christmas greetings

Well, I'm in The Lou now. My first full day and i'm already bored. My mom and I went to the Galleria this morning so she could finish up her shopping, which she is now very proud of having accomplished. And then I went to Kaldi's in Kirkwood, which is located on the site of the dearly departed Target parking lot. Oh how times have changed.
What I'm really looking forward to is going to two churches on Saturday and then back to church again on Sunday. Seriously, I'm totally psyched about it.

Achoo!

I have a cold. But it's okay, I kind of like being sick sometimes. I feel like it's therapeutic to be sick. Like I'm really getting things done, sneezing and sniffling.
We went to a pretty little wedding this weekend at the Berkeley City Club. What stood out about it? I liked how we weren't harrassed by a pushy dj, rounded up and herded around the dance floor. I also appreciated the absence of a "videographer". The dj was a sweet, youngish asian dude, who played things like neutral milk hotel and the kinks. The bride and groom took their first dance to Dylan's "Takes a Woman Like You," which made me tear up all over the place.
Speaking of, I'm welling up left and right these days! A side-symptom of my cold or something more sinister? Who can say?

All done . . . almost!

I just finished a paper for class. oh, it always feels so nice to be done. Even though I'm not. I still have to grade papers. But who cares? They can just grade themselves, that's what I say.
Now what should I do? I should start thinking about my Christmas vacation, to Sunny St. Louis and Broiling Brooklyn. Oh no! I can't think about it. I get too excited. I'm going to have so much fun. Doing what, you might ask. Nothing. Just, you know, chilling as they say. Seeing old friends and their smiley faces, bugging them with our lazy presences, kickin' off our boots and pestering them with silly questions. HAHAHA.
I'm turning thirty. My mom thinks that's gross. It is kind of gross. She's such a sweet mom. Grossly sweet.

oh well

yeah, those boots sucked. sometimes mysteries disappoint.

boots

I bought these boots on-line. I haven't gotten them yet, but I'm waiting on pins and needles. Will they fit? Will I like them? Oh, on-line shopping really puts the mystery back in impulsive purchases. (apparently you have to click on the question mark to view the boots.)

end of the quarter

I finished my last section of the quarter today. I brought donuts, helped students with paper ideas and then let them be on their way. And they left the room all jolly and cute, and all the while I was dreading the day, a week from then, when I would be handed a heap of poorly written papers on Beloved.
How do you convince students, who don't appreciate the twists and turns of a good book, that Beloved is an important text. That its structure, with its "ambiguity," and non-linear chronology, with its images whose meanings aren't apparently obvious, all contribute to it as a story of slavery. Would a story that said, "slavery made Sethe kill her child," have been more acceptable to the readers that don't "feel like" following the text past its façade, working with it to help it create meaning? oh, how frustrating.
But do you know what I've really been thinking about these past few days? What's really been on my mind? Hmm, thread-counts and color schemes, orange rind or carmine? egyptian cotton or flannel? buckets or flutes? Not really. Not yet. But I'm getting curious!

Indian Summer?

It's fucking hot! I mean, for November. 85 degrees? That's a little ridiculous. Of course, I kind of love it. Drinking iced-coffees, drifting off to sleep reading a novel, cleaning the kitchen, acting the real southern belle, à la liz taylor. I love how liz taylor and the other one, (scarlet o'hara), are the penultimate southern women. They're not even American! oh, how funny. if you think that's funny, i got more where that came from (my head).
Okay, I have to get into *serious* mode. I'll be sitting in on a conference on "Saving Time: Memory and Memorialization". This is no joke. This is serious, high-minded thinking. No one will stand for my funny reflections on the British take-over of the American deep South.
Oh, by the way. My $12 hour at the spa a couple of weeks ago was really nice. I realized I'm really bad at relaxing, thinking of "nothing." I'd sit in the sauna, reading the New Yorker, and think, "should I really be reading? shouldn't i be not doing anything? thinking anything?" then i'd put the magazine down and just lie there, but then I'd get all obsessed with how hot I was, you know, temperature-wise. The finest moments of the hour were lying on the bamboo slated floor and staring out the open window, which over-looked a koi pond. Cheesy, but worth twelve dollars. If you ever visit (whoever you may be) I'll take you there.

Night Tennis

October pretty much sucked. And, since I gave my presentation on Tuesday, November has been smooth sailing. I hate, HATE speaking in front of lots of people. I don't know if it's because I fear they'll think I'm stupid, or if because they'll think I'm acting all smart. I think it's the former. Anyway, I agreed to give half a lecture on *Beloved* after Thanksgiving. Maybe then November will suck too.
But since the time change, pretty-boy and I have been playing tennis under the lights. Well, we did last night at least. It kinda hurts my eyes. But I'm a slave for tennis. (you'd think I'd play better.)

Silence is Golden

I find that neglecting to update this site for weeks at a time simply makes me more mysterious. What is that girl doing these days? What's she thinking about? Where is she? I'll never say. Thus, you poor forsaken readers are left only with your imaginations, which are probably much more lively than my day-to-day existence.
Truth be told, I'm lazy. But if my laziness inspires distant musings, then it was all worth it.
But I suspect that I'll have more interesting things to say later on today, since I made myself an appointment for 50 minutes at a spa here in town. For only $12! I need a schvitz. More soon . . .

Cod dinner!

Last night, *the boy* [I am forbidden to use his real name, the wimp] and I went to our local Trader Joe's, during rush hour no doubt. Without an ounce of inspiration de repas, we left with a mishmash of strange food products which was then magically transformed, by me, into a veritable thanksgiving feast of oven-baked cod, potatoes au gratin, cauliflower, and "Italian Medly" beans. This meal, a delightful change of pace for male-partner, was reminscent, for me, of midwestern church food . . . transporting the cosmopolite back to her modest youth of Wednesday dinners in "Fellowship Hall," where my favorite treat was the warmed dinner rolls. Since I was cute back then, Mr. Shaumann, who manned the roll-warmer, would sneak two on my plate, a much appreciated trespass since I would most often refuse the main liver and onions entrée. In any case, the nameless he with whom I live related to me the contents of a curious little book he's currently reading about how cod and their mating habits and travel patterns have had an historical impact on the migration and general whereabouts of European peoples. Who would have thought?

The ever expanding geography of friendship

Raphaelle, who has recently married and moved to Santa Barbara, breezed through the Cruz to bestow greetings to her hoodlum friends left stranded in central coast. We were all stunned at her southern California glow and blond, feathery bangs, no longer certain of our status, paled as we must have been by the sophisticated lights of L.A. She left and I shed a knowing tear, sure that our fast-forward friendship was soon to be lost to sunnier, glitzier lands . . . Just kidding. It was great to see her and she helped me figure this "posting" business out. The *real* point is that, at this stage, most of my friends are no longer within a two-mile radius of ME and that maybe this personal journal, whine-space will cut the distance a bit. That is, if they too start feeling the need to whine on-line, which I doubt since most of them have each other to whine to in person. In the meantime, I'm not quite sure how I want to use this space, in what capacity I need it: academically, emotionally, frivolously. It will most likely act as a mirror of sorts, where I can narcissistically read my own life in print and thus be struck by the grandeur of myself! be warned, hapless reader.