Jetlag

It's the middle of the sleepless night of my first night in the new studio. It's as small as I expected. As I haven't quite gotten a good look at the neighborhood yet, let me spend this morning writing about my living space.
Bad points:
--- The sleeping situation is uncomfortable and/or awkward. The pull out sofa bed consists of a thin mattress pad atop wooden slats, one of which is broken. I also have fold out twin size mattresses that I tried to sleep on tonight. It was more comfortable -- but I might try to get the bed to work somehow.
--- I'm going to have to scrub the place down with bleach. The shower is icky and the windows are lined with mold.
--- There was mice poop in the "kitchen" -- another reason I don't want to sleep on mattresses on the floor.

Good points:
--- The little desk is beneath a tall window that overlooks the rooftops in my neighborhood, and if I face left and strain my neck slightly I have a perfect view of Sacre Coeur. (I left my camera in Sacramento, else I'd show you).
--- The apartment building itself seems really pleasant so far, and my landlord -- who I've not yet met -- has a really nice family. His daughter is eight months pregnant with her second boy and will send me the no. of her OB.
--- It's not much, but I think I can make it homey. Or at least livable for four months.

In the Meantime . . .

Here I am in Sacramento, after having packed up all our stuff and trucked our way out of Santa Cruz, and before flying across the country and over the ocean to land in Paris. Mostly, I'm sitting on my ass, listening to public radio or watching cable. I've bought some non-academic related novels to indulge in. Basically, I'm enjoying a summer vacation in the hotspot vacay destination. Well, at least the weather's hot. And there's a back deck with a lounge chair -- perfect for novel reading.

TechnoPop and Hot Pix

I'm in my borrowed office on campus that I have to give up at the end of the week. Only two more class sessions left. Tomorrow the students are going to do some work on the essays they have due on Thursday. And Thursday -- the last day -- we're going to watch Pan's Labyrinth.
But instead of preparing for class tomorrow -- which I need to start doing pronto -- I'm listening to dance music on Pandora and taking pictures of myself on Photobooth. Computers are fun.
And educational. I just learned I look really nice as a comic book Christina -- much better than "normal" Christina. Overexpose the blemishes, please.

Notice the empty bookcases behind me. Vertical lines to draw the gaze inward .. . No, just a testament to the impermanence of my position.

"Bookmark" Incongruity

I'm looking for a wedding present . . . actually I already know what I want to get through rare device, but they're currently not available. It's a set of custom personalized mugs, with initials and year of your choosing:

So, I wanted to look at "related" websites I thought I saved in my bookmark group categorized as "interesting stuff temp." "Temp" because I obviously think of myself as a much more active organizer of links than I actually am -- these sites were only to have a brief lifespan in bookmark history. But at least two years later, there they are, telling a strange story that I leave to you to reconstruct. Here are the links:
Vivavi
Elsewares
Robot Bags
Fun Totes (apparently I was looking for tote bags)
Overheard NYC
Ideologies of War
NYTimes Zombies
Synonyms for "Percipiens" that won't open
Jaques on Maurice
Lacan Seminars
Something on NYTimes called "Jurismania" that won't open
Intute? (I think what interested me here no longer exists)
Law's Madness (I bought the book. It's alright.)
More Law's Madness
Something by Renata Selecl called, "Why is a woman a symptom of rights." Won't open.
Elk, California

New Haircut Shyness

I got a dramatically new do yesterday. And tomorrow I will have to stand in front of my class and survive the "Ooh, I like your new haircut!"s and my stupid habit of looking at myself through their eyes and trying to figure out what I see -- some older lady looking weird with a new haircut.
I was talking to my hair dresser yesterday about how it sucks to live in a college town because of the totally unnecessary old-age feeling that plagues one. It's almost like being Matthew McConaughey in Dazed and Confused but without the perv's glee. I keep getting older and they stay the same. Humph.
So, there's another reason it'll be nice to get out of town and be in a city for a few months. Especially with my big old pregnant self. I feel totally out of sorts and boringly domestic here, like a sad old lady who can't drink and have fun with the rest of the kids. And, at the risk of actually sounding like a bitter, sad old lady, I really can't wait to hang out with some adults. Who have adult concerns. Whatever that might be. Mortgage? Investments? Diapers? Ok, so I really don't want to hang out with adults. But whatever.

Home Stretch

I've been waking up super early and going to bed super late. Ah, the luxuries of having absolutely no social life. At least, no night life.

Our days are filled with 1) watching six straight hours of wimbledon; or 2) posting unwanted furniture on craigslist and selling it within hours; or 3) writing 12-page lectures for my class in less than two days -- which is surprising to me since it took me a month to write 20 pages of my dissertation. And i haven't touched it since; or 4) getting forms and such ready to get my visa; or 5) watching random bad movies and finishing off the final season of Prime Suspect; or 6) sneaking into East Field House to swim some laps.

An image from Reunion '08.

In Between Here and There

The transition begins . . .

Dave has a second interview on Monday for a job he is not super excited about and doesn't pay well. But it's a job.

I have to find a place to live in Paris, get all the paperwork together for a visa, and teach a summer course.

These things are great, just a little confusing.

In the meantime, we've been keeping ourselves warm during a chilly late spring by fulfilling our Santa Cruz routine of making dinners, watching dvds, reading books, playing tennis.

I was told by my adviser recently that I'm a "slow writer." Which I don't think is at all true. So, right now, I'm gearing myself up to write an email about the inaccuracy of that characterization. In the least accusatory or defensive manner possible. Do I possess magical powers potent enough to compose such a letter?