start your engines

Zero once astutely observed, as he is wont to do, that nothing frustrates me more than a slow internet connection. This is the case tonight and I've almost lost the blogging spirit, but now here I am and here you are, so it just seems like fate.

Christmas break/holiday finally started today. I've been waiting and waiting and waiting for it. I even cheated last weekend by coming up to Bountiful and quilting and sleeping and going on walks with Mom. And then I had to return to Provo for finals, both taking and giving, and found myself too tired to celebrate anything. Or clean my room. But that's another post.

So today K and I set out to do some happy Christmas-ing, april style. And no, that sentence wasn't supposed to make much sense. First stop, KJ's residence to drop off Christmas presents and then run back to the car in an awkward glee. KJ wasn't there, but she called K as we were on our way to the King's English. (I am not jealous of K because K has better ringtones, so I would call K instead of me too.) We decided to meet up later for refreshment of some kind.

K and I spent the next two hours in paradise (the King's English), buying each other's Christmas presents and loads of other books. (They should put a warning on English majors.) I bought K Green Squall by Jay Hopler; she bought me six girls without pants by Paisley Rekdal. She also bought a Galway Kinnell. I didn't manage quite as much restraint: The Unlikely Romance of Kate Bjorkman (Louise Plummer), Proofs and Theories (Louise Gluck), Miracle Fair (Wislawa Szymborska), little tree (e.e. cummings picture book), and The Mitten (Jan Brett picture book). For the record, the picture books were for my mom, the Gluck is for my thesis, and the Plummer is for English 333. We could have spent more time (and more money), but we were late to meet KJ and son Bennett at Paradise (Bakery and Cafe), where I guiltily ordered a chicken panini in front of the vegetarians and was charmed by Bennett and gifted a glorious cheeseball by KJ.

K and I said good-bye to KJ and son (who, by the way, are nothing like Dombey and Son), gushed at each other over how adorable son is, and made our way to Old Navy, where once again I lost the restraint contest (K: shirt; eg: shirt, shoes, pj pants). I'm really bad at that game. Really bad. K also introduced me to a great little shop of sorts called "got beauty," for which there are no words, just facial expressions. And then our evening ended at Barnes and Noble, where once again I found a book. Big surprise. But, once again, it's for my thesis: Breaking the Alabaster Jar, a collection of interviews with Li-Young Lee.

I said good-bye to K who was whisked away by her family to a steakhouse (and I felt bad for eating a chicken sandwich?), drove home singing Christmas carols along with the Barenaked Ladies, and arrived in Bountiful to be greeted by a Very Tired Family. The soporific effect overwhelmed everyone, including the dog, and I cuddled up in my bed with Kate Bjorkman and her love-hero Richard.

That is, until Marzipan decided she wasn't tired and that I couldn't be tired and attacked me with a pillow. She's little, so I let her win. (Translation: I covered my face with my hands until the hitting stopped.) We just watched some Radio Disney concert videos, and then I decided to officially announce Christmas on my blog. That, I think, brings us up to date.

With the exception of the Very Tired Schnauzer who was just dumped on my bed.

Xanadu

Tonight was a night which, if I could, I would frame.

Or is it too little, too late? (Updates in grey. Or gray. Whichever you prefer.)

Due to the fact that my blog is my homepage (how narcissitic am I?), I've decided to follow in the venerable Melyngoch's footsteps after all. I need a reminder of everything I have to get done, and I need it now.

1. Finish reading Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.
2. Write twenty-five 20 10-ish 3 pages on E.L. Doctorow's The March.
3. Read 630 assignment on Hayden White.
4. Make salsa and buy chips for last day of 630.
5. Grade twenty-three rhetorical analyses.
6. Grade twenty ten short stories and any lingering poems.
7. Teach four three two classes.
8. Give two one finals.
9. Host 519 final at my house.
10. Write a (very long) paper on my poetics.
11. Compile a collection of my poems to complement the paper on poetics.
12. Apply to Utah.
13. Apply to Houston.
14. Apply to Ohio.
15. Wonder why I'm not applying more places.
16. Finish letter of intent.
17. Clean up critical writing sample.
18. Arrange creative writing sample.
19. Order GRE scores. !!! (19a. Pray that I didn't order them too late to get to Utah.)
20. Schedule time with Lady Jane and Virginia before they leave.
21. Avoid shopping and eating out as much as possible. 21a. Forget that.
22. Read Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet.
23. Grade twenty-three research papers.
24. Grade twenty creative writing portfolios.
25. Finish quilt for Grandma.
26. Clean my house.
27. Clean it again, post parties.
28. Make a list of books to read during Christmas break (none of which will be read, beginning with Doctorow's Book of Daniel).

impossible men of the month club

I wasn't going to write this tonight. I was going to go to bed, think about writing this, and then promptly move on to more important things.

But really, can anything be more important than this?

Probably not.

Tonight I am submitting the following nominees to eg's pantheon of impossible men: Graham (Jude Law) and Miles (Jack Black), both from The Holiday, which is of course a chick flick in the worst way. (Please note that there should be more nominees, namely David what's-his-face of Bones and Buffy fame, Seth Green (if he isn't already there), and Sufjan Stevens, but I'm too busy drooling over tonight's candidates. Their time will come. Perhaps over the Christmas break when I have nothing better to do than drool over impossibles. Much like now. . . )

Graham (spoiler alert) is sexy and British. Which means a sexy British accent. Also, he majored in lit and is a book editor. Widowed with two adorable daughters with adorable names and adorable British accents. Honestly, by the end of the movie, he was just a little too perfect for words. To quote Virginia, "He can't be hot and sweet. He has to choose one." Agreed.

Miles, for the record, is also sexy, but unfortunately American. I felt justified when LadyJane admitted that he was adorable (although definitely not in the way the British girls were adorable. . . hmm. . . considering a change of adjective. . . ) and a great leading man. Go Jack Black. And when he busts out with both the frozen drinks and the singing of movie themes at Blockbuster, be still my heart. Even if that would kill me.

If you're looking for a review, well, you're not getting it. But I say go see it. I'll come with you. And when I sigh audibly, well, don't say I didn't warn you.

time for something new

Today I have managed to bascially waste a lot of time. I going to go ahead and self-diagnose and say it's nostalgia. For April. For Fob. For last Friday. All those stupid moments that I didn't know they were something until they were over.

I attempted to medicate via blog surfing, which usually makes me happy. And it did make me happy, but in this very odd, nostalgic-for-the-future (if that's possible) kind of way. I'm ready for it to be next year. Or at the very least, Christmas. I want to talk to Sven and hang out with Miss K and tease Tolkien Boy. I want I want I want. . .

This is getting to be a bad habit. I need to focus. And so, to focus myself, I have installed a new avatar. This is the new representation of eg. I'm not sure if I'm editorgirl anymore. Maybe I'm egg again. You tell me.

My new remedy: get dinner with LadyJane and Virginia, grab the new Poetry, and then hit the books and the writing until Saturday, when I'll take a break for the firm Christmas party, The King's English, and hopefully some music shopping with the Jester.

Ready? Break.

Do I deconstruct your segues?

I considered making a list of all the things I need to get done in the next three weeks, but then I saw this and decided it was more than enough for one goddess to think about. Instead, I'm going to list all the things I want to do in the next three weeks. And yes, there is a difference. Contrary to popular belief, I don't want to take my Theory Discourse final.

Sleep.
Feel better, coldwise.
Firm Christmas party.
Shop.
Shop.
Shop.
Visit The King's English over and over and over again.
See The Holiday.
Continue to discover the wit of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (see post title).
Eat sushi with K.
Hang out at Gallery One Ten and admire the collective brilliance.
Start writing my thesis.

Okay, that last one isn't so much a want as a really, really, really need to, to the point of wanting to. Just like I "want" to write my article-length paper on E.L. Doctorow's The March, and apply to PhD programs. How did I reach this point in my life? I'll tell you.

I don't know.