Hunkered Down in the Bunker

I've holed myself up in the Grad Lit computer room, affectionately called "The Bunker," or "The Bomb Shelter." Windowless with cement walls and absurdly enclosing cubicles, it's much nicer than my cramped apartment. Or, at least it's a nice change of scenery. I'm trying to edit my conference paper -- and, by god, I will get it done! Eventually.

Some lunch would be nice though . . .

Lincoln's Birthday

Some friends came down from S.F. to help celebrate D's Birthday. We went to Soif and ordered much wine and many "small plates," but we never managed to feel well-fed. Which is a pity, since the food was good. But it seemed kind of ridiculous to keep ordering plates, our table would have looked like some crazy medieval banquet for small children. And I can't have that.

So we had wine and then we went to another place for a few more cocktails, which were unnecessary but delightful. We had cheerful, laugh-filled conversations and everything was just swell. And then we went home, our friends were to stay the night. I got it in my head that more drinks must be had, a 100% false belief. Not a single person needed another drop of anything, save water, and Dave promptly took the misguided drink from my hand. A wise move that led to a peaceful night's sleep.

More blog writing

I'm on a blogging frenzy . . . I can't stop! I don't even have anything to say, but I just want to write about it.
We watched a documentary about the SLA and Patty Hearst last night. Which recounted events just as fucked up as those recounted in the Jonestown and the Weathermen documentaries. I know this probably won't be a popular comment, but I wish people were just a wee bit more radicalized these days; that there was an ounce or two of the insane fury of the 60s/70s weirdos. Except for the whole Jonestown thing, that was just straight-up scary as shit.

Go to Bed Happy and the Baby with a Camera Face

Don't worry about things before you fall asleep.
Two nights ago I was worried about getting fat and then I dreamed my clothes didn't fit and my face was pudgy. Last night I worried about how few opinions I feel I have to express (which is a kind of weird thing to worry about, actually) and then I dreamed . . . something related to that concern, though I don't remember the details.

Have you seen the one where the dog turns into a lady?

Rainy Days of January

During these rainy days, Dave and I have both successfully fought our cute little colds and have emerged this Sunday afternoon in relatively fine form. I have a knot of energy in the pit of my tummy that is urging physical activity, movement of any sort, but the picture outside my window convinces me otherwise -- as does the glass of wine beside me. Perhaps tomorrow I should get up off my ass and move somehow. I can't say in which direction or in what manner I'll be moving, but move I must.

We saw "There Will be Blood" on Friday evening. It was a captivating character study, but really heavy on the Day Lewis-is-a-genius front. His genius, which along with his "looks" I can't deny, pretty much slaps you in the face without submission. It was hard to figure out what else the movie wanted to say or do besides display genius. Although, I suppose one could argue the movie was "about" the search for blood (oil, family, religion -- but not female blood, I don't think.) Anyway, it was a good movie.

Menu for the Holiday Party

which will be on Saturday:

Meatballs, which is apparently a tradition in most people's eyes. So I'm givin' it to them.
Latkes, cause this party ain't christian-specific.
Bruschetta with anchovy tapenade.
Eggplant Sandwiches. Laura said she'd make those.
Fingerprint cookies.
Dips and Cheeses
Some sort of punch.

I'm kind of looking forward to the cooking part. I've never thrown a "catered" party before, so I don't really know what to expect.

"christina is" has many things on her mind

First off: I spend way too much time on facebook. It makes me feel pathetic.

I've been thinking about Hillary Clinton in the last several hours, and how newspapers (for example, the NY Times article I just read) will publish features that claim to probe into the minds of presidential candidates. "Why won't Hillary cry?" I suppose my malformed "reading" of this would be to point to the wide spectrum of actual presidents and the variety of their emotional/professional reactions to events in life that seem to have little to do with their masculinity (read: "neutral"). And suggest that Clinton does not seem to neatly fit into either the category of "presidential" nor "feminine" and how that seems to pose a big, emotionally-affective [and epistemological] crisis for some.

Next, I think I'd like to move to "upstate" (not that far up) New York.

And finally to add that I'm working on grading papers but thinking about my skills as a cookie-baker. I'm planning a holiday party on saturday and would like to make delicious foods. I feel pretty confident about my meatball and hors d'oeuvre skills, but I am not so good at the baking thing. Too many rules.