As great as I am at wasting time (doing things OTHER than writing blog posts, obviously!), it's time to pare down the list of procrastination tools. National Novel Writing Month has begun, and that long awaited IDEA has finally arrived; it's time to take advantage and get my novel on. For one month it's Nano and Facebook - no other guilty distractions!
My totally-not-a-humanities-guy, big-huge-nerd boyfriend is currently beating my Nano word count, so off I go to catch up!
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Ri-Benvenuta
Welcome back me, in bad Italian that reminds me of the hangover bevvie of choice in Londontown, (well, it's what I drank the only time I ever WAS hung over in London!) Ribena. Which, by the way, costs 7.85 at the local Meijer's for ONE LITER. Oh, Meijer, how I admire thee for thine ability to rip off homesick foreign nationals!
I'm bealeagured, befuddled, and annoyed at myself for being awake this late the night before a long distance drive...but I miss tossing nuggets of mis-, dis- and pissy information into the universe. And by that I mean, "I am cheerfully reawakening to the world of blogging, and oh I look forward to discussing puppies, cupids, and daisies with the world wide web of human-being like peoples!"
Sleep, and do the dishes...teach, and drive 11 hours with the company of a good book on CD...and then back to rave a bit about the soap opera that life so eagerly becomes. Buona notte!
I'm bealeagured, befuddled, and annoyed at myself for being awake this late the night before a long distance drive...but I miss tossing nuggets of mis-, dis- and pissy information into the universe. And by that I mean, "I am cheerfully reawakening to the world of blogging, and oh I look forward to discussing puppies, cupids, and daisies with the world wide web of human-being like peoples!"
Sleep, and do the dishes...teach, and drive 11 hours with the company of a good book on CD...and then back to rave a bit about the soap opera that life so eagerly becomes. Buona notte!
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Che strano
Hmm. I doubt any living soul cared enough to read this post, so just because I wanna, I'm deleting it :) Moving on and moving up, folks.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Well, whaddya expect?
Yeah, so long time no see. It ain't Procrastination Nation for nothing, folks.
I thought today was a good day to re-inaugurate my blog, seeing as today I passed from general slacker Grad Student to Grad Student that actually earns her stipend by teaching impressionable undergraduates. I figure this is the kind of thing that will keep me entertained - and thus the proverbial internet *you* entertained.
I'm exhausted from receiving blank stares from 13 students as I babble at them in Italian, followed by an Italian poetry class that was SUPPOSED to be taught in English, and then shifting gears into French to learn about the Most Influential and Bestest Writer of the 19th Century, Marcel Proust. Really, though, a truly-kick butt day in my little GradBubble and I need a bath and some crap wine before I wake up flex my skills again tomorrow.
A domani, amici.
A demain, mes amis.
*OUCH* Brain. Hurts. Too. Many. Languages. Not. Enough. Grey. Matter.
I thought today was a good day to re-inaugurate my blog, seeing as today I passed from general slacker Grad Student to Grad Student that actually earns her stipend by teaching impressionable undergraduates. I figure this is the kind of thing that will keep me entertained - and thus the proverbial internet *you* entertained.
I'm exhausted from receiving blank stares from 13 students as I babble at them in Italian, followed by an Italian poetry class that was SUPPOSED to be taught in English, and then shifting gears into French to learn about the Most Influential and Bestest Writer of the 19th Century, Marcel Proust. Really, though, a truly-kick butt day in my little GradBubble and I need a bath and some crap wine before I wake up flex my skills again tomorrow.
A domani, amici.
A demain, mes amis.
*OUCH* Brain. Hurts. Too. Many. Languages. Not. Enough. Grey. Matter.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Ha!
You thought I gave up blogging for Lent! How wrong you were! I simply had to forsake the blog for a few days to prepare for my first conference presentation. Uh, we'll talk about that later...
Recent discussions have spurred me to consider the purpose of blogs. Mrs. D, an internet friend of mine (loaded statement, log that for future discussion as well) who has the most fabulous intellect and knock out sense of humor has recently been encouraged by her husband and other friends like myself to join the world of blogging. This begs the question - what do we see as the value in a blog, and what makes someone a good blogger? I think Mrs. D has the potential to be a great blogger - and what in tarnation does that mean?
The lovely Mrs. D is skeptical about her place in the blogverse. She argues that there are too many self-indulgent, navel gazing blogs out there; she doesn't seem to want to blog unless it serves a higher purpose. Well folks, you tell me: Is there a higher purpose in me spouting off at you? Does it fulfill some need of yours to read it? Because it certainly fulfills a certain need of mine, which is probably nothing more than a bit of catharis mixed with amusement (for the Aristotelians, here's a more modern definition). Someday, and it will be soon, I'll be comfortable to enough to start sharing some "deep thoughts," and who know, they may have profound effect on one lonely little person out there.
Which brings me to the second point I have been just dying to hash over, and that is the blogs out there that DO change the world. A segment on the Daily Show last night considered the new trend in blog journalism. It was bloggers that uncovered the Great Dan Rather scandal, and countless other issues that seem to get lost in the "real" journalism of the national press. See, sharing your thoughts/airing dirty laundry in a public and free forum CAN benefit the people.
But I contend that just because you can change the world, doesn't mean you must (argh, how badly did I just want to write "have to" in my extremely unrefined American grammatical way). Write irreverant stories, gaze at your navel, tell the world what you bought at the grocery store today. Because it makes you feel better. Because it changes your world. Because if you can plug into the great cybernation, you know you aren't alone.
Recent discussions have spurred me to consider the purpose of blogs. Mrs. D, an internet friend of mine (loaded statement, log that for future discussion as well) who has the most fabulous intellect and knock out sense of humor has recently been encouraged by her husband and other friends like myself to join the world of blogging. This begs the question - what do we see as the value in a blog, and what makes someone a good blogger? I think Mrs. D has the potential to be a great blogger - and what in tarnation does that mean?
The lovely Mrs. D is skeptical about her place in the blogverse. She argues that there are too many self-indulgent, navel gazing blogs out there; she doesn't seem to want to blog unless it serves a higher purpose. Well folks, you tell me: Is there a higher purpose in me spouting off at you? Does it fulfill some need of yours to read it? Because it certainly fulfills a certain need of mine, which is probably nothing more than a bit of catharis mixed with amusement (for the Aristotelians, here's a more modern definition). Someday, and it will be soon, I'll be comfortable to enough to start sharing some "deep thoughts," and who know, they may have profound effect on one lonely little person out there.
Which brings me to the second point I have been just dying to hash over, and that is the blogs out there that DO change the world. A segment on the Daily Show last night considered the new trend in blog journalism. It was bloggers that uncovered the Great Dan Rather scandal, and countless other issues that seem to get lost in the "real" journalism of the national press. See, sharing your thoughts/airing dirty laundry in a public and free forum CAN benefit the people.
But I contend that just because you can change the world, doesn't mean you must (argh, how badly did I just want to write "have to" in my extremely unrefined American grammatical way). Write irreverant stories, gaze at your navel, tell the world what you bought at the grocery store today. Because it makes you feel better. Because it changes your world. Because if you can plug into the great cybernation, you know you aren't alone.
Friday, February 11, 2005
Disenchanted.
Oh, so many reasons to wake up disenheartened and disillusioned this morning. For starters, Austin was OUT of Project Runway on Tuesday. Secondly, I really might be starting to get old. I made a joke about going to the "old people bar" last night, and we arrived to find it filled with our friends. If your friends are old, you might be old. And...I'm so happy to realize...I'm the oldest one of them all.
It's the fact that the old people bar, where we can TALK to each other while we drink top shelf alcohol, is more fun the the young people bar, where you dance and make flirtatious eye contact while trying not to consume too much $2/pitcher beer, is what really makes me realize I'm further up the slow slide to old than I thought I was.
All this is simply an avoidance tactic before I get to the real deal. I am really more than just disenchanted right now. I'm, well, down right disgusted, and that's saying something. See, I attend a large, very selective Catholic university (The Catholic part had nothing to do with my selection, the best program JUST HAPPENS to be here). This, in a non-bizarro universe, should mean that the undergrads should be just a cut above your average 19 year old. They should be a little smarter, they should be a little nicer, they should be a little more determined. While the grad students are...lets say less than 20% Catholic...the undergrads are 90% Catholic. Shouldn't they have SOME SORT of moral code in place? While I was raised by a Protestant minister, I do have a FEELING that Catholics read the same or a similar Bible.
Ah, the naivité. They're little hellions. Morally reprehensible. (With the exception of the kids in my Latin class. How can you study Latin and not retain total dignity?) I can't stand the daily walk between rows of these "cut above" students, twittering on about clothes, shoes, number of shots consumed, and who's roomate didn't come home and was last seen with a football player. The fact that I derisively call them all children makes it quite obvious, yes, that I am old.
But let's get to why I'm REALLY offended. Yesterday I was walking to class, and there was sudden congestion on the sidewalk. There were red flyers everywhere. It turns out there were about 30 people dressed in black, with their mouths taped shut, handing out flyers to protest the silence about sexual assault against women. You know what those morally reprehensible little jerks did? Most of them threw the flyers on the ground after reading the first few words "1 in 4 women will be sexually assaulted in their lifetime." They called it bullshit. They laughed.
Perhaps I should mention that I just graduated from Mount Holyoke College. Yeah, a women's college. Yeah, a liberal arts college. Yeah, liberal in general. One of the top five most diverse campuses, top five most accepting of race sex orientation. When February comes around and it's time to celebrate African-American heritage and to protest the treatment of women, we really go to town. So this is a bit odd (and that's an understatement) to me.
Last night my girlfriends and I went to the amateur comedy night on campus. We had a few laughs. Very few laughs. Most of the comics were down right disgusting and completely offensive to women. Literally stuff you don't even hear on HBO comedy specials. Because people know they can't get away with that stuff, even on cable. It's degrading and, well, morally reprehensible! And you know what the audience does? Laughs. Guffaws. Even the women.
They have so much to learn.
Simply because I feel the need to end this all on a lighter turn, so I don't depress myself too much and turn to the chocolate cupcakes, I will tell you the end of the tale. My friends and I left before the entire comedy hour was over, and went to the lobby to cool down. When the show broke, the comedians came out into the lobby. Two maxi-pads just happened to fall out of Ms. S.' pocket. We picked them up, and I got the brilliant idea to put them to good use. So we pulled the "excuse me, passing through" trick, and stuck them to the worst offenders back. And ran off giggling to watch his reaction from afar :)
This is why there is hope for me yet. If I can still get fulfillment out of acting like a 12 year old, I may not be so old yet. I'm still disenchanted, though.
It's the fact that the old people bar, where we can TALK to each other while we drink top shelf alcohol, is more fun the the young people bar, where you dance and make flirtatious eye contact while trying not to consume too much $2/pitcher beer, is what really makes me realize I'm further up the slow slide to old than I thought I was.
All this is simply an avoidance tactic before I get to the real deal. I am really more than just disenchanted right now. I'm, well, down right disgusted, and that's saying something. See, I attend a large, very selective Catholic university (The Catholic part had nothing to do with my selection, the best program JUST HAPPENS to be here). This, in a non-bizarro universe, should mean that the undergrads should be just a cut above your average 19 year old. They should be a little smarter, they should be a little nicer, they should be a little more determined. While the grad students are...lets say less than 20% Catholic...the undergrads are 90% Catholic. Shouldn't they have SOME SORT of moral code in place? While I was raised by a Protestant minister, I do have a FEELING that Catholics read the same or a similar Bible.
Ah, the naivité. They're little hellions. Morally reprehensible. (With the exception of the kids in my Latin class. How can you study Latin and not retain total dignity?) I can't stand the daily walk between rows of these "cut above" students, twittering on about clothes, shoes, number of shots consumed, and who's roomate didn't come home and was last seen with a football player. The fact that I derisively call them all children makes it quite obvious, yes, that I am old.
But let's get to why I'm REALLY offended. Yesterday I was walking to class, and there was sudden congestion on the sidewalk. There were red flyers everywhere. It turns out there were about 30 people dressed in black, with their mouths taped shut, handing out flyers to protest the silence about sexual assault against women. You know what those morally reprehensible little jerks did? Most of them threw the flyers on the ground after reading the first few words "1 in 4 women will be sexually assaulted in their lifetime." They called it bullshit. They laughed.
Perhaps I should mention that I just graduated from Mount Holyoke College. Yeah, a women's college. Yeah, a liberal arts college. Yeah, liberal in general. One of the top five most diverse campuses, top five most accepting of race sex orientation. When February comes around and it's time to celebrate African-American heritage and to protest the treatment of women, we really go to town. So this is a bit odd (and that's an understatement) to me.
Last night my girlfriends and I went to the amateur comedy night on campus. We had a few laughs. Very few laughs. Most of the comics were down right disgusting and completely offensive to women. Literally stuff you don't even hear on HBO comedy specials. Because people know they can't get away with that stuff, even on cable. It's degrading and, well, morally reprehensible! And you know what the audience does? Laughs. Guffaws. Even the women.
They have so much to learn.
Simply because I feel the need to end this all on a lighter turn, so I don't depress myself too much and turn to the chocolate cupcakes, I will tell you the end of the tale. My friends and I left before the entire comedy hour was over, and went to the lobby to cool down. When the show broke, the comedians came out into the lobby. Two maxi-pads just happened to fall out of Ms. S.' pocket. We picked them up, and I got the brilliant idea to put them to good use. So we pulled the "excuse me, passing through" trick, and stuck them to the worst offenders back. And ran off giggling to watch his reaction from afar :)
This is why there is hope for me yet. If I can still get fulfillment out of acting like a 12 year old, I may not be so old yet. I'm still disenchanted, though.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Another kind of masquerade
Today, for many reasons I'm about to ennumerate, I wished I was wearing a Ski Mask.
The first reason was that although it's about 30 degrees today, the wind was blowing straight in from the Arctic. I was bundled tightly, with longjohns, two sweaters, a leather coat, ear muffs, a hat, and fuzzy scarf around my neck (I hear Eskimo's laughing in the distance at my 30 degree attire). But my damn eyebrows were FREEZING! I wished for either bushy old man eyebrows, or a ski mask.
Which made me wish I was in a ski mask for many a reason. Ah, the anonymity of it all. In a ski mask I could:
A) Rob a liquor store and have at least enough money to go out on the lam for a few weeks. (Lam? Lamb? Where the heck did that phrase come from) That would be better than stuck here in non-motivation land.
B) Run around airing those evil thoughts that I never dare to make public without fear of getting thumped or being given a really bad grade.
C) Cover both my extremely bad hair and quickly growing double chin, thus postponing both the overdue hair cut and allowing me not to feel guilty that there are four gyms on campus.
Yes, winter makes me extremely happy in just so many ways. I'm freezing, I'm bored, I'm lethargic, and I make up for it all by eating and drinking more than my share of calories. Makes me rethink my grand plans to land a tenure track job in the New England tundra.
The first reason was that although it's about 30 degrees today, the wind was blowing straight in from the Arctic. I was bundled tightly, with longjohns, two sweaters, a leather coat, ear muffs, a hat, and fuzzy scarf around my neck (I hear Eskimo's laughing in the distance at my 30 degree attire). But my damn eyebrows were FREEZING! I wished for either bushy old man eyebrows, or a ski mask.
Which made me wish I was in a ski mask for many a reason. Ah, the anonymity of it all. In a ski mask I could:
A) Rob a liquor store and have at least enough money to go out on the lam for a few weeks. (Lam? Lamb? Where the heck did that phrase come from) That would be better than stuck here in non-motivation land.
B) Run around airing those evil thoughts that I never dare to make public without fear of getting thumped or being given a really bad grade.
C) Cover both my extremely bad hair and quickly growing double chin, thus postponing both the overdue hair cut and allowing me not to feel guilty that there are four gyms on campus.
Yes, winter makes me extremely happy in just so many ways. I'm freezing, I'm bored, I'm lethargic, and I make up for it all by eating and drinking more than my share of calories. Makes me rethink my grand plans to land a tenure track job in the New England tundra.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)