This conversation will stop / in seven minutes.

Drama, drama, drama. Actually, a lack of. But we'll pretend it was drama.

Just got back from inscape. I love inscape--I really do. (This isn't like the time I kept telling my best friend I was happy that she was getting married but really wasn't happy at all. I wonder how many of my "issues" stem from that experience.) I love inscape, but I'm growing weary of that group. I feel like I'm baby-sitting rather than actually accomplishing things. (Note: This does not apply to Kapka. Kapka is wonderful. She is part of the trinity. She is--in fact--a goddess.)

I was putting the *fingers-crossed* finishing touches on inscape tonight. Next door I can hear my poetry staff not reading or discussing poetry, but talking relationships and phone calls and saying all the asinine things that make me want to leave Provo. It made me sad. I always want to believe that people who are on staff think like I do. And then I realized that no one things like I think--thank heavens.

Sister is yelling on her cellphone. Actually, Sister rarely yells. She just speaks forcefully and with an edge to her voice that is actually blunt and ramming into the lister's head. I try to avoid having this voice used in my direction. It scares me. And then I curl up like a wounded animal waiting for someone to put me out of my misery.

Let's end on a happy note, shall we? My senior year of high school I was an associate editor for the newspaper. It sounds silly now, but it was important then. The staff was split into two staffs after the first term so that we could put out a paper ever two weeks with the staffs leapfrogging each other. I was sneaky and gave Annie all the guys she wanted--seniors--for her staff and "humbly" took most of the juniors for my staff. I knew that the seniors would stop caring and my staff would keep working to the end of the year. (I was right, by the way.) So the point of telling you this. My senior year I had a group of "junior boys." They were wonderful, smart, funny guys who were great to hang out with, wrote well, etc. They were the group who were offended that I hadn't been asked to prom my senior year. And they are the people I really still want to see from high school, with the exception of a handful of people in my own class.

I still haven't gotten to the point, have I? Hmmm. Well, the point is that I saw Callan today, my favorite of the junior boys. I haven't seen him since well before his mission. He just got back. And he's an English major. It was a good seven minutes.

I'm not sure what I am

People were wondering where I was yesterday--I missed English 600, which is a fun class only because some of my favorite people are there. I explained my doctor's appointment. I only told LadyJane why the doctor's appointment. She was surprised--I don't strike her as being someone dealing with problems.

I don't feel that I have many problems. My biggest "problem" is that I can't be happy, that I don't know how. There's always an undercurrent of sadness and lately I've been drowning in it.

This is so trite and cliche to write. But it's where I am. Does that "but" effectively negate all my ineffective comments? Probably not.

I was going to write about my crusade to save the personal essay in 115 (okay, really only righteous indignation, but I can escalate it). But I don't care anymore. I don't want to care.

"I always care. I don't always know."

This is what it is to be broken.

broken

Live a life less ordinary
Live a life extraordinary with me

Don't give me that look. This is not going to be another editorgirl musical production. Just a few lines. I'll leave the productions to my brother, the singing wonder. I ran up to Bountiful for a few things today. As I was leaving. . . I was going to say "strains of Phantom" were finding their way up the stairs, but that would imply that it was quiet, peaceful, graceful. This was Phantom (of the Opera, not Planet, Phantom) blasting its way up the stairs, accompanied by my 15-year-old brother's singing. Apparently he does this with various soundtracks and CDs every night until my parents tell him to shut up.

Live a life less sedentary
Live a life evolutionary with me

Yeah, don't know what that means. But this is becoming my mantra. I have an announcement--an announcement and I want you all to be the first to hear (name that movie)--eg is broken.

Well I hate to be a bother
But it's you and there's no other, I do believe
You can call me naive but. . .

I need to stop listening to love songs. Or sort of love songs.

I know me very well (at least as far as I can tell)
And I know what I need

There's an epidemic going around, where people google their name followed by the word "needs" because. . . I suppose it's fun. But here's what I really need:

Started a list and then grew annoyed with it. So I'm stopping now. I said I'm stopping now. And telling you the story of the day.

I found a new music group that I'm enjoying. Carbon Leaf. Check 'em out. And I think it's time for a new playlist. Excuse me. . .

I need more hellos.

Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together? I guess that wouldn't work. Someone would leave. Someone always leaves. Then we would have to say good-bye. I hate good-byes. I know what I need. I need more hellos. (Charles M. Schulz)

Hello, you have reached the voicemail of. . .

After my reading last Friday, I turned on my cellphone to find the following text message:

Hey editorgirl, nice job. liked the arms blood heavy line and the icarus poem.

I didn't recognize the number and most of the people who usually text me are in my phone, so I spent a few days puzzling over that one. Then my sister mentioned that my visiting teacher had been there. I have yet to put her number into my phone, so I assumed it must be her.

Tonight I was wondering the status of our church meetings tomorrow, so I dug up the text message and called the number. After a few rings, I got an answering machine. In a man's voice.

"Hello, you have reached the voicemail of Gideon. . ."

My first and only reaction was to hang up, which I did. And now I'm wondering if he'll ever say anything.

Move it or lose it

Since Monday:

Pride & Prejudice
There is no such thing as a bad Mr. Darcy. He's just the perfect man, regardless of who's portraying him: Laurence Olivier, Colin Firth, Orlando Seale, Martin Henderson, or Matthew MacFadyen. They all make a movie worth watching. And worth watching again.

God's Army 2: States of Grace
It's a well-done movie with some amazing cuts, but honestly, Mr. Dutcher, lay off the sensationalism. Will not be watching again.

Saved!
I actually watched this twice: once last night and again this morning after I read MF's response to last night's (this morning's?) post. It's an interesting movie--decidedly fodder for a good discussion.

The Perfect Score
I've seen the preview for this a million times, as it comes at the beginning of The Prince & Me, which I only watched part of this week and is therefore not being included in this list (although I can and will discuss it at length with anyone who wants to). Part of the reason I decided to watch it was for Leonardo Nam and Scarlet Johansson. Part of the reason I'm going to watch it again will be the "perfect girl" character. She has a 4.0, but freezes during the SAT when she reaches a story problem about a woman getting on a train in New York. She starts to wonder about the woman, who she is, where she's going, if she knows the man who boards the train three hours later. The end of her story has her going to Europe after graduation, then going to a school she wanted to--and now, every other weekend, when a woman boards a train in New York, she knows exactly who she is and where she's going. I don't know if it's cliche or just terribly cheesy, but I liked that idea. I liked it very much.

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
Perhaps my current thoughts on this film can be best summed up by the following IM conversation I've been carrying on with my 10-year-old sister (whose name is not Aimee) while typing this blog:

Aimee says: did you see harry potter?
eg says: I just did.
Aimee says: just barely?
Aimee says: did you like it?
eg says: I think so. I'm still thinking about it.
Aimee says: hehehe
Aimee says: it's freaky!
eg says: agreed.
Aimee says: voldemort looks weird!
Aimee says: i mean, he has slits for his nose!
eg says: I know. It's creepy.
Aimee says: did you like it though???
eg says: I told you: I think I did.
Aimee says: you THINK you did
Aimee says: but DID you?
Aimee says: that's my question
eg says: yes.
Aimee says: ok
Aimee says: that's all i wanted to know
eg says: indeed.

honestly

I just finished wasting brain cells watching Saved and The Perfect Score. Is it sad that I can have quasi-intelligent thoughts about these movies? Or that TPS would make me want to move to New York, just so I can get on a train?

Hurcun, or AWOL

A is for Annotated Bibliographies.
My students are supposed to be emailing their homework to me. Which means my inbox is full with homework assignments I need to read and respond to. I will never, never, never cancel class again.

W is for Wislawa Szymborska.
So in September or October I purchased miracle fair, a collection of poetry by Szymborska, who is fast becoming my favorite poet. . . or at least one of my favorites. I read the first section of the book, shared it with some people who agreed that it was brilliant stuff, and then duty called and the book was left lonely on the shelf. I waited too long, ignored it, allowed its pages to collect dust. And so it got revenge. When I finally had time to pick it up again this weekend, I found that starting in the second section, every other spread was blank. At first I thought it was an artistic, poet thing. But then I checked the table of contents and poems were supposed to be on those pages. I took the sad specimen to the bookstore, got in-store credit, and, after a day of mourning, bought Szymborska's newest book, Monologue of a Dog. This one has Polish on the verso and English on the recto--and it's hardback. And yes, I do spend too much money on poetry.

O is for "Out," which is the next word in (one of) my favorite Shakespeare passage(s).
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,
creeps in this petty pace from day to day
to the last syllable of recorded time,
and all our yesterdays have lighted fools
the way to dusty death.

L is for London buddies.
There has been a sudden influx of Londoners (i.e., students who went on the 2002 Theatre in London study abroad program) in my life. First Kimball "accidentally" forwarded me some piece of chain mail, which I teasingly rebuked her for and then we spent an hour on the phone catching up. And then yesterday I got an email from Todd. Just before our London trip, Todd had been an intern at BYU Magazine. He would tell me about it as we walked back to the flats from school and I decided that was what I wanted to do--and I did it. He was also the one who recruited me for Inscape. I didn't join the staff until after he had left, but I still blame him for my illustrious editing career at BYU. (Did you catch the slight sarcasm there? Just checking.)

P.S. I'm still in Provo, waiting for the parents to show up.

On repeat

When I was born, they looked at me and said,
"What a good boy, what a smart boy, what a strong boy."
And when you were born, they looked at you and said,
"What a good girl, what a what a smart girl, what a pretty girl."

I was going to use "Testing 1, 2, 3": both are by bnl, both have good lyrics, but this is the song that decided to get stuck in my head today, at least stuck there when I started writing.

We've got these chains that hang around our necks
people want to strangle us with them before we take our first breath.
Afraid of change, afraid of staying the same,
when temptation calls, we just look away.

My mom brought me flowers on Friday, my favorite flowers. She didn't know they were. I need to give her more credit. She's a pretty cool mom. I'm kind of looking forward to Thanksgiving with her. Fingers crossed, we'll only spend 94% of the time talking about Sister's wedding. That gives me a whole 6% just to talk to her.

Chorus
This name is the hairshirt I wear
and this hairshirt is woven from your brown hair.
This song is the cross that I bear,
bear it with me, bear with me, bear with me, be with me tonight,
I know that it isn't right, but be with me tonight.

Here I should look up "hairshirt" and tell you exactly how the definition fits my interpretation of the song. But that would influence your reading. And I'm lazy.

I have yet to write a love poem--a real love poem. Kapka thought that "Adam" was a love poem. And maybe it is, just a little bit, but I realized this morning, as I started to turn around some lines for a poem that wants to be written that I've loved but I've never been in love. I'm not a person who argues that you can only write what you know--you can imagine--but I think I need to be in love before I write a love poem that is aware that it is a love poem. Maybe I'm wrong.

I go to school, I write exams,
if I pass, if I fail, if I drop out,
does anyone give a damn?
And if they do, they'll soon forget 'cause it won't take much for me
to show my life ain't over yet.

I have two seminar papers coming due. One is ten pages and on teaching, which I understand. One is twenty pages and on anything under the sun that I can tie to Benjamin, Levinas, or Zizek--none of whom I understand.

I wake up scared, I wake up strange.
I wake up wondering if anything in my life is ever going to change.
I wake up scared, I wake up strange
and everything around me stays the same.

Yes.

Chorus

Writing about yourself is difficult--as in writing an introduction. What do you include? What do you leave how? How much is necessary and how much is bragging?

Another difficult writing task: writing an email to someone who you haven't seen in years but who just wrote you. How much of it needs to be formal and how much of you is allowed? What if you still have just a touch of schoolgirl crush on this person? Or is that too 1990s?

I couldn't tell you that I was wrong,
chickened out, grabbed a pen and paper, sat down and I wrote this song.
I couldn't tell you that you were right,
so instead I looked in the mirror,
watched TV, laid awake all night.

Yesterday was my movie day.

I was chatting with my cousin and he suddenly quoted Say Anything. It didn't occur to me at first--I prefer to converse with people who regularly quote Say Anything--but then I realized that cousin is not one of those people. Turns out he and his girlfriend (who is also my roommate) had borrowed it over the weekend. Hooray for spreading the Say Anything love.

Pelican Brief: I don't know why I wanted to watch this movie, but I did. And so I watched it. And I still don't know why. (It is a very well done adaptation.)

Confession: that's not the title of a movie. It's what I'm about to do. Confess. I don't really like the A&E version of Pride and Prejudice. It's six freaking hours, people. And Jane is ugly. And for that matter, so is Elizabeth. And it's six hours. So last night, when I went to see the new P&P, I was bracing myself. I quite enjoyed it. After I see it again I'll post a decent review.

We've got these chains, hang 'round our necks,
people want to strangle us with them before we take our first breath.
Afraid of change, afraid of staying the same when temptation calls ...

I'm going to Hurricane for Thanksgiving again. My aunt has internet, but it's so heavily screened that they only have access to lds.org, byu.edu, and cleanflicks, so I'm not sure when I'll be back to blog.

Chorus

Plus I don't give my family this address.

When I was born, they looked at me and said:
"What a good boy, what a smart boy, what a strong boy."
And when you were born, they looked at you and said:
"What a good girl, what a smart girl, what a pretty girl."

Well it's been a long, been a long, been a long, been a long day.

Act I: When it rains, it pours.

My sister's bridal shower. Bridal showers are a matter of routine in my family, at least on my dad's side. Aunt Kathy prepares a quilt, schedules her church building, and tells everyone to bring a salad or a dessert. Jell-O in some form is a given, along with rolls and lunch meat. It hurts Grandma's feelings if we don't come and there's always the possibility that someday it will be your turn and you'll want people to come to your shower, so aunts and cousins all show up to tie the quilt and eat food--the aforementioned Jell-O and sandwiches, but also the heavy-on-the-mayo salads, the veggie tray, and the chips and salsa. Today I threw them all for a loop with a baguette and ciabatta left over from last night's GSA dinner. At one point my size -4 cousin (she's fourteen-ish) had a piece of bread in each hand as she and her -8 sister circled the food table.

Another loop was thrown when both sides of the family were invited--my dad's and my mom's. This is the sort of situation we try to avoid. I never know who to talk to, who I need to be paying attention to; it's a rather peculiar balancing act: joke around with Lisa and then commiserate with Emily (who's turning 24 and is still single) and then have a nice chat with Megan and Meghan (different sides of the family) about their husbands and Megan's daughter.

The family decided to throw their own loop in my direction via two well-meaning comments. The first came from the thrice-divorced aunt, my mother's sister, who is known as eg's favorite aunt on that side--I'm not quite sure if that's true. She mentioned to me that she finally decided to try online dating, is enjoying herself, and maybe I should give it a try. I thought it was a joke at first--this is the side with the sense of humor, after all--but she was completely serious. I listened to her talk about her site of choice, ldspromise, and then excused myself to the quilt-tying where I thought I would be safe. At the quilt I found another aunt, this one my dad's oldest sister. She has had a hard life, due in part to a decision she made when she was young--to get married. She leaned over to me and said, "If you need to talk, I'm here. I understand what it's like to have your younger sister get married first." I knew she was sincere and I thanked her. When the sister just younger than her got married, this aunt felt that she needed to marry and did marry the next guy who came around, who was a less than ideal match. I've been told this story by my dad, my grandfather, and my dad again, but I wasn't expecting Aunt to tell it to me. We actually had a nice little talk as we tied the bride's quilt.

Act II: How to suck--I mean, succeed.

My brother is finishing a stint in his high school musical, How to Succeed in Business without Really Trying. I have never hated a musical more. I love theatre. I usually adore musicals, but this one is flat out dreadful. And tonight was the second time I saw it. The "leads" were double cast and this was a new cast for me. I found myself getting annoyed with the people I knew were the other leads who still felt the need to spaz out on stage. You get the spotlight next time, people. Chill.

This time I knew where to look to see Brother, so it was a little more entertaining. The high point of the evening came during "The Brotherhood of Man," which is actually a decent song, but it wasn't the music. Brother had forgotten to do up his collar and tie up his tie, so my dad spent the number trying to subtlely signal to Brother. All this while Brother was stomping and flailing about on stage.

Act III: T-I-R-D, tired.

I just don't know when to stop. Actually, I don't want to stop, because stopping means I have to return to life at home where Mom is doing the dishes, Dad is sleeping in the rocking/glider chair, and Sister and Fiance are out on the couch being in love. No thank you to all scenarios. I think I'll go to bed. Good night.

What's done is done.

It's over. I survived, you survived, the audience survived, and "Phunny Phanny" is not my mother. *big sigh of relief*

The high points:

Getting John Bennion to ask Kapka to say the prayer. I don't care if she did enjoy it--I am still claiming it as revenge.

James and Joe reading. There were moments when I forgot that I wanted to throw up/pass out/not be there and it was like every other reading where I'm completely lost in the words and I'm on the edge of my seat, waiting for the next line.

John Bennion calling me "quirky" because of my odd little intro--which he didn't tell us was going to be our intro, but served as such.

Conquering my nerves rather quickly (for me) and then enjoying myself. Who would have thought?

The Q&A. I didn't know we were having a Q&A. It was fun to sit between James and Joe and feel like I just might know what I was talking about (after all, I was talking about me). And it gave me a chance to plug Inscape again, as well as mention the ever popular "Larry the Canary" poem I wrote in third grade.

My mom, dad, and Sister showed up to support. With flowers. And a camera.

Miss K came. So did Kapka, aa, LadyJane, Master Fob and Foxy with S-Boogie in tow, Tolkien Boy, and other people who I was so glad to see, but who don't have blog names.

Mass amounts of hugging. And handshaking. Usually not a fan, but today it was deemed appropriate.

Lunch with Miss K and Kapka--the trinity back together again. And at Mimi's, no less.

editorgirl is missing

From the mixed-up files of November 17, 2005, which will forever be catalogued under The Importance of Being Earnest.

Panic attack today watching Kristine Hansen speak about "What Writing is Worth." Not because of her lecture topic, but because I realized tommorow I will be standing in front of a room full of people and reading my poetry. The poetry I don't let anyone else read, unless it's in workshop. I don't really go about introducing myself as a poet or a writer. I don't introduce myself as anything. I usually just say "Hello. Nice to meet you." And then I expect to be ignored.

SHowe gave me the advice to give people something to watch for in my poetry tomorrow, as it will help them follow the poem better. I had thought of this in regards to three of them, but after that I'm at a bit of a loss. For those of you who know my poetry, here's the line up:

maybe
sum(marry)
Princess
I Study Barnett Newman's Adam
I Study Barnett Newman's Eve
Gender in Classical Mythology
things incommon

Considering this list and deciding what to read has led to a realization re: titles. LLarsen commented about a few of my titles that they were too clever. To which I thought, "Yes, and. . ." and kept the titles. But now, looking at sum(marry), I'm wondering if I should read it as summary or some marry tomorrow. In past readings, everyone had a copy and could see how clever I was. I'm now realizing that cleverness can be a hindrance for the hearer. Which may be another thing to think about--I've never thought about my poetry being for the listener so much as for the reader. Maybe that is why people like "Princess" so much and why I'm always so surprised that they like it.

The real thing I'm nervous about is that my mother is coming. I have two great fears in my life: one is that I'll someday be like my mother. The second is that I'll never be able to be anything like my mother. And I want her approval. . . which is why I haven't shown her anything I've written in the past five years or so. Because if she dislikes it, or disapproves, it might be enough for me to stop working so hard. I was going to say "stop writing," but that wouldn't happen. It would just become more a side project than it already is--and that prospect terrifies me.

Happy Lance Larsen Day!

Lance Larsen came to my poetry class today. And I made cupcakes. Which made me think of Corey in Empire Records, who makes cupcakes for Rex Manning Day. If you haven't seen the movie, you should. And if you have, the cupcakes were the only similarity of the experience. But it did inspire the rest of this blog. Yay blogging!

Warren: Who glued these quarters down?
A.J.: I did.
Warren: What the hell for, man?
A.J.: I don't feel that I need to explain my art to you, Warren.

I love it when I get to hear a poet talk about being a poet, or a writer about being a writer. It used to terrify me to hear them talk about leaving a poem alone for months or years, about rejection slips, etc., and I decided that I wasn't a writer. I didn't have what it takes. Listening today, though, made me think that maybe I can do this, provided I continue to pursue my academic career. Combining the two--creative and academic--will make me that better a professor in the long run.

Mark: Hey, Lucas. I've decided I'm going to start a band.
Lucas: The first thing you need is a name. Then you'll know what kind of band you've got.
Mark: Right, right. I was thinking about, um, Marc. How does that sound?
Lucas: Is that with a C or with a K?
Mark: Well my name is with a K, so I was thinking my band's name could be with a C. That way it's kind of that psychedelic, you know, trip thing.
Lucas: Always play with their minds.

I met with Susan Howe today to have her look over the poems I'm going to read on Friday. I found out that I'll be reading last, by the way. But that wasn't what I was saying. I was going to say that I had "things incommon" at the bottom of the stack. I told her I was thinking about reading the first section, maybe. She liked it all.

I have also decided that my first book will be titled "things incommon" and dedicated to. . . well, that I can't tell you, because I don't want to make anyone jealous. (I'm thinking in book form now!)

Lucas: Who knows where thoughts come from? They just appear.

I never want to be a Lucas; but I'll quote him.

A.J.: Lucas, do you think it's possible for a person to be in love with someone else and not even know it?
Lucas: In this life there are nothing but possibilities.
A.J.: Well, that's good, because I have to tell Corey I love her by 1:37.
Lucas: That's an excellent time.

I don't know if I'll get over my need-to-be-married complex anytime soon, but I'm working on it. What I have working in my favor is that I'm dedicated to my education and myself. That and Kapka's right. Flirting is fun. And would be awkward as a married person. But thank you for everything everyone said (I have to be general here because I don't know who you are, but somehow you know me). It got me through a really really really bad night.

A.J.: What's with you? Yesterday you were normal and today you're like the Chinese guy from the Karate Kid. What's with you today?
Lucas: What's with today today?

There are so many good lines left to use. But I'm running out of things to say and I can hear Zizek calling my name. It's very muffled (because of his beard) and heavily accented, but it's still my name. "Slavoj! I'm coming!"

Poem of praise/prays

Possible ode topics
April
april
cupcakes
the girl who used to bake cupcakes like a mad woman
the guy who sits in front of me in my contemporary literary class
Mater Fob (wonder where I got that idea)
my mother
Statler and Waldorf
John Cusack
Anonymous, phunny Phanny, and Kapka for their responses

I've spent the evening and now today trying to think of a subject for an ode. And I think part of the problem is that, in a way, every poem I write is meant to look at the subject from a critical perspective. Very rarely do I write a poem of praise, because well, they usually turn out very bad. Very very bad. (Add intensifiers to my list.)

On a less personal note, but still important, is that I think poetry is no longer the place for a proper ode. Watching New York Doll last night, about bassist Arthur "Killer" Kane was, in fact, watching an ode. Film is a more appropriate medium for an ode because it's able to more effectively present someone.

Which reminds me: go see New York Doll. I'll go with you. It was a little heavy-handed in places, but it really was a beautiful/brilliant piece.

od

It's a terrible thing to realize one must write an ode for the morrow and having nothing to ode about. At such a crossroad, there is only one thing to do:

go see New York Doll.

the difference between light and dark

It's one thing to think/logically conclude something. It's another to internalize/believe/accept that same thing.

I've been oh-so-slowly reaching the conclusion that 1) I'm okay with who I am, 2) I want a PhD, and 3) I'm okay being single. And in my head it all makes sense, but I'm having a hard time getting the rest of me to believe.

Courtesy of Library Communications (darn them)

Students speak out: featured in reading series

Three graduate students will be the guest speakers at this week's English Reading Series, sponsored by the Department of Humanities and the Harold B. Lee Library.

Once every semester, several students from the English Department are featured among other renowned authors and literary experts from BYU and abroad. On Friday (November 18) at noon [eg], Joseph Plicka, and James Dewey will read their own works in the Library Auditorium, and those in attendance might be able to one day tell others they heard them first.

Budding author [eg] could tell you that she loves London, the month of April, contemporary poetry, theatre, John Cusack, and the Muppets. Or she could tell you that she prefers the name "editorgirl," a story she just might tell if you come to the reading.

Joe Plicka teaches English 115 and is writing a novel for his Master's thesis. He recently won the Carolyn Barnes Poetry Award for his poem "Why the Virgin hangs in my bedroom."

Because James Dewey enjoys sound, he writes songs as well as poetry. He is currently working on a Masters degree in Portuguese, writing a thesis on Noemia De Sousa, a poet from Mozambique.

In my defense, I did not give them the phrase "budding author" (who would?) and it was "april," not "the month of April." Oy. Good thing no one will read this. Oh wait. . .

empty

I should be reading Slavoj Zizek's The Sublime Object of Ideology. I can only define two words in his title. (Hint: one is an article, one is a preposition.) Actually, I really enjoy it when I'm reading it, at least compared to Benjamin or Levinas, but then I put the book down and can't remember what I've read. It's an exercise in futility, one that I will be repeating until 3:00, when class starts and I sit in the back row, staring at the beautiful head of the tall, beautifully-dressed guy who sits in front of me. But for the next eight or so minutes, I'm going to let myself blog.

Thank you for all the congrats. I really am excited to teach 218--although I'm terrified of teaching short fiction. I don't write short fiction; I don't have the attention span. What I am is a very good reader of short fiction (of anything, really, as long as it's not Zizek). I'm hoping that will carry me through. Oh, and that Master Fob and Tolkien Boy will let me ask stupid questions when they're discussing each other's fiction. (My comments are usually "Wait. Do we know this character?" and "Hey, TB, you missed a comma." Actually, it's usually, "TB, get rid of this comma. It's unnecessary.")

In other news, there is no other news. My visiting teacher (who I suprisingly like) stopped by for a chat yesterday. She kept asking for news and I kept telling her I had nothing to tell her. My life is school and teaching and whatever movie I choose to anesthetize myself with. (Last night it was The Company. I love dance movies. This makes no sense. I can't dance. Much.)

I've paused too many times and am reaching the eight minute mark. Nothing profound to say. Only that. . . ooh. Final story of the day. SH (my 518 professor and the professor I'll be TAing for) thought that my poem "things incommon" was an Icarus poem. I actually liked the idea--I've been thinking about wings, courtesy of Miss K--and so "things incommon" is currently an Icarus poem. I'm taking it to poetasters tonight. Fingers crossed, they'll trash it and it will become something real.

you missed a spot

I've been absent a few days. Not that anyone said anything, but I felt it. This strange emptiness. . . my need to blab on and on about the most banal things, aka my life.

So what happened? A few things, beginning on Friday, post-post. (ha ha ha.)

1. I found out I'm reading at the English reading series this Friday. Yep, I'm reading my poetry to a bunch of strangers. (Unless you come. Friday, 18 November, noon, HBLL auditorium.)

2. I had an email from my poetry professor, with a postscript asking me if I had checked my box that day. I hadn't, so I raced to campus and found. . .

3. a letter telling me I had received the first 218 internship. This means I'll TA next semester and (if I do well) have my own class next fall. 218 is a creative writing class. Creative. Writing. Oy.

What came next was 1) excitement and 2) a whole bunch of guilt. I knew that getting the reading and the internship meant that my friends who had also applied didn't get them--and I kind of wished they had the reading or the internship.

I didn't want to blog about it, because I knew at least one of those friends reads this blog. And I wanted to tell that friend in person. And it was really really really hard. And yes, Tolkien Boy, I'm excessively fond of intensifiers.

I've been rocketing back and forth between excitement, guilt, pride, fear, and annoyance (this one due to my family's reaction) all weekend. Which resulted in friend abuse, etc. And now blog abuse. And now I'm going to post what I wanted to post on Friday:

Everyone is invited to the English Reading Series graduate student reading on Friday, 18 November 2005 at noon in the HBLL auditorium. Joe Plicka, who is brilliant, will be reading. Oh, and me too. Oh dear.

Nothing but blue skies from now on

The white night is over. I apologize for that post. I apologize, but I'm going to leave it there as a reminder to me, because I really did feel those things/that way. And sometimes I need to say it, not dwell on it, and then go to bed (which I did).

Today, however, thus far, has been smashing. I woke up, got ready, and taught class. It was a fun class today, which is always good. We got off on multiple tangents, but I'm learning to structure my class to allow for those. And in the midst of tangential conversation, I can tell that they're getting what I need them to get.

That being said, I'm turning them into DC addicts. Which is wonderful. Yesterday I showed "Math Lab" and "I Like My Women" before class (I sometimes will turn on movies as they're coming in to loosen the mood) and then we brainstormed research topics from "Modern Dance." Today we talked about voice and I still had the DVD in my bag so we watched "Mother Goose." When it was over, my students called for more. I told them they could either do what I had planned for class in class or take it home as homework and watch a clip. We watched "BYU Kind of Life."

There is nothing quite like this BYU kind of life

baby.

are u ok?

How are you tonight?

And they all turn to look at me, like a divided Cerebus, staring, waiting. And I can feel--literally feel--my eyes not quite fitting the sockets and I can tell that they might care, not just be waiting for a response. But I have to give them one. And what do I say?

Fine, thank you. I'm just sitting here, patiently waiting for the work to begin that I came for.

Fine, thank you. I was just wondering how you were.

I'm fan-tast-ic, so carefully enunciated you believe me.

Or do I say that I'm exhausted? That I feel foolish and not intelligent? That I talked to my friend on the drive over, to my dead friend who I don't even know if I have the right to talk to. That I am missing a key part of myself so much I can't respond to them tonight. That I am alone, always. That I am tired, no matter how much sleep I get. That I have ceased to do what I've always existed for. That I stole her idea of wings and stapled them to my back only to discover they were only feathers and wax and are melting against my skin. That I don't dream and I miss that interaction.

But I am fine. Busy, but fine. Tired, but fine. Fine. I'm fine.

visualization and al-lusions

Actually, this post won't al-lude to anything. I just wanted to be clever.

The visualization technique is still working. I've been falling asleep and staying asleep, which is wonderful. I also feel like I've become less productive, but have decided my health is worth it. Anyway, Miss K asked about it and I have yet to get through the whole thing before I fall asleep (isn't that wonderful?), so instead of reading Zizek, I'm going to let you in on the secret.

Visualize (that means imagine) a room. It can be any size, any shape (mine is always round). Choose a color for the walls--or a different color for each wall. It's your room, you can do whatever you want with it.

Furnish the room, but sparingly. (Okay, that's what the lablady told me. I always have huge bookselves climbing the sides of the room a la British Museum Reading Room or Trinity College's library with a few paintings and a small writing desk.)

There is one chair in the room. You decide what it's like, how big it is, where it is, what it's made of, if it's even a chair (I thought about a LoveSac one night, but it just made me miss BetsyJane). Once you've designed it, sit down.

The wall you are facing has been removed and there is a huge picture window. What are you looking at? The mountains? The beach? Editorgirl?

And suddenly you are dragged out of your visualization to reality. Sorry--it had to happen. You're not in bed right now, preparing to go to sleep. You're in class and you need to be paying attention. Or S-boogie is clinging to the back of your chair, waiting for you to read to her. And she is much more important than this blog. Go read to your child.

one to grow on

happy blogday to me
happy blogday to me
happy blogday, dear eg
happy blogday to me

cupcakes are forthcoming

This desk set wants to fly.

After a rather traumatic Sunday, which I can't remember if I al-luded to on my blog or not, I've been mentally reassessing my life and what I want.

I want to write. Not Write, but write. And publishing would be wonderful, but I'd rather help other people get published. I want to see other writers succeed.

I want to get a PhD in English literature.

I want to teach and research at a university.

More specifically, I want to teach contemporary literature, more specifically poetry and drama.

I want to be a theatre critic. (Some of you might be saying, You want to be Claudia Harris. Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.)

These are my top five right now. Somewhere down the list are "I want to date, fall in love, get married, raise a family," but that isn't my focus right now. (Insert Trentian comment about how I'll change my mind next week.) Also on the list are traveling, learning more about Bollywood, living in London, studying at Trinity College in Dublin, etc.

I just want to live. I'm sorry that this post isn't comical or anecdotal, but this is what is in my head. That these are the things I want to do and these are the things I will do.

And someday everything else will happen.

sweet dreams

Yesterday I made a trip to the Stress Management Biofeedback Lab--which is as scary as it sounds. After talking about how my schedule must be stressing me out (thank you Captain Obvious), the lablady started giving me advice on sleeping. She starts talking about this technique "which is called (grand movement of the hands) Visualization." Yes, I know what visualization is. Yes, I have a decent imagination. Let's do this (the room was dim, warm, and there was "soothing" music in the background. I just wanted a nap). Instead, she gave me some additional advice of things to do just before hitting the sack that would not cause my mental or physical exertion. You know: reading a (fun) book, reading the scriptures, writing in my journal, writing a friend or "a loved one who is far away," writing poetry, medit--wait a minute. Did she say writing poetry? As an activity that demands no mental exertion? And reading? Good night.

I managed no greater reaction that nodding. . . the entire time. And then was hooked up to multiple (read: two) machines to measure tension and anxiety, or something like that, while she played a tape to lead me through a relaxation/visualization technique. I was doing an excellent job of relaxing until the end. She showed me the numbers from the machines--there was a sudden spike of anxiety. I knew exactly when that happened. It was when the man on the tape unknowingly offered a rhymed couplet.

After all this, I decided to try it last night, at the detriment of my homework. I wrapped things up 30 minutes before I wanted to go to sleep. I got ready for bed. (I admit that I hadn't completely stopped my brain--I keep revising my DC review in my head.) I dimly lit the front room and read "The Materialization of Cecil." And then I climbed into bed and visualized. And I slept. It was fantastic.

Eye Candy: The DC review

For those of you who want to, head to www.divinecomedy.net/board. Or you can just read it here.

Going to the late Saturday showing reminded me of the delicate balance of the circle of Divine Comedy. Well, not so much a delicate balance as the rampant insanity that ensues in the last show. Each month’s series can be expected to follow this pattern:
First Friday show: funny, but the cast might still be a little shaky on their lines and experiencing a wonderful case of nerves
Second Friday show: funny, funny, funny. The cast knows that they can do it and they nail just about every sketch.
First Saturday show: About the same as the Second Friday show.
Second Saturday show: Having reached this point, the cast again experiences a wonderful case of nerves, but this time as in “You’ve got some. . .” Which is wonderful to watch if you know the cast and Divine Comedy. Can be a little unsettling for first-timers though.

And now I will quit preaching to the choir and do what I do best: write another chapter of my dissertation.

The cast has achieved a sense of unity and balance that wasn’t there in the last show. Perhaps it was the influence of Yoda and company in the “Mentors” sketch, which was quite possibly my favorite this time around. That being said, I was enjoyed watching cast members working outside of their (or what I perceive to be their) comfort zone. Fingers crossed I’ll be able to point out some of these as I talk about the show.

“Freshman Nights” was excellent for two reasons. The first, of course, is that it was a fun, high energy number that involved the entire cast. The second reason was that the dialogue preceding the song was just as witty/intelligent/funny as the song itself. Matt’s letter took a very close second to the song itself (and Joel’s dancing was a distant third). I am going to qualify my praise with a few thoughts, however. One: the problem with a show-stopping number is that it, well, stops the show. In prepping to write this review, I remembered liking the sketch that followed (Clean Flicks), but I couldn’t remember what it was. There’s no real solution to this, other than having FN as the final number, which would change the traditional DC format. Two: just like “Freshmen in the Night” last time, I couldn’t hear all of the lyrics. Part of this was the overpowering (male) backup singers (who were wonderful). The result: I have “hum ha hum. . . dance, awkward romance” stuck in my head with no idea what the rest of the line was.

Next on my list of “things I want to talk about”: running gags. The highlight by far was Mr. Teacherson. I was glad to see him return and I hope we get to see more of him. Teacherson in high school, in college, as Joel’s supervisor snatching his hat away on the job, and finally, Mr. Teacherson in the rest home. It was nice to see it come out in other sketches (Mentors and Hillary Potter are the two I’m thinking of), but they came significantly later in the show than Mr. Teacherson. I’m just hoping the audience caught on—because it was brilliant.

The other returning character, Steve Erwin, I wasn’t as excited to see. (Although the rest of the crowd disagreed with me.) It’s probably just that I’ve never actually seen his TV show and am an undercultured, uneducated idiot. But it just wasn’t as exciting/funny as last time. At least not until Matt slithered into his snake act and delivered his line. That was beautiful. And an example of a strong ending, which I understand is hard to pull off, but some of the sketches were hilarious, but then had nowhere to go. Speaking of “ADD Judge,” it wasn’t obvious that he was ADD until the title went up on the web page—he was just some weird guy who couldn’t pay attention, which is the stock, stereotypical definition of ADD.

I was glad to see more of the cast being used in the different sketches. Paul was great in (what I’m thinking as) the “Closed for devotional 2” sketch, the Clean Flicks sketch (“The French have clothing-optional beaches. We don’t believe in options.”), and Halestorm meeting. Actually, everyone was wonderful in these sketches. It’s difficult to single out particular performances because cast members were used well. Although, I’m going to guiltily admit, that I missed the Ultimate Latin Lover (was that him in “Sitcom”?).

Having said that it’s difficult to single out, I’m going to tally up some of my favorite “little” moments of the show: Lisa sitting on the silver platter and her amazing half-time (that was impressive), Mary in “Divine Dorm Design,” Jono as Yoda and in “Freshman Nights,” Hillary in “The Ring” and “Saving Seats,” Joel as Kirby Heyborne (or was that Kirby Heyborne as Joel?), Taylor in “Sitcom” and “Freshman Nights,” Will in FN, “Sitcom,” and the lawyer in “ADD Judge,” Trevor as Teacherson/Snaperson, Matt as Cecildore (that hat was awesome), and Paul in the above.

I’ve review-ed myself out. That and I’m getting funny looks for laughing in the office. Thank you, Divine Comedy.

For Kapka

Item: leaves in the gutter.

After two hours of raking and bagging, my arms and knees and back weren't too happy with me. (Yes, I am a wimp.) Sister had come home and was helping me bag the pile on the strip of grass by the street, but we still had the longer part of the strip to clear. (What is that strip called anyway?) There was already mass amounts of leaves in the gutter in front of our house--I swear the neighbors pulled out their leaf blowers and just shot everything to the front of our house. I decided that a few more leaves wouldn't be too noticable, so I casually pushed the leaves off the strip and into the gutter--stopping whenever a neighbor came out of their house. It was noticable. I didn't care much, but then I had a stroke of brilliance. When I left to run an errand, I made it a point to drive through the leaves in the gutter. Genius. Pure genius.

Yesterday, with white space

Item: one leaf rake.

In order to avoid the wrath of Sister, I cleaned the bathroom. In order to gain the good approval of Sister, I decided to rake the yard, which was covered in enough leaves to make driving up the canyon a redundant activity. Two hours and eight garbage bags later, the yard was (almost) leaf-free. In the process, I wrote about ten posts about the experience. This will suffice.

Item: one editorgirl.

Item: four FOEGs (a term created by Master Fob, to stand for Friends of editorgirl, in this case, Master Fob, FoxyJ, Miss K, and LadyJane).

Item: one Divine Comedy show.

I will be writing a review of this occurence, but I will be leaving the following out of the review: 1) I was hit in the head by a flying piece of candy. Twice. Once in the right eye. 2) My dear friend who opened the show was being quite wonderful until she announced the opening prayer, given by one editorgirl. I froze. People gasped. And Master Fob stood up to let me exit our row.

I don't pray in public. Even when "public" is four people I know very well. This isn't because I don't pray. It's because I dislike the vocabulary and register requisite in public prayers. Hence, the shortest prayer ever offered in public at BYU was offered last night at DC.

I am still recovering.

Item: one digital camera.

Post-DC, Miss K, Kapka, and LadyJane joined me for a few hours of chit chat. In the course of the evening, we wound up on the couch. Miss K and I have been trying desparately to get a picture with Kapka, so Miss K went for her camera--no battery. I went for mine--no film. Finally, Sister produced her digital camera and much picture taking commenced. As demonstrated by the following:

And pictures would be here, but blogger is being mean. Will figure it out and then everyone can see our fabulous selves. Maybe that's it. We're just too sexy for blogger.

Nah.

Did you watch the sex scenes?

I'm sitting in my darkened study, basically eavesdropping on my roommates and their boyfriends and their friends in the kitchen. They're talking movies--oy--and one of them mentioned that her boyfriend (husband maybe?) rented three movies for her birthday: Million Dollar Baby, The Life Aquatic, and The Notebook. His excuse for the last one was that it was her birthday and he needed to rent something "girly." She had no desired to see The Notebook (right on, sister suffragette) so they watched the first two, but then the truth came out--he really wanted to watch it.

So they watched it. At which point in the story, Roommate's Boyfriend almost eagerly asked: Did you watch the sex scenes?

I'll pause to let you hear the white space.

This post was slated to be an exegesis of "Grocery shopping with Andrew," but as I have great faith in the intelligence of anyone who regularly checks my blog (and I don't feel like exegesis-ing right now), this is going to be my Blessed English Reading Series Post that occurs every once in a while.

Today's reader: Lance Larsen. Pause to prepare yourself.

I may have blogged this before, but I have an LL (Lance Larsen, not LadyLondon) complex. I've had him for a workshop before, he knows who I am, he stops to chat with me in the hall, etc. I'm completely comfortable chatting with him about anything, including poetry. But after I stop chatting, leave his office, walk in the opposite direction, etc., I freak out. Because that was Lance Larsen I was talking to. He's one of my favorite poets. The way that Kim Johnson makes me all tense inside and sitting on the edge of my seat? Just the opposite--I can relax. I can slowly savor every word. I love them both, but Lance is much friendlier.

Shoot. I have to conference with a student now, so I'll leave you with a few quickly jotted down statements from the reading. First, from Kapka's favorite Jorgensen, who intro'd Lance:

Becoming either one--a Mormon or a poet--is difficult.

Got Rilke?

Try making poems of whatever belongs to you.

Go home saying that.

And from Lance (Note: I was severely entranced, so I didn't get every pearl of poetry that fell from his lips.)

[Books] are the highest form of consumer therapy

ongoing meditations on mortality (re: his poetry)

Artists are the antennae of the race. (Ezra Pound)

I'll pause to let you hear the white space. (reading a journal entry)

There are a million ways to say California, but only a few promise rest. (From his poem "The World's Lap")

Grocery shopping with Andrew

INT--Guy's apartment. DAVE is sitting on the couch. ANDREW walks through the front door, carrying plastic bags from Macey's grocery store.

DAVE (with childlike glee): You're back! How was the store?

ANDREW: Pretty good. (Sets down bags and begins taking items out, putting them away.) I ran into editorgirl. She said to tell you happy birthday.

DAVE: Good old editorgirl! How is she?

ANDREW: She's good. Did you know her sister is engaged?

intimiDating

That was subtle.

This post is a follow-up of sorts to last night's late night ramblings. A conversation has been going on about if girls intimidate guys (I blame Saule). The concensus has been, no, girls don't intimidate guys much. But then the girls scream back with "But that's the reason I've been given for not dating, that I'm intimidating." I've stayed out of the conversation as far as comments go, but it has made me wonder as this is the reason I've been given countless times. (Okay, it's only countless because I can't count to save my life. Today in class I started to count down from 10. I stopped around 7, only because I distracted myself with another thought. One of my students said, "I knew you couldn't do it.")

So here's my thought: is intimidation just an excuse we allow ourselves for being un-datable? Or for simply not being with the people who would want to date us?

Back to Saule. In the infamous car ride home from a Halloween party, Saule and I were chatting. He asked about my job and then (tactfully) asked how much I was making. I make more per hour than most student on-campus jobs, so I usually refrain from answering that question. I reluctantly told him, more out of embarrassment than anything else. ("I'm a good girl, I am.") I'm not sure if in the back of my mind I was worried about intimidating him, but he interpreted it that way and told me--as background--that he's a guy not easily intimidated. He then asked why I thought I would be intimidating. I didn't give him a complete answer then--I got sidetracked by one of my many tangents--but I've been thinking about it.

Reasons (I've been given in the past) that I (might) intimidate a guy:
1. smart. I'm smart. I didn't choose to be this way, but that doesn't mean I choose to act stupid.
2. grad student. Just try telling this to a guy back a year from his mission who has finally decided on a major.
3. job. I know I'm just a grad student instructor, but I received a similar response when I was working for BYU Magazine last year. They are jobs that aren't terribly easy to get and ones that carry their own weight on a resume.
4. smart. Still smart. Maybe it goes beyond the "smart" label. I write. I enjoy cultural events: theatre, plays, etc. But as you've seen on this blog, I don't stick my nose up at not-high-brow entertainment. My only need is to analyze them after the show is over.
5. size. I haven't wanted to put this one, but it's part of me I can't ignore. I'm not huge or anything, I'm just not tiny, petite, doll-like, whatever. I'm tall-ish with a frame I (unfortunately) inherited from my dad's side of the family tree. But I'm comfortable in my body 98% of the time and I don't plan on changing. . . not sure how I'd do that anyway.
6. attractive. This is excessively confident, I know, but this is something my second boyfriend (who really shouldn't count) told me. He compared me to a character in a book (that I still need to read) who was beautiful, but thought she wasn't because she was so beautiful that guys were afraid (dare I say intimidated?) to ask her out. I keep that analogy in my pocket for rainy days.



But does any of this really intimidate guys? Or do I just keep myself barricaded? Or neither? Maybe I'm just un-date-able.

That's a strange line.

Yes, I did wait for the clock to strike midnight before I began another entry. Yes, I am tired. I seem to have lost my ability to stay up all night.

LadyJane and I were talking about what makes a guy--excuse me, man--attractive. And by considering past (two) boyfriends, crushes, etc., I've realized that I have absolutely no pattern. At least, not as far as body type goes. BF1 was on the skinny side, while BF2 was decidedly not. And my crushes have filled in the rest of the spectrum. My only request now, as far as body type goes, is that he be taller than I am.

I was going to blog about this conversation when it happened. And then there were more important things for me to whine about. But then the conversation started again, elsewhere. What makes a person attractive? And I am now going to be shallow and answer the question.

1.

Nope. Suddenly have no desire to discuss the finer points of hair, attire, grooming, and performance ability. (I will mention that I prefer someone who will critique a performance with me, or at least allow me to critique it.) Instead, I will leave you with my (current) top five movie men. Please note that I'm exhausted and only relying on two brain cells for this list. I just might regret it tomorrow.

1. AJ in Empire Records ("I have to tell Corey I love her by 1:37.")
2. Lloyd Dobler. You know the movie. And yes, he should have been number one. But I don't know how much I want a Lloyd as much as I want someone to watch Lloyd with me. ("I gave her my heart and she gave me a pen.")
3. Lord Goring in An Ideal Husband. ("Lord Goring, you are always trying to tell me what to do. I think it most courageous of you.")
4. Nicholas in Princess Diaries 2. ("You are amazing. I've tried to fight it--I have--but you overwhelm me.") This is where the regrets start.
5. Benedick in Much Ado about Nothing. ("Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.")
6. Jonathan in Sliding Doors. ("If you don't drink your fatty drinks, you'll never achieve quality cellulite.")

Okay, I know I said five and that was six. See, I can count. I just often choose not to. Maybe I should add "can and will count" to my list of desirable traits. . .

the good, the bad, and the ugly

the good: John Talbot, English faculty and brilliant poet, came to chat with my 518 class (advanced poetry workshop) today. At one point, SJ (as opposed to sej) asked him what his favorite poem was in his book The Well-Tempered Tantrum. I was expecting an embarrassed hesitation on his part--I don't know Talbot very well. Instead he pointed out two poems as clearly being superior to the others--superior to the point that he insisted on reading both and talked about how brilliant one was. "As soon as you write like that," he exclaimed, "I'll buy your book." The best part? They were my two favorite poems in the book, one of which I had felt rather foolish for pointing out as my favorite poem because it wasn't one of his super-dense-intellectual-only poems. Which he also said something about: (in regards to Eliot's "Four Quartets") "For ten or fifteen years, it didn't even occur to ask what the poem was about."

the bad: Talbot was so excited about his own poetry, that he took up more than half the class period in which we were to workshop my poetry and SJ's (who has appeared as OrneryGuy in the past). The result was SJ and me battling it out PaperRockScissors style. I had FOB flashbacks, but without the pleasant company.

the ugly: Due to the limited time and the fact that it was somehow difficult to keep everyone on task, I managed to throw myself into a panic attack while workshopping my poems. That being said, I did get some good ideas for "things incommon." I think instead of coming off out of breath and panicked/anxiety-ridden, I was super efficient. Not sure which is scarier.

Seven is a crowd

Typical evening in my pink-accented house: Camilla and her fiance in the kitchen. . . or Camilla in the kitchen and her fiance in the living room studying, possibly with Ashley and her boyfriend. Unless, of course, Sister and Fiance are in the living room. Then Ashley and boyfriend are at the kitchen table. At least until a few nights ago when Sister and Fiance decided that they like the couch in the study better to cuddle on.

Did I mention that my computer is also in the study?

I'm here because I was in the comic book

I was trying to find music I was in the mood to listen to as I wrote up assignments for my 518. (Let me decode that: poetry. I was writing poetry, okay?) Anyway, I made my through Death Cab for Cutie, The Shins, Eisley, Ben Folds (I did stay for awhile on "Don't Change Your Plans" and "Song for the Dumped"), and the soundtrack for Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham, which is what this post was actually going to be about. None of them were doing it for me, though. Until I finally found the answer. . . Josie and the Pussycats.

If you haven't seen this movie, you probably have more brain cells than me. But that doesn't change the fact that I love it. Love, love, love it. And the music is dreadful in a very wonderful way. Josie's voice was dubbed by the lead singer of Letters to Cleo. . . who is the group featured in 10 Things I Hate about You. This is like one big confessional, isn't it?

"I want a vintage tee... and Heath Ledger."

Oy vey, have you got the wrong vampire.

Happy Halloween everyone. I am (appropriately) listening to Phantom Planet as I write this post, so that explains any sudden lyric-burst.


So to celebrate the most pagan of holidays I bought mass amounts of candy and arranged for a movie/pizza night with the other grad students in my infamous 452 class. We had exactly six and a half trick-or-treaters find our house.

I turn pale when she walks by
I am lost in her eyes
She is always on my mind
She is always on my mind

Movie/Pizza night was only slightly more successful. Out of the four grad students, plus guests, we were expecting around 10 people to enjoy a campy horror flick and eat mass amounts of pizza. Instead, there were three people: me, A and B, who are married (A is in my 452 class and hosted).

I guess it's nobody's fault now but my own. . .

But everyone who didn't come missed out. Excellent pizza and a wonderful movie: The Fearless Vampire Killers, or Pardon Me, Your Teeth Are in My Neck, directed by and starring Roman Polanski. My favorite moment was when a victim-to-be grabbed a cross off her wall and the (Jewish) vampire said, "Oy vey, have you got the wrong vampire." It wasn't until later that we realized that he was Jewish and therefore unaffected by the cross. Classic.

___________________________________________________

My night being reported on, I have one more thought. Someone commented today on the fact that I hadn't dressed up. I assumed that my not dressing up would be an obvious action on my part, but he was disappointed that I hadn't taken the opportunity to dress up today or at the parties I attended over the weekend. Why do I need to dress up? I'm happy this way. Okay, "happy" might be stretching it, but there were enough Hermiones and Darth Vaders and Green Horses running around campus today.

Although I did think about dressing up as "ladylondon" for Sunday night's party by pinning my Union Jack (which is huge) to my shoulders as a cape.