with Trent

from across the room she looked beautiful

This is becoming a miniseries: "The World's First Unmanned Flying Desk Set's Attempt to Find a Man." At least this installment will be short.

I visited my sister at her office today--she's a secretary on campus. We were chatting, but I was multitasking, seeing as how there was a cute boy with an empty ring finger sitting behind the front desk using the phone. I looked at him and he looked at me, which was an unusualy experience, and I thought, "Huh."

I had no sooner had this profound moment that the boy asked me if I was a friend of LaLa's. We both grinned and revealed our secret--we're sisters. And for a brief moment life as far as flirting goes looked very good. And then. . . (here ends the chapter to keep you reading). . .

And then my sister did something both wonderful and terrible. She told him about me. I teach 115 and 218. I'm a grad student. I'm brilliant. She was talking to Mom and they decided I'm a creative genius.

It was nice to hear my sister say these things.

At least for me. But with each new accomplishment/compliment, the boy withdrew from the conversation. I stuck around to attempt another round of flirting, but the chips had fallen and not in my favor.

"Against My Will" feat. Lady Jane

So after the momentary lapse in focus, we're back. Hormones, people. And there's not enough chocolate in the world this month. Trust me. I've looked.

What does this mean? It means we're talking about men. Because Lady Jane is a more mature and thoughtful person that myself, we're going to talk. . . not physical characteristics. His hair shall be (as Melyngoch reminded me) what color it please God, but there are certain other characteristics we can't pass on (as my anonymous readers will remind me).

Rich. Jane and I can't really comment on this. We're English MAs, which means we've resigned ourselves to lives of poverty. To be quite honest, I don't care what he does as long as he loves it. I don't want to wind up listening to complaints about accounting or business.

Jane: "If he wants dough in this relationship, it's BYOM: bring your own money."

Wise. Hi. Professors. Academics. Intellectuals. And for me, I'm going to add artist (I personally think lit crit is an art, but I'll let Jane speak for herself.) It has become a problem that the gents in Provo who are around my age are My Students. Good grief, hell, and good night. Yet another reason why I must leave this town.

Jane: "This is what I think. I think that the most important thing in a marriage is that you feel the same philosophically. Does that make sense? So that way you can raise children together. There's a quote that says every child needs an exemplary father and a wise mother. So that means I need to be the wise one. And that's a problem."

Virtuous. Um, I'll let you fill in this blank.

Jane: "We were talking about this in Shakespeare actually. Chastity does not mean celibacy. So as long as we keep inside the marriage, I'm okay."

Fair. Oh wait--we already talked about this. But let me repeat: scruffy.

Jane: "I actually like my guys darker, but I'm not picky. Actually, the guy I have a crush on is like albino, so. . . " (insert brief cat fight between Jane and Virgina)

Mild. Hell no. Easy, fine. Pleasant, of course. But give me a guy with a quick wit who doesn't treat me and my intellect with kid gloves. I'm not fragile. And he shouldn't be either. (I'm realizing now that Benedick is talking about a woman and I'm talking about a man and gender stereotypes do apply.)

Jane: "Or come not near me."

Good discourse. I'm going to be honest here. I like a fight. A fight and a debate and intense times twelve. It makes me feel alive. And I like good banter. There is a certain young man starting the MA this fall who fills this role nicely. Please let him be single and up for a year of playing the peanut gallery.

Jane: "I think you have to. . . " (here Jane trails off in thought)

Jane redeems herself: "I think you have to be with someone who you want to talk to 24 hours a day."

Excellent musician. See Johnny Depp/Roux in "What Makes Him Attractive"

Jane: "Guitars are sexy."

Maybe we digressed a bit, but hey--if it makes me happy.

a priori

I'm having a grinding-shoulder, exploding-Jamba, badly-drawn-hair day.

That being said, I need to address an important issue before tonight. Because after tonight, this post will become obselete.

American Idol.

I joined Lady Jane and co. last night to watch the showdown between Taylor Hicks and Katharine McPhee, with the understanding that I would behave myself. And I did. There are holes in my tongue to prove it. And as tonight is the finale, I need to say a few things.

I want to like Taylor. Probably because he's male and breathing, but also because he's fun, entertaining, etc. Katharine is gorgeous, but not much fun to watch. Taylor wins, hands down.

But then the situation was complicated. The TV was turned off and the brother of Lady Jane turned on sound clips. And while I commented on how if this PhD thing doesn't work out I can always go write lyrics for American Idol (has anyone else realized that AI can also stand for artificial intelligence?), I also noticed that I'd much rather listen/sing along to Katharine. Granted, I probably won't buy either CD. But if the airwaves are going to be assaulted, I'd keep the radio on for Miss McPhee.

That said, my money is still on Taylor. Damn that Simon.

What Makes Him Attractive (in eg's opinion)

There has been some debate/discussion over my choice to tout Channing Tatum (seen here, bottom picture) as an attractive man.

In his defense, it's not his best picture, although it was the best one I could find that was, um, appropriate for my blog (meaning clothed). However, I would like to call your attention to his eyes, his lips, and his suit--I like strong/prominent facial features (i.e., great eyes, defined jaw, etc.). But this has led to at least five minutes of serious contemplation of what I find attractive in a man, which has led to the following (incomplete) list:

Jake Gyllenhaal. Scruffy. A bit on the nerdy side. Brilliant actor. I particularly love him as Hal in Proof.

Adrian Grenier. One of my first celeb crushes. The hair. The eyes. And, of course, the scruff. (Minor obsession here, people.) And in regards to the hair: I'm ornery about hair. He's got to have either a good head of hair or look good bald. The thin inbetween is scary enough that he'd better have one amazing personality to offset this problem. (And if he likes to play with my hair, all the better.)

Johnny Depp as Roux in Chocolat. Love Depp as an actor, but let's be honest: I'm not going to swoon over his Willy Wonka. Roux on the other hand. . . I can just say ditto to the qualities of the guys before (hair, scruff, eyes), and then zero in on the guitar, which is why I chose this pic. I'm a sucker for an artist. Ask my first boyfriend. And it doesn't have to be a musician--it doesn't even have to be fine arts. A guy who is passionate about science or math or Latin is just as sexy to me.

Benedick. I've said this before, but he's my perfect man. Witty. Not a pushover. And, while I do prefer dark features, I needed a blond/redhead/whatever he is. . . I guess we could chat about our unknown hair color.

All the good men

I think sometimes I whine about men/guys/boys so much on this blog that I forget to mention all the many brilliant, wonderful, good men in my life. And while it is easy to acknowledge my dad and brothers here (I'm such a Daddy's girl), it's a little more difficult for me to honestly straight up say that I have amazing guy friends.

So where have they gone? Nowhere, at least not yet. Perhaps it is the great irony of this single girl's life that the men I connect with are the married and the unavailable (for various reasons that I'll let you boys discuss if and when necessary). April and Fob both offered up some great guys for me to bond with, and then the grad program gave me this brilliant circle. How many groups of guys would call a girl like me over to their table to talk shop? (And by shop, I do mean creative writing.)

And I have to pause. Because some of them are gone, some are going. The difficult thing about guy friends is that they don't seem to stick around for a long time.

Anyway, the whole point of this post was to throw this up, as an emotional shout out to all the girls who find themselves in a similar situation. In desparation I asked one of the marrieds where single men in Provo are. I hope he doesn't mind my sharing this. I'll keep his identity a secret, unless he wants credit. And then all the world will know why he is my hero. (I'm so sneaky.)

Warning: This may come off as elitist. I’m sorry I don’t know where single guys hang out, although, in all honestly, I don’t think you need to know. We graduate student-types tend to gravitate toward people we meet in activities that interest us, not meeting people during hang-outs. Of course, you know this, I realize that, but I felt the need to say it. In other words, peoples like us are brainy, so you’ll probably meet your future husband while he’s teaching immigrants English or curing infectious diseases or reading voluminous tomes of “lit” that would render most humans’ brains into slurry from overexertion. Yes, trying to maintain patience bites the proverbial big one. I’ve been there.

Oh, Draconian devil!

Confession one: I read The DaVinci Code two Christmas breaks ago.

Confession two: I saw The DaVinci Code on Friday.

I’m not sure why I feel slightly guilty about reading the book or seeing the movie. Probably because both are considered overrated by people I consider “intelligent.” But if you take them for they’re supposed to be (yes, I do have that song stuck in my head now)—which is a mystery novel/movie—they’re not bad. In fact, they present an interesting blending of genres, introducing academic/theological questions to the general public via the mystery novel. (And yes, I consider the general public all those people I growl at when I’m at the bookstore or the library or driving. . . and if you know me, you know what I would say.)

So let’s talk about the movie. Because I do think you should see it. And, let’s be honest. you probably are going to see it, if you haven’t already. I’ll try not to spoil it for anyone, but if you’re a wimp when it comes to critical reviews, back away from the blog now.

I read about halfway through the book again before I saw the movie. The biggest problem I anticipated was translating the long passages of explanation to film. Most of it was internal monologuing or explaining the Priory of Sion and Opus Dei and the history of the Holy Grail. And they did follow the kind of traditional flashbacking: showing the Knights Templar, etc., as they told the story. But the most effective moments of this (for me) was when they would layer time periods—not so much a flashback as walking through history.

The movie has the same problems the book has: it slows down in the middle. You can only watch people solve mind clues for so long before you want to tell them to throw it out with the Friday crossword. Also, for a book centered around preserving the idea of the sacred feminine, there’s only one female character. Where have all the women gone? We don’t freaking know. (If you think about it, the story is terribly male chauvinist: men protecting/preserving women. And I’ll continue with anyone who wants to discuss this with me, but I don’t want to spoil the plot. It’s not worth it.)

The movie is well cast. Tom Hanks isn’t annoying for once. Audrey Tautou wasn’t Amelie, but she wasn’t supposed to be. (I was annoyed that they gave Hanks a lot of her lines from the book.) Ian McKellen, always good, and particularly so here. Alfred Molina wasn’t used enough. And after that laundry list, I want to end on my favorite: Paul Bettany. His Silas is brilliant and awesome and terrible and sad—without becoming tragic or melodramatic. (Although, as Lady Jane observed, how many movies has that guy gone completely naked in? Can we count that high?)

deconstruct your world until you account for it

The eg breakdown. Or break down. Whatever you prefer.

I was watching Hitch Monday night with Virgina and Lady Jane. This was after dinner at the India Garden, picking up Tolkien Boy, rice pudding at Pudding on the Rice, She's the Man at the dollar. It was late and admittedly in that frame of a few hours where you go beyond social constraints to complete unabashed honesty.

So I told Tolkien Boy that I'm in love with him.

Um, kidding.

Actually, I dropped TB at his place and headed to Virgina's to meet up with the girls, at which point in time we mostly discussed about how gorgeous this gentelman is. Channing Tatum, model turned Amanda Bynes' co-star in She's the Man. Really cute. And not my usual type.

So what was on my mind? Men, of course. I probably do have areas of my brain devoted to other topics, but they aren't getting much play time lately. Must find new topic of conversation/thought. . . . Really cute.

Dammit.

authentic my. . .

So I'm home. Which means Virginia and Lady Jane are also home and we're sad not to be together in the car or the house or in front of the Bellagio watching the water show. And yes, I should be sleeping. Or if I'm not going to sleep, I should at least be reading Momaday's House Made of Dawn for class tomorrow. Shame on me. (I love guilt ridden blog posts, don't you?) Since I arrived in Provo around 11:30, I have managed to avoid responsibility by (ooh, it's another eg list!)

1. Showing Sister (formerly known as LaLa) purchases made at the Primm factory outlet stores (there was going to be a blog entry titled "Primm and proper" about Lady Jane's and my outing, but, alas, no wireless connection to be found chez Virgina's parents)

2. inspecting my new phone (same number people, but as my phone broke, I no longer have your phone numbers. Please donate to the cause.)

3. considering ringtones with the help of Saule via IM (current contenders are Cake's "No Phone," Goo Goo Dolls "Broadway," Lauryn Hill's "Doo Wop," and Guster's "Fa Fa"). If you have a suggestion, please let me know. I hate decisions and I hate. . . other things.

4. Bath.

5. Attempted sleep. Not working. Going to look for more ringtones. Maybe sleep.

P.S. Edgy: Come to Fob. We still need to celebrate.

buzz goes the phone

What should I blog about? How about Lady Jane and our not-so-newly found Third Musketeer, which LJ and I have just now (I'm serious, just just now) nym'd. . . nevermind. Jane is too busy finding out who was booted off American Idol tonight. And I wish I could tell you, but she's too busy freaking. . . Chris. Chris got booted off. This is because last night Chris was the incredible singing mannequin. Yes, I watched. Yes, I am ashamed of myself.

So, the Three Musketeers. Why do I need to name every group I take part in? How about because it makes life easier for all of us? Or just because I'm cool like that. Or because I like names and words and everyone knows Three Musketeers are low in fat.

You've been introduced to Lady Jane before, but I'm not sure if you've really met her. She's a babe. Well, we all are. Maybe I should get out what else we all have in common: all female, all English grad students, all. . . there was something else, but I forgot.

Lady Jane is from Washington, some place with a really long funny name. Served a mission in New York. She is studying the Gothic novel or something like that. I really need to get to know my best friends better.

As for the third. . . we'll call her Virginia, due to her thesis topic, the late great Virginia Woolf. And no, number three/Virginia is not suicidal. I don't think. I really should check this stuff out before I make friends. A survey or questionnaire or something. She's petite in stature, not so much in personality. (TB, this is your opportunity to triangle us. And then I'll growl at you and you'll tell me not to look at you that way and I'll slug you and this isn't about you anyway.)

Virginia is from Vegas, which happens to be where our dear friend (yes, D'Artagnan) is getting married on Saturday. And we're going to road trip. Road Trip! We leave Friday, and while it won't be as acclaimed the December Fobtrip, this will be an interesting tangent. . . and now we're going to watch {proof}, because that's what we do.

snooze button on my biological clock

Confession: My life is boring during the summer and I have nothing to report.

Except that I bought Scrubs: Season 3 today. Oh yeah.

about an editorgirl

"Do you want to hear my life story? Cmon. It involves fire eating and a midget." Quinn, Everything You Want

So, am I alive? Yes. What am I alive from? Not a clue.

I just turned into. . . I mean, turned in my grades. It's always. . . and by always I mean the past two semesters. . . a time of guilt and reflection, reflection and guilt. Does he really deserve that grade? In either direction? Was she just kissing up or did she really mean what she wrote in her letter/memo? How am I going to change next semester?

And now that my pondering on grades is over and done with (almost), I'm watching a few minutes of Everything You Want while I type this. Multitasking. It's a gift. EYW, on the other hand, is more a 90-minute DVD of insanity that's giving me weird ideas. . . ideas along the lines of either inventing or hiring a long-distance boyfriend to avoid the joy of this semester's singleness in front of my students. (Once I get out of Provo, this won't matter, right? Right? Anyone? Anyone? Please? I'm begging here.) I figure as long as he looks like Nick Zano or sounds like Orlando Seale, I'm good to go.

This is depressing. What I should be writing about: sending poems out, writing poems, workshopping poems, trips to Macey's and Borders and Barnes & Noble and Target, tomorrow's Fob, putting together a supplemental writing group with KJ, etc., etc., etc.

"Your face is good." Calvin, EYW

And when I reach this point, I should go to sleep.

P.S. And for those who were interested, I have {proof} again. We should watch it.