Yesterday was Thursday . . .

And a friend and I drove up to Stanford to hear Fran Dolan give a lecture on the discourse of marriage -- based upon Pre-Modern figures of "the rod" and "the breeches -- and the fiction of equality that is sustained only by the obscured presence of the servant or slave upon whom domestic violence is displaced. It was a really nice lecture, and she was so animated and funny that I didn't mind missing most of the ball game. I really need to go out and see more lectures outside my own areas of interest. Broaden your mind, kids. So important. (silence)

Anyway -- that ball game! what a fucking game! I was petrified the last half inning. But it all turned out okay. The Cardinals are moving on to the World Series. Don't fret about things that will end up turning out okay, kids. So important.

Truck, Truck, Goose

weekend update

I spent the weekend doing nothing much in particular.
I started it off with a yen to spend. So I bought an overpriced sweatshirt: great color, great cut makes it worth it in my book. And then I splurged at the Gap, despite my avowed disinterest in their products. Jeans, two shirts.
We ended the weekend with an afternoon flic: The Science of Sleep. It was what you'd expect, crafty and frenchy without the interference of a coherent plot. Or rather, the lack of plot acted somewhat interfering-ly on my total enjoyment. But we left the film with the satisfying post-film sensation, other wordly, out of sorts. It was cold and rainy all day -- which paralleled the cold, raininess of the Paris backdrop of the movie. Unfortunately we weren't really in Paris, but in fact in Santa Cruz. Disappointing.
But it does encourage me to start thinking ahead -- next stop, Paris. (I am an unabashed francophile: no. 1 on my own personal list of platforms.)
One more item on my money spent sheet: we bought some cds -- the first i've bought in what seems decades. a duo called "camera obscura" of post-belle and sebast. glory. i like it, but it doesn't fully satisfy. it's too cutesy to fully accomplish anything.

Intro to Lit. Theory

I just had my first section today . . . and it went well! I'm TA-ing for an intro to literary theory whose focus is Marxism -- taught by Chris Connery, the resident Marxist of the lit dept. I know ostensibly nothing about Marxism, except for piddley things like exchange-value and commodity fetishism -- I know the words more than what they mean. But, I can handle the more general topics, like ideology, and the big question: "what IS literature, anyway." So, I opened with this question and people started talking! I love it. I gush only because TA-ing has historically frightened me. I get all nervous and worried that I'll stumble over my words and everyone will know how stupid i am. But today was actually ok. i feel good about it.

here's an image that has nothing to do with anything:

New Week, New Plans

I've woken up early. I'm already dressed. It's time to get up to school and start reading.
I know it must seem absurd, this process of getting myself psyched about studying -- ready, set, SIT! -- but I really need it. I've reserved a carrell in the library where it's quiet and i'll be surrounded by books with information and theories. i'll also be close-ish to the gym. how convenient? work out the mind and body. i'm even worse at the latter, if you can believe it.

from the looks of this entry, i shouldn't be doing too much writing this early in the morning. i'm just proud that my eyes are open and i have a bra on already.

Why I don't write fiction

I've had a little trouble sleeping lately. I wake up around 3AM and can't fall asleep again for a couple of hours. Last night, rummaging through thoughts of the calming variety, I began to wonder if it would be possible to rewrite a plot-driven novel -- my example was Pride and Prejudice -- in a reflexive mode. So, for example, instead of Bridget Jones' Diary you might have something closer to Corrections or whatever. Something better [than BJD], to put it simply. So I started to mentally compose this novel of the modernized and thoughful Elizabeth Bennett and Darcy and realized what an awful writer I am. I write, in my mind, like I wish I were born in 1834, but with some modern lingo thrown in to "jazz it up." ("Lizzie threw him a vicious smirk then made for the buffet counter.") Thus -- I do not write fiction.

Anyway, is it possible to write a story about a girl who hates a guy and then ends up loving him without evoking Carrie, Miranda etal? Yes?

beach blanket babylon

now that we're all up-to-date, I can indulge in the right-here.
In between reading books aimlessly, worrying about the beginning of a new quarter, and writing -- very slooowly, too slow for mama pak -- thank you cards, i've been working on a baby blanket for my sister-in-law. she's due next month. now, here's what it looks like so far:


i know, i'm still a novice. but not a totally inept one . . . except for this glaring error which i made at the beginning of the project:


how, oh anonymous knitter, do i solve the problem of the dangling threads? I, as you can see, eventually discovered the art of "intarsia," but I'm sadly left with these few unattractive (totally novice, ick!) loose ends.