All day today has been an exercise in pain. I don't know why, although I'm starting to suspect chronic hunger, but I have been super tired since Monday night when I stayed up late journaling and watching 2046. Today though, the alarm went off at 5:00 and I didn't even open my eyes when I got up to turn it off. I drank black tea and kombucha throughout the day until I could feel my insides churning with activity and buzz, but my head was still sooo slooow and wrapped in a small but thumping pain. Why is it that consciousness is so difficult sometimes?
Otherwise though, it's been a good week. Very ineffecient and langorous with the work, but it's been happening, which is what counts ultimately. However, each day has been longer starred with decreasing mobility in my neck and increasing fatigue. I'm very nervous about the impending weekend-: Michael and I are going up to my home town, staying with my parents, meeting the rest of my family and so on and so forth. But I'm also very excited to drag him all over town and show him all the little walks I love. It's going to be the fab--so long as we aren't too totally sleep-deprived!
THE LISTS
to do work: integrate castells into theory section. write hypersexuality section. Rewrite from beginning through performatic writing section. type up khan. start organizing files.
done! Typed up khan.Integrated Castells. Wrote Hypersexuality section Revised from the beginning through bourdieu and butler.
to do life: Pay down debt (currently $2,326.09). Procure dog. Redo taxes. Do fafsa. Send siff letter. Repot ginko tree and cactus. Dishes. Call Ford re tix. Call kombucha makers re bottle recyclying. Read Theri's paper. Fix beddinge with new screw.
done! Dishes. Journal. Got For tix.
to do blitz: sarah, marilyn, giulia, irmary, mariana, dar, nv, robin, fl, ek, sf, marzena, thérèse, hen, dorith.
blitzed! kris and katie. obvs not on my list. dorith.
Netflixed: 2046. I know this movie didn't make quite splash that was expected of it at Cannes in 2004, but I thought it was beautiful. Like most of Wan Kar Wai's stuff, the possibility for happiness seemed pretty minimal. And there seemed to be a symmetry between being able to disengage and being unable to engage. The conceit of 2046 as a simultaneous time space was awfully corny though as were the androids, the parody of which had already been anticipated years ago in Austin Powers.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Thursday, June 21, 2007
scoldings
None of your grades are posted--and I will not have internet access again until I return on June 30. So you will now have to print out your grades and have Courtney sign the sheet for me. I don't know why you didn't post them, but I can now not submit them electronically at all. Please make a copy of the whole thing for me since the grades are in my name. And please be sure you WALK them over on Monday.
From my supervisor.
My stomach clenches. Blood pumps through me faster, all of it settling into my face, uncomfortable pressure. I feel my heart working it out high up in my chest, thumping away against my clavicle. I know that innards don't work like that, the heart has a solid place in my chest, but I imagine it floating a bit more freely, anchored by veins but in times of stress, responding somewhat suicidally by trying to escape the situation, a fish leaping out out of the waters of my body.
Why do I just fritter away time while bad situations become catastrophic? I fret over how to take care of my students instead of focusing on my responsibilities. Whatever generosity I can extend to them has to be within the boundaries of what I need to do. Head-poundingly dumb misprioritization.
After a weekend of closing my eyes and hunching my shoulders every time I thought of that email, as if it would disappear if I just made my vision go dark, she drove into town today and did sumbit them electronically--thank god because when I asked Courtney about it, she was like, no dice: registrar's will have to produce missing grade reports and you and Kathy will have to go through and sign each one. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Never again will I put myself through this. Must do grades first thing. Michael was right to nag me about it. Responsibilities to university deadlines are larger than responsibilities to my personal health and development of my work, particuarly when they are relatively infrequent.
THE LISTS
to do class: Write JM recommendation. Grade papers. Figure out participation grades. Make gwc presa handouts.
done! Finished gwc presa. Did participation grades. Graded papers. Wrote JM rec. Made gwc handouts and copies.
So no more "to do class" section until September. Strange and fabulous sensation.
to do work: write goffman section. write how the dramaturgical setup is important to these texts. rewrite setting section. integrate castells into theory section. write hypersexuality section.
done! wrote goffman and dramaturgical setup sections. rewrote the setting section.
to do life: Pay down debt (currently $2,326.09). Procure dog. Redo taxes. Do fafsa. Send siff letter. Figure out Amazon.com problem. Repot ginko tree and cactus. Clean my apt--the bathroom, swift the floor, sweep patio, vaccuum rug, laundry. Research screen door acquisition.
done! Put away books and clothes, did dishes, swept patio, laundry. Figured out the Amazon problem--got my money back. Bought bopts for the plants...a good first step...
to do blitz: sarah, marilyn, giulia, irmary, mariana, dar, nv, robin, fl, ek, sf, marzena, thérèse, hen, dorith.
Netflixed: The Piano Teacher. Ay! I super freaked out when she took a razor blade to her vagina. But really, in terms of portraying how the French socialize through bullying tactics, it's perfect. There's one shot of a girl whose face is cast in a grimace, only one drop of snot dangles from her nose, the camera freezes and then swivels away to see the casual activity in the waiting room: degradation and its physical effects are commonplace, clearly. But maybe because I'm not that familiar with s/m and bondage, during the hard-core scene at the end, I wasn't sure if the abuse was part of their contract or if he was absolutely violating her. That was bewildering for a second. Uncomfortable realization that although the contents of my list of demands was more overtly emotional and not as carnal, and delivered piecemeal as opposed to in a single letter, I have also tried to exert control over relationships with similarly--although again far less extreme--damaging results.
The Dreamers. I love the idea of an almost purely citational movie, as this is, but I found the kids hard to watch together. Not in their sexual experimentation, but in their integration of filmic mimesis, with pseudo-profound philosophy, and their unreal relationship did not work at all for me. So when in the end they break up over approaches to revolutionary action, it feels totally silly to me.
From my supervisor.
My stomach clenches. Blood pumps through me faster, all of it settling into my face, uncomfortable pressure. I feel my heart working it out high up in my chest, thumping away against my clavicle. I know that innards don't work like that, the heart has a solid place in my chest, but I imagine it floating a bit more freely, anchored by veins but in times of stress, responding somewhat suicidally by trying to escape the situation, a fish leaping out out of the waters of my body.
Why do I just fritter away time while bad situations become catastrophic? I fret over how to take care of my students instead of focusing on my responsibilities. Whatever generosity I can extend to them has to be within the boundaries of what I need to do. Head-poundingly dumb misprioritization.
After a weekend of closing my eyes and hunching my shoulders every time I thought of that email, as if it would disappear if I just made my vision go dark, she drove into town today and did sumbit them electronically--thank god because when I asked Courtney about it, she was like, no dice: registrar's will have to produce missing grade reports and you and Kathy will have to go through and sign each one. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Never again will I put myself through this. Must do grades first thing. Michael was right to nag me about it. Responsibilities to university deadlines are larger than responsibilities to my personal health and development of my work, particuarly when they are relatively infrequent.
THE LISTS
to do class: Write JM recommendation. Grade papers. Figure out participation grades. Make gwc presa handouts.
done! Finished gwc presa. Did participation grades. Graded papers. Wrote JM rec. Made gwc handouts and copies.
So no more "to do class" section until September. Strange and fabulous sensation.
to do work: write goffman section. write how the dramaturgical setup is important to these texts. rewrite setting section. integrate castells into theory section. write hypersexuality section.
done! wrote goffman and dramaturgical setup sections. rewrote the setting section.
to do life: Pay down debt (currently $2,326.09). Procure dog. Redo taxes. Do fafsa. Send siff letter. Figure out Amazon.com problem. Repot ginko tree and cactus. Clean my apt--the bathroom, swift the floor, sweep patio, vaccuum rug, laundry. Research screen door acquisition.
done! Put away books and clothes, did dishes, swept patio, laundry. Figured out the Amazon problem--got my money back. Bought bopts for the plants...a good first step...
to do blitz: sarah, marilyn, giulia, irmary, mariana, dar, nv, robin, fl, ek, sf, marzena, thérèse, hen, dorith.
Netflixed: The Piano Teacher. Ay! I super freaked out when she took a razor blade to her vagina. But really, in terms of portraying how the French socialize through bullying tactics, it's perfect. There's one shot of a girl whose face is cast in a grimace, only one drop of snot dangles from her nose, the camera freezes and then swivels away to see the casual activity in the waiting room: degradation and its physical effects are commonplace, clearly. But maybe because I'm not that familiar with s/m and bondage, during the hard-core scene at the end, I wasn't sure if the abuse was part of their contract or if he was absolutely violating her. That was bewildering for a second. Uncomfortable realization that although the contents of my list of demands was more overtly emotional and not as carnal, and delivered piecemeal as opposed to in a single letter, I have also tried to exert control over relationships with similarly--although again far less extreme--damaging results.
The Dreamers. I love the idea of an almost purely citational movie, as this is, but I found the kids hard to watch together. Not in their sexual experimentation, but in their integration of filmic mimesis, with pseudo-profound philosophy, and their unreal relationship did not work at all for me. So when in the end they break up over approaches to revolutionary action, it feels totally silly to me.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
sleepy in seattle
Over the past 3-day weekend, I fell asleep on the floor of three different airports (burbank, mccarren, seatac--also, seatac has a water fountain that produces auditory hallucinations, either it's in a parabola or they have a mike in there, but when people drink at it, it gurgles with an insistently loud volume). I fell asleep in car rides, I fell asleep in the middle of conversations. But I awoke at 6:30 every morning.
Seattle was fun because my friends are funny and fun. We somehow ended up talking about interior design quite a bit. Given that I can't afford 3 porcupine-like lamps, I bought 2 gorgeous journals, one leather-bound with a strong square turquoise clasp and one from easy street records which is made from an old cookbook--I'm going to make the recipes when I write through it. It was an indulgent weekend, and it's good to be home now too: I am a mouse on the move!
THE LISTS
to do class: Write JM recommendation. Make grades spreadsheet. Grade papers. Figure out participation grades.
done! Graded 8 papers. Made spreadsheet.
to do work: write goffman section.
done! write how the dramaturgical setup is important to these texts.
to do life: Pay down debt (currently $2,326.09). Procure dog. Redo taxes. Figure out Amazon.com problem. Repot ginko tree and cactus. Clean my apt--the bathroom, put away the books and clothes, swift the floor, do the dishes.
The list of things get longer. Blech.
to do blitz: sarah, marilyn, giulia, irmary, mariana, dar, nv, robin, fl, ek, sf, marzena, thérèse, hen, dorith.
Netflixed: Stranger than Fiction. I'm really loving this movie, there's such a special attention paid to voices, the way Maggie Gyllenhall says "cookies" and the definition to Emma Thompson's every syllable. The wierd interdependence between life and writing. And the line between serious and funny, which I guess people call dry humor.
Seattle was fun because my friends are funny and fun. We somehow ended up talking about interior design quite a bit. Given that I can't afford 3 porcupine-like lamps, I bought 2 gorgeous journals, one leather-bound with a strong square turquoise clasp and one from easy street records which is made from an old cookbook--I'm going to make the recipes when I write through it. It was an indulgent weekend, and it's good to be home now too: I am a mouse on the move!
THE LISTS
to do class: Write JM recommendation. Make grades spreadsheet. Grade papers. Figure out participation grades.
done! Graded 8 papers. Made spreadsheet.
to do work: write goffman section.
done! write how the dramaturgical setup is important to these texts.
to do life: Pay down debt (currently $2,326.09). Procure dog. Redo taxes. Figure out Amazon.com problem. Repot ginko tree and cactus. Clean my apt--the bathroom, put away the books and clothes, swift the floor, do the dishes.
The list of things get longer. Blech.
to do blitz: sarah, marilyn, giulia, irmary, mariana, dar, nv, robin, fl, ek, sf, marzena, thérèse, hen, dorith.
Netflixed: Stranger than Fiction. I'm really loving this movie, there's such a special attention paid to voices, the way Maggie Gyllenhall says "cookies" and the definition to Emma Thompson's every syllable. The wierd interdependence between life and writing. And the line between serious and funny, which I guess people call dry humor.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
street scenes
All in all, the first week of summer has been a good one. There have been many meetings, most of them useless, but some were wonderful. Susan was so helpful and the working group was a little inside look into academic workings. So, I'm getting excited for the summer, instead of apprehensive that I'll never write as much as I would like. I probably won't write more than I already do on the day to day basis when teaching, but I'll be able to read in the afternoons! It will be so wonderful. I also found out that I am pretty much guaranteed teaching. If Spanish doesn't work out, it would be the 4 series and I would die of fatigue, but at least I'll be employed.
I like stopping at om cafe on the way home from school because I actually get work done in the evenings and feel so much better than when I come home and just lay about waiting for it to be late enough to go to sleep. I also love my walks home through the little neighborhoods that are broken up by big yucky streets. Moreover, I like that brief encounters with people and objects prompt all sorts of unfulfillable curiosity for me. Like yesterday, I crossed paths with a woman walking her rather large toddler in a stroller. I peered into the stroller, expecting to see an adorable baby and instead, it's a red-head with a beanie smashing down his hair on the crown of his head such that wild curls spring out around his ears who stares back at me. His pale face had a few freckles, but a wicked black eye in its green phase. He followed me with his eyes as I passed him by, a look so intense that even though he wasn't moving, he seemed to be twitchy with energy. Most certainly it was my expectations of a beatific character that caused me to find the image discordant, but how is it that such a compact little body can project the emotions of a raging adult?
Later on, although I'm not in the habit of picking up street detritus, I bent down to unfold a little crumpled piece of paper that I saw nestled in some sidewalk lawn. I guess it had fallen out of various bags and bins in its escape from a fate in the dump. I had to shake out the dirt that had crept into its crinkles as I smoothed out the personalized note paper to read:
[Front]:
TONIGHT IS A BIRTHDAY PART for your FRIEND--> NOT "WORK DRINKS"
And, look at your mail ("sent") on your phone from 5/16 to Ana -->
[Back]:
The divorce stuff aggrivates you but doesn't change how you feel? ...
LOVELY. I WAS RIGHT(
Was this thrown out by the recipient, or written to try to work out anger and then discarded so that the person who had triggered these emotions would not be privy to them? Did the writer sit at a desk or write standing, stooped over, ripping the paper off the pad as s/he straightened? Is Ana the third party who has broken up the marriage or the former partner? Should the friend be in quotes as in, often referred to as a friend but actually a suspected lover? And what is this feeling, untouched by the aggravation of divorce? The only thing I can be sure of is that being right doesn't seem to change a thing.
THE LISTS
to do class: Write JM recommendation. Make grades spreadsheet.
to do work: write a draft of the p of i section.
done! read bourdieu, khan. I am writing sections of the larger theory section. Neetu says the theoretical org is working. I still have to work through Goffman and set up some more complimentary dichotomies.
to do life: Pay down debt (currently $2,326.09). Procure dog. Redo taxes. Figure out Amazon.com problem. Repot ginko tree and cactus.
Really, I'm letting all this slip, no? All I managed to yesterday was cut my nails and dirty a ton of dishes trying to scrape the charcoal off of the crust I'd let burn while heating up a leftover sandwich.
to do blitz: sarah, marilyn, giulia, irmary, mariana, dar, nv, robin, fl, ek, sf, marzena, thérèse, hen, dorith.
blitzed! diane
Netflixed: Stomp the Yard. Loved it. The plot is uninteresting, but it does justify the intensity of energies--although you could argue that people want to win competitions because they take pride in their artistic achievement, not necessarily as a way of resolving personal emnities. And the dance sequences are beautiful and energetic and parodic and clever and intense and plentiful. I've sent it back, but I already want to watch (parts of it) again.
I like stopping at om cafe on the way home from school because I actually get work done in the evenings and feel so much better than when I come home and just lay about waiting for it to be late enough to go to sleep. I also love my walks home through the little neighborhoods that are broken up by big yucky streets. Moreover, I like that brief encounters with people and objects prompt all sorts of unfulfillable curiosity for me. Like yesterday, I crossed paths with a woman walking her rather large toddler in a stroller. I peered into the stroller, expecting to see an adorable baby and instead, it's a red-head with a beanie smashing down his hair on the crown of his head such that wild curls spring out around his ears who stares back at me. His pale face had a few freckles, but a wicked black eye in its green phase. He followed me with his eyes as I passed him by, a look so intense that even though he wasn't moving, he seemed to be twitchy with energy. Most certainly it was my expectations of a beatific character that caused me to find the image discordant, but how is it that such a compact little body can project the emotions of a raging adult?
Later on, although I'm not in the habit of picking up street detritus, I bent down to unfold a little crumpled piece of paper that I saw nestled in some sidewalk lawn. I guess it had fallen out of various bags and bins in its escape from a fate in the dump. I had to shake out the dirt that had crept into its crinkles as I smoothed out the personalized note paper to read:
[Front]:
TONIGHT IS A BIRTHDAY PART for your FRIEND--> NOT "WORK DRINKS"
And, look at your mail ("sent") on your phone from 5/16 to Ana -->
[Back]:
The divorce stuff aggrivates you but doesn't change how you feel? ...
LOVELY. I WAS RIGHT(
Was this thrown out by the recipient, or written to try to work out anger and then discarded so that the person who had triggered these emotions would not be privy to them? Did the writer sit at a desk or write standing, stooped over, ripping the paper off the pad as s/he straightened? Is Ana the third party who has broken up the marriage or the former partner? Should the friend be in quotes as in, often referred to as a friend but actually a suspected lover? And what is this feeling, untouched by the aggravation of divorce? The only thing I can be sure of is that being right doesn't seem to change a thing.
THE LISTS
to do class: Write JM recommendation. Make grades spreadsheet.
to do work: write a draft of the p of i section.
done! read bourdieu, khan. I am writing sections of the larger theory section. Neetu says the theoretical org is working. I still have to work through Goffman and set up some more complimentary dichotomies.
to do life: Pay down debt (currently $2,326.09). Procure dog. Redo taxes. Figure out Amazon.com problem. Repot ginko tree and cactus.
Really, I'm letting all this slip, no? All I managed to yesterday was cut my nails and dirty a ton of dishes trying to scrape the charcoal off of the crust I'd let burn while heating up a leftover sandwich.
to do blitz: sarah, marilyn, giulia, irmary, mariana, dar, nv, robin, fl, ek, sf, marzena, thérèse, hen, dorith.
blitzed! diane
Netflixed: Stomp the Yard. Loved it. The plot is uninteresting, but it does justify the intensity of energies--although you could argue that people want to win competitions because they take pride in their artistic achievement, not necessarily as a way of resolving personal emnities. And the dance sequences are beautiful and energetic and parodic and clever and intense and plentiful. I've sent it back, but I already want to watch (parts of it) again.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
ugly feelings
is the title of a book I really admire. I also have been reading Sedgwick's work on shame and find it asbolutely illuminating. So I have a lot of theoretical tools for analyzing that not-so-proud feeling that occasionally pulses through me. I have realized that someone I know and like is doing a very similar project to mine. Last week, I discovered that we share advisors. Today, I found that we are both in a program where we will have the chance to teach courses based on our dissertations and her description of her course sounds just like mine. Only more interesting. I feel overshadowed in her presence, both by her personality and by her knowledge base. Moreover, she is so sweet and supportive when we cross paths. Mind, I am also sweet and supportive of her when we cross paths, but I do feel this impossible combination of insecurity that my work is worse than hers and protectiveness over work of mine that she might potentially steal. The incompatibility of these fears seems indicative of the possibility that this is an issue I need to work out with myself that I am projecting onto her, or that she triggers in me, but even with that therapese assessment, it will be difficult to feel equanimity when taking a course with her.
THE LISTS
to do class: Write JM recommendation. Edit syllabus. Make grades spreadsheet.
done! Edited syllabus. Realized that there is absolutely no rhyme or reason to how I organize the texts.
to do work: write a draft of the p of i section.
done! nothing other than a blossoming of my feeling of total helplessness on this.
to do life: Pay down debt (currently $2,326.09). Procure dog. Redo taxes. Figure out Amazon.com problem. Repot ginko tree and cactus.
to do blitz: sarah, marilyn, giulia, irmary, mariana, dar, nv, robin, fl, ek.
THE LISTS
to do class: Write JM recommendation. Edit syllabus. Make grades spreadsheet.
done! Edited syllabus. Realized that there is absolutely no rhyme or reason to how I organize the texts.
to do work: write a draft of the p of i section.
done! nothing other than a blossoming of my feeling of total helplessness on this.
to do life: Pay down debt (currently $2,326.09). Procure dog. Redo taxes. Figure out Amazon.com problem. Repot ginko tree and cactus.
to do blitz: sarah, marilyn, giulia, irmary, mariana, dar, nv, robin, fl, ek.
Monday, June 11, 2007
pounce pounce
Sometimes all it takes is one question to re-order a floundering mind. I had been thinking about writing a section on "performance of identity," a question so vast that I didn't know where to begin or what to read. Talking about it seemed to lend itself to tautologies, performing identity is like an identity that's being performed. A mess. Then Harmony pointed out that it's a concept rarely discussed outside of a situation of some sort and I realized immediately that I'm thinking about theorizing a specific attitude towards identity that allows for its commodification, and with this in mind, I made my way over to my shelves and started pouncing on them like a little feral cat, dragging down books books books. This little wildness has resulted in long hours sitting in precisely the same position. So I treasure these moments of frenzied physical activity for their rarity.
All in all, a lovely weekend, despite our missing Harold and Maude at the cemetary screening because of its overweeing popularity. We were forced to have our picnic in bed, watching Talladega Nights. Not quite the same vibe.
THE LISTS
to do class: Write JM recommendation. Edit syllabus. Make grades spreadsheet.
done!
to do work: read a ton of performance studies theory, figure out how to start structuring the info I want on 1) commodification of identity 2) blackface
done! read a third of a ton.
to do life: Pay down debt (currently $3,430). Procure dog. Redo taxes. Call Jessie Delgado and Hilda. Figure out Amazon.com problem. Repot ginko tree and cactus.
done! Paid down some debt, now currently $2,326.09. Called Hilda: won't know re next year for "a few weeks." Totally lost my nerve and blited Jessie instead of calling...am somewhat disturbed to find that she is no longer listed in the calarts directory but that she has an auto-reply stating she'll be back on July 30th. So c2 is on hold until then. Poo.
to do blitz: sarah, marilyn, giulia, irmary, mariana, dar, nv, robin, fl, ek.
blitzed: lara
Netflixed: Punch-drunk love. Impossibly difficult movie to watch. A lot happens, but it also seems to cultivate an interminable repetitiveness. I actually had to fast forward to the last scene to figure out if it was going to be a happy movie or end as depressively as it began. Upon discovering that it ends with the possibility for human connection, I was able to go back and watch the last 20 minutes and hear the sappiest line ever: "I have a love in my life and that gives me greater strength than you can even imagine," as uttered by Adam Sandler.
Talladega Nights. Maybe I have no sense of humor? First 40-year-old Virgin and now Will Farrell, just didn't find it uproarious. My favorite moment was one of the bloopers actually, John Reilly as Will's best friend interrupting grace to comment "I like to picture Jesus as a figure skater doing an interpretive dance of my life's journey." That was funny. Otherwise, there was a lot of uncomfortable silence as the jokes get pushed just too too far. Don't these people have editors?
All in all, a lovely weekend, despite our missing Harold and Maude at the cemetary screening because of its overweeing popularity. We were forced to have our picnic in bed, watching Talladega Nights. Not quite the same vibe.
THE LISTS
to do class: Write JM recommendation. Edit syllabus. Make grades spreadsheet.
done!
to do work: read a ton of performance studies theory, figure out how to start structuring the info I want on 1) commodification of identity 2) blackface
done! read a third of a ton.
to do life: Pay down debt (currently $3,430). Procure dog. Redo taxes. Call Jessie Delgado and Hilda. Figure out Amazon.com problem. Repot ginko tree and cactus.
done! Paid down some debt, now currently $2,326.09. Called Hilda: won't know re next year for "a few weeks." Totally lost my nerve and blited Jessie instead of calling...am somewhat disturbed to find that she is no longer listed in the calarts directory but that she has an auto-reply stating she'll be back on July 30th. So c2 is on hold until then. Poo.
to do blitz: sarah, marilyn, giulia, irmary, mariana, dar, nv, robin, fl, ek.
blitzed: lara
Netflixed: Punch-drunk love. Impossibly difficult movie to watch. A lot happens, but it also seems to cultivate an interminable repetitiveness. I actually had to fast forward to the last scene to figure out if it was going to be a happy movie or end as depressively as it began. Upon discovering that it ends with the possibility for human connection, I was able to go back and watch the last 20 minutes and hear the sappiest line ever: "I have a love in my life and that gives me greater strength than you can even imagine," as uttered by Adam Sandler.
Talladega Nights. Maybe I have no sense of humor? First 40-year-old Virgin and now Will Farrell, just didn't find it uproarious. My favorite moment was one of the bloopers actually, John Reilly as Will's best friend interrupting grace to comment "I like to picture Jesus as a figure skater doing an interpretive dance of my life's journey." That was funny. Otherwise, there was a lot of uncomfortable silence as the jokes get pushed just too too far. Don't these people have editors?
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
32
my depression score.
18 is the lower limit for suggesting medication.
i did, however, finish grading the midterms last night.
18 is the lower limit for suggesting medication.
i did, however, finish grading the midterms last night.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
dragging it out
lots of interesting things have happened this weekend, but I am starting to consider that perhaps my depression is induced by grading. The past two days have been a smorgasborg of increasing sluggishness and ensuing self-hatred. The weekend was weekend, so even though I did grade some papers on Sunday, it did not partake of the grading despair. On Monday, I started off well, grading one paper, then traipsing off to yoga, emerging form yoga yogically, and then to om café, where I read five papers. I felt so triumphant, even though I had to leave after reading only five papers. Out of ten left.
So far so good.
I made it home with fantastic plans for a good use of time. I had planned to eat a little bit of dinner (leftover grandpa's porridge from blue hen), then type up my vergil notes and read book iv, then grade two more papers and then take a drive over to school to return a recalled book, thereby avoiding a five dollar fine, and be back in bed fitfully sleeping at 11:00.
And then, I did none of these things. Perhaps I got derailed at the eating of a little bit of dinner plan. Because when I got back to the studio, what seemed appealing was not grandpa's porridge in its somewhat ideologically disturbing red and white container labeled "oriental food," but the nice crusty rosemary bread gifted from sweet lady jane's. I ate, can I count them? at least 6 slices of bread with different toppings. The first slice was supposedly the dinner itself: toasted bread with lovely artichoke tapenade, some mixed baby greens, and a slice of prosciutto. Very yummy. But then I decided that consuming 5 more slices, some topped with cheese, some topped with butter, some with more tapenade.
Each progressive slice eaten found me more and more uncomfortably full. By the time I'd finished with the loaf, I felt disgusting and bloated. And it seemed absolutely impossible to accomplish anything on the rest of the list. Not typing up the notes, not reading book iv, not grading papers, not driving to school, not saving five dollars.
I went to bed at 7:00pm, thinking that I would wake myself up at 9:00pm and start fresh. The alarm blared off and I set it again, for 5:30am.
The next morning went, if possible, even worse. I wasn't at a cafe, so I read the four leftover papers lounging on my side in bed, allowing myself to doze off in between paragraphs. It took me four hours to grade four papers. Further disgust and increasing fidgitiness at the elapsing of time.
The rest of the day went by in a happy little tired blur. Class was fine, the meeting about the job market next year was redundant but fine, the busride home was long and capped off by the appearance of an incredible-smelling man wearing a rite-aid plastic bag as a do-rag, coming home and spazzing out for a while was fine and cooking mushroom risotto and watching the devil wears prada with michael was especially fine.
However, I now have to grade midterms. By tomorrow, last day of class. Oh, the dread and sadness that is this task.
THE LISTS
um, I graded papers. That's it.
So far so good.
I made it home with fantastic plans for a good use of time. I had planned to eat a little bit of dinner (leftover grandpa's porridge from blue hen), then type up my vergil notes and read book iv, then grade two more papers and then take a drive over to school to return a recalled book, thereby avoiding a five dollar fine, and be back in bed fitfully sleeping at 11:00.
And then, I did none of these things. Perhaps I got derailed at the eating of a little bit of dinner plan. Because when I got back to the studio, what seemed appealing was not grandpa's porridge in its somewhat ideologically disturbing red and white container labeled "oriental food," but the nice crusty rosemary bread gifted from sweet lady jane's. I ate, can I count them? at least 6 slices of bread with different toppings. The first slice was supposedly the dinner itself: toasted bread with lovely artichoke tapenade, some mixed baby greens, and a slice of prosciutto. Very yummy. But then I decided that consuming 5 more slices, some topped with cheese, some topped with butter, some with more tapenade.
Each progressive slice eaten found me more and more uncomfortably full. By the time I'd finished with the loaf, I felt disgusting and bloated. And it seemed absolutely impossible to accomplish anything on the rest of the list. Not typing up the notes, not reading book iv, not grading papers, not driving to school, not saving five dollars.
I went to bed at 7:00pm, thinking that I would wake myself up at 9:00pm and start fresh. The alarm blared off and I set it again, for 5:30am.
The next morning went, if possible, even worse. I wasn't at a cafe, so I read the four leftover papers lounging on my side in bed, allowing myself to doze off in between paragraphs. It took me four hours to grade four papers. Further disgust and increasing fidgitiness at the elapsing of time.
The rest of the day went by in a happy little tired blur. Class was fine, the meeting about the job market next year was redundant but fine, the busride home was long and capped off by the appearance of an incredible-smelling man wearing a rite-aid plastic bag as a do-rag, coming home and spazzing out for a while was fine and cooking mushroom risotto and watching the devil wears prada with michael was especially fine.
However, I now have to grade midterms. By tomorrow, last day of class. Oh, the dread and sadness that is this task.
THE LISTS
um, I graded papers. That's it.
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