentatively so. I'm not the most adventurous person, nor do I always keep up with hobbies that I get interested in. See: pottery, stained glass, violin. Now the thing with the other hobbies, is that I could invest in them slowly, buying only enough materials or studio time for the current project, so when I lost interest, I didn't have a lot of residuals. But if I want to do more/ longer rides, I have to get a bike. I have to get a bike that fits my body. I'm not one to make big purchases on an impulse, so we'll see if it ever happens. But for now, it's on my mind a lot. Especially when I should be doing more productive things. Like grading. (gah).
It does mean that I can get my bike back out of the basement for at least one day of tooling around town. I'm a fair-weather biker. I have tons of respect and a little awe for the people who are crazy/dedicated/skilled enough to bike through Madison all winter long, but I like being reasonably warm, and reasonably not dead too much to contemplate doing it.
I love biking. I feel so strong and confident and capable when I'm out on my bike. I don't have to worry about finding a parking spot. I'm not reliant on bus schedules. It makes me feel free in that little-kid way of running across a sandy beach to get splashed by the frigid pacific waves and loving every sparkling, salty minute of it.
I've had the same hybrid for 6 years now. It's a good, sturdy bike. It was a great fit for me when I first moved here. It gets me around town, it's comfy, it built my confidence in my physical ability to be more than just an occasional rider of bikes. Now that 2+ years of yoga have strengthened my legs and improved my balance, I'm tempted by the idea of a road bike. A lot of my friends do a lot of long-distance riding during the summer. I went on one medium-distance ride with them last year - just 20 miles or so, and I loved it. It was the best Saturday ever. But my bike isn't built for longer distances than that - it's too heavy and upright, and so my muscles don't work very efficiently to power it. A 60 mile-ride is out of the question, unless I magically wake up one morning and find myself in better shape than Lance Armstrong. But I've got spring fever, and I've got it bad, and the idea of spending more glorious sunny Saturdays with friends riding along beautifully green bike routes to small rural towns for breakfasts and picnics, exploring and enjoying Wisconsin, is making me drool.
And so, I dream wistfully of road bikes, but tentatively so. I'm not the most adventurous person, nor do I always keep up with hobbies that I get interested in. See: pottery, stained glass, violin. Now the thing with the other hobbies, is that I could invest in them slowly, buying only enough materials or studio time for the current project, so when I lost interest, I didn't have a lot of residuals. But if I want to do more/ longer rides, I have to get a bike. I have to get a bike that fits my body. I'm not one to make big purchases on an impulse, so we'll see if it ever happens. But for now, it's on my mind a lot. Especially when I should be doing more productive things. Like grading. (gah).
Thursday, March 5, 2009
"When you grow up, your heart dies."
I wish there was a better translation for the German word "Mitgefuehl" ... It's close in concept to "Mitleid" - compassion, a suffering along with (someone) but encompasses a broader spectrum of feelings than just the rigors of suffering, Mitgefuehl is literally a feeling along with (someone). Okay, technically, it means 'empathy,' but that translation is imperfect, as translations usually are.
Now, I'm a sensitive and emotive person, and I tend to experience emotions as very present, and very extreme. I'm not exactly what you would call even-keeled. I'm exuberant or moody, but rarely just ok. I experience spontaneous Mitgefuehl sometimes, usually in response to the distress or delight of someone I'm close to. For me, it's an intense welling up of emotion, sometimes quite disconcerting because it can dislodge me from the tasks of my day and become the sole paradigm that I am able to inhabit until someone else comes along and shakes me back into reality.In general, I consider this a positive quality in myself, although I do realize that I am sometimes a little... intense, which may be off-putting to newer acquaintences for whom I (already) feel an affinity, or even to dear friends who are simply not as expressive about their emotions. What can I say - I am who I am, and in general, it works out ok for me.
It gets difficult, though, when there is no available outlet for these emotions of 'feeling along'. Just this past week I was confronted with such a situation. A person told me about a very distressing personal situation. I really, sincerely like this person, although we do not know each other well. My emotional reaction to the bad news was intense. I wanted to reach out, to care for this person, to offer any and every support they need that I could possibly give, to wrap them up in a protective layer of my caring for them, so that the pain of their situation would be lessened. Because the nature of my relationship with this person is a professional one, I could not do this. I could not do anything that felt meaningful to me, or that relieved the burdan of my feeling of concern. I do not know if the meagre actions I had room to take did anything at all to alieviate this person's distress.
Because I could do 'nothing,' my emotions continued to flow and flow and soon I was drained, exhausted, beat. I don't want to stop caring about the world that I live in or the people I encounter in it, but it is going to take me several days to refill my tank of emotional stability. Even now I am thinking - if only I could have done 'something'! This is not the most ideal of situations for me. Am I the much-belittled fool with the heart on her sleeve? Does everyone experience moments of feeling-along-with-someone like this and everyone else just knows how to manage it better than I do? How can I train myself to find and maintain a course of moderation, and y'know, have mature and professional relationships with people? How can I use my emotive impulses to create actual good in this world? How will I ever become cool if I keep confessing to nerdy falliabilities like this? Why does my foot hurt so much when it falls asleep? Should I even be writing on the internet about this? Can you become a grown-up without your heart dying?
Now, I'm a sensitive and emotive person, and I tend to experience emotions as very present, and very extreme. I'm not exactly what you would call even-keeled. I'm exuberant or moody, but rarely just ok. I experience spontaneous Mitgefuehl sometimes, usually in response to the distress or delight of someone I'm close to. For me, it's an intense welling up of emotion, sometimes quite disconcerting because it can dislodge me from the tasks of my day and become the sole paradigm that I am able to inhabit until someone else comes along and shakes me back into reality.In general, I consider this a positive quality in myself, although I do realize that I am sometimes a little... intense, which may be off-putting to newer acquaintences for whom I (already) feel an affinity, or even to dear friends who are simply not as expressive about their emotions. What can I say - I am who I am, and in general, it works out ok for me.
It gets difficult, though, when there is no available outlet for these emotions of 'feeling along'. Just this past week I was confronted with such a situation. A person told me about a very distressing personal situation. I really, sincerely like this person, although we do not know each other well. My emotional reaction to the bad news was intense. I wanted to reach out, to care for this person, to offer any and every support they need that I could possibly give, to wrap them up in a protective layer of my caring for them, so that the pain of their situation would be lessened. Because the nature of my relationship with this person is a professional one, I could not do this. I could not do anything that felt meaningful to me, or that relieved the burdan of my feeling of concern. I do not know if the meagre actions I had room to take did anything at all to alieviate this person's distress.
Because I could do 'nothing,' my emotions continued to flow and flow and soon I was drained, exhausted, beat. I don't want to stop caring about the world that I live in or the people I encounter in it, but it is going to take me several days to refill my tank of emotional stability. Even now I am thinking - if only I could have done 'something'! This is not the most ideal of situations for me. Am I the much-belittled fool with the heart on her sleeve? Does everyone experience moments of feeling-along-with-someone like this and everyone else just knows how to manage it better than I do? How can I train myself to find and maintain a course of moderation, and y'know, have mature and professional relationships with people? How can I use my emotive impulses to create actual good in this world? How will I ever become cool if I keep confessing to nerdy falliabilities like this? Why does my foot hurt so much when it falls asleep? Should I even be writing on the internet about this? Can you become a grown-up without your heart dying?
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Well Worth Watching - and Segues!
Have you seen Everything is Illuminated? No? Well, go and put it at the top of your Netflix queue. Right now. It is the best movie I have seen in a long time. A very long time. This movie has lines just a quoteable as The Big Lebowski. It is touching and heartwarming and tragic like Finding Neverland (except without the whole akward 'is James M. Barrie maybe a little too into that kid?' thing) and Wings Over Berlin (except shorter). Oh, and it's funny, too. How can you not love a movie with a dog named Sammy Davis, Jr. Jr. and a very memorable scene with a potato? Hi-larious hi-jinks, I'm telling you. And then there's that whole 'plot' thing, with its valuable 'themes' like identity, memory, family, the role of the past in our present understanding of ourselves and the world, and friendship and shared experience overcoming the barriers of linguistic and cultural misunderstanding. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant.
Trust me. See this movie. You will love it.
I would like to read some of Jonathan Safran's novels now.
Currently, I'm reading The Master of St. Petersburg by J.M. Coetzee. It's quite complex and thought-provoking, but I'm not really enjoying it. Coetzee paints his geniuses so bleakly. Plus, novels set in Russia always make me cold. I actually don't know if I've ever enjoyed a Coetzee book... To be fair, I read Foe ages and ages ago and I never finished Waiting For the Barabarians so that just leaves Disgrace, and the sexual violence that fuels the plot of Disgrace is hard for me to stomach, so I will have to finish this one and sort out my thoughts before I make any proclamations.
On the other hand, I really, really love Regina Spektor's album Begin To Hope.
Oh what? You were expecting a cohesive blog post? On one singular subject? That does not meander? Too bad, so sad, it's too late at night for me to do that. You should consider yourself (yourselves? Does more than one person even read this blog?) lucky, because here is a list of relatively banal subjects about which I have refrained from waxing eloquent, even though the impusle moved me, JUST IN THE SPAN OF ONE MERE WEEKEND:
-Things Overheard On The Bus That Make Me Happy
-Why I Love My Kitty
-Why My Kitty Is The Best Kitty In The World
-Don't Go To Tar*Get On A Saturday Because Children Scream
-I Have Decorated My House Some More! Look At My Decorations!
-I Made Spotted Dick For Breakfast
-Why I Don't Like Grading
-My New Postage Stamps Are Cheap And Flimsy
Just kidding. I wasn't really going to write about that last one. I just made it up to be funny. Aren't you diverted? Didn't I say that I was only going to write wittily and elegantly/eloqently in this blog? What time is it? Why am I not in bed yet? Whose idea was it to drink coffee after 7pm? Stupid coffee.
Do you know how sometimes, when you don't have a lot of time, and maybe you are feeling kind of poor and/or low energy, and you just don't feel like making dinner, ordering in or going out? And maybe it's just all you can manage to eat some scrambled eggs and toast? Even if you don't really like scrambled eggs? And then the situation sort of magically becomes Officially Very Exciting once you declare that you are not just having scrambled eggs because they are easy and inexpensive and one of the few edible items left in your fridge, oh no, YOU hare having scrambled eggs because you are having Breakfast For Dinner, you lucky thing you?
Breakfast For Dinner is awesome and delicious! It's a celebration! It's dangerously and exhiliratingly close to (shhh, don't tell...) breaking the rules! Upsetting the norms! Etc!
Well, perhaps not too surprisingly, the same trick works when you are feeling tired and worn out and grumpy and not-necessarily-in-the-mood-for-going-out-or-hanging-out-in-a-large-group-of-people on a weekend. This bleak situation can be remedied by declaring a shockingly decadent Sweatpants Night! Break out the comfy clothes, the ice cream and a good movie! Nope, you can't make it should anyone try and tempt you out to the bar - you've got plans, you're having an Official Sweatpants Night with your sweetie. Your friends are free to join you, but they have to wear sweatpants and bring their own pint of Haagen Das and not talk during the movie, because those are the rules of Sweatpants Night. It's like the fun part of a slumber party, except for that everyone who doesn't live at your house goes back to their house to go to bed, so no one wakes up with genitalia drawn on their face -or if they do, at least it's not your problem. Magic. I am brilliant. People should pay me money to use this idea.
(Now you know what I really did this weekend.)
Trust me. See this movie. You will love it.
I would like to read some of Jonathan Safran's novels now.
Currently, I'm reading The Master of St. Petersburg by J.M. Coetzee. It's quite complex and thought-provoking, but I'm not really enjoying it. Coetzee paints his geniuses so bleakly. Plus, novels set in Russia always make me cold. I actually don't know if I've ever enjoyed a Coetzee book... To be fair, I read Foe ages and ages ago and I never finished Waiting For the Barabarians so that just leaves Disgrace, and the sexual violence that fuels the plot of Disgrace is hard for me to stomach, so I will have to finish this one and sort out my thoughts before I make any proclamations.
On the other hand, I really, really love Regina Spektor's album Begin To Hope.
Oh what? You were expecting a cohesive blog post? On one singular subject? That does not meander? Too bad, so sad, it's too late at night for me to do that. You should consider yourself (yourselves? Does more than one person even read this blog?) lucky, because here is a list of relatively banal subjects about which I have refrained from waxing eloquent, even though the impusle moved me, JUST IN THE SPAN OF ONE MERE WEEKEND:
-Things Overheard On The Bus That Make Me Happy
-Why I Love My Kitty
-Why My Kitty Is The Best Kitty In The World
-Don't Go To Tar*Get On A Saturday Because Children Scream
-I Have Decorated My House Some More! Look At My Decorations!
-I Made Spotted Dick For Breakfast
-Why I Don't Like Grading
-My New Postage Stamps Are Cheap And Flimsy
Just kidding. I wasn't really going to write about that last one. I just made it up to be funny. Aren't you diverted? Didn't I say that I was only going to write wittily and elegantly/eloqently in this blog? What time is it? Why am I not in bed yet? Whose idea was it to drink coffee after 7pm? Stupid coffee.
Do you know how sometimes, when you don't have a lot of time, and maybe you are feeling kind of poor and/or low energy, and you just don't feel like making dinner, ordering in or going out? And maybe it's just all you can manage to eat some scrambled eggs and toast? Even if you don't really like scrambled eggs? And then the situation sort of magically becomes Officially Very Exciting once you declare that you are not just having scrambled eggs because they are easy and inexpensive and one of the few edible items left in your fridge, oh no, YOU hare having scrambled eggs because you are having Breakfast For Dinner, you lucky thing you?
Breakfast For Dinner is awesome and delicious! It's a celebration! It's dangerously and exhiliratingly close to (shhh, don't tell...) breaking the rules! Upsetting the norms! Etc!
Well, perhaps not too surprisingly, the same trick works when you are feeling tired and worn out and grumpy and not-necessarily-in-the-mood-for-going-out-or-hanging-out-in-a-large-group-of-people on a weekend. This bleak situation can be remedied by declaring a shockingly decadent Sweatpants Night! Break out the comfy clothes, the ice cream and a good movie! Nope, you can't make it should anyone try and tempt you out to the bar - you've got plans, you're having an Official Sweatpants Night with your sweetie. Your friends are free to join you, but they have to wear sweatpants and bring their own pint of Haagen Das and not talk during the movie, because those are the rules of Sweatpants Night. It's like the fun part of a slumber party, except for that everyone who doesn't live at your house goes back to their house to go to bed, so no one wakes up with genitalia drawn on their face -or if they do, at least it's not your problem. Magic. I am brilliant. People should pay me money to use this idea.
(Now you know what I really did this weekend.)
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