Today I had one of those awesome moments of clarity that allow me to pretend for 10 months of the year that I secretly enjoy the end of the semester. I still have 17-20 pages to write, but I can see the entire path now, all the way to the end. I know where I'm going. It came late this term, but damn it still feels good.
I also discovered that Mike's syllabus requests a "20 to 30" page paper rather than 25 pages, as everyone's somehow come to believe. This was a joyous discovery, and led directly to the aforementioned flash of insight.
I will finish. There will be a life after this semester. It sounds stupid, but it's like driving in a lot of fog - everything feels less oppressively endless if you can see where you're headed.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
[sings] "99 Horrible Tasks on My List, 99 Horrible Tasks..."
Take a few down, deal with their shit, still plenty of horrible tasks on the wall!
So I finally "[went] to the motherfucking bank like an ADULT," as Ali of hyperboleandahalf would say, and (surprise surprise) it turned out to be relatively painless. To my delight, my first instinct about the mystery charges proved correct - they were not mine. Apparently sometimes banks make adorable little "keying errors" and clear checks from your account that were not in fact written by you. This is what happened to me, leading to overdraft charges and overdue payments for those charges...but while it was a bit time-consuming, the man who helped me was very nice and dismissed all the charges, so I will not in fact have to ride my bike home for Christmas. (I did think he should have been a bit more apologetic, though - I mean, the name on the check was "Dominic Daniels" or something, pretty clearly not me.)
I also managed to get some smaller-scale things done today despite having very fragmented time chunks, something I don't usually excel at. I read the relevant essays out of a book I just got for papers, wrote up feedback on 4 of 5 student presentations from yesterday, wrote my WC records for tonight (it's slow)...not too bad. When I get home I will endeavor to write up the last presentation response, then go to sleep because damn I've been staying up too late.
So several major stresses are dealt with now, leaving me that much more energy for paper-writing goodness. I might even be able to get into a groove this weekend where I can enjoy the process a little. We shall see.
So I finally "[went] to the motherfucking bank like an ADULT," as Ali of hyperboleandahalf would say, and (surprise surprise) it turned out to be relatively painless. To my delight, my first instinct about the mystery charges proved correct - they were not mine. Apparently sometimes banks make adorable little "keying errors" and clear checks from your account that were not in fact written by you. This is what happened to me, leading to overdraft charges and overdue payments for those charges...but while it was a bit time-consuming, the man who helped me was very nice and dismissed all the charges, so I will not in fact have to ride my bike home for Christmas. (I did think he should have been a bit more apologetic, though - I mean, the name on the check was "Dominic Daniels" or something, pretty clearly not me.)
I also managed to get some smaller-scale things done today despite having very fragmented time chunks, something I don't usually excel at. I read the relevant essays out of a book I just got for papers, wrote up feedback on 4 of 5 student presentations from yesterday, wrote my WC records for tonight (it's slow)...not too bad. When I get home I will endeavor to write up the last presentation response, then go to sleep because damn I've been staying up too late.
So several major stresses are dealt with now, leaving me that much more energy for paper-writing goodness. I might even be able to get into a groove this weekend where I can enjoy the process a little. We shall see.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
[sings] "I Saw Five Hundred Thousand Tasks Come Sailing In, Come Sailing In, Come Sailing in..."
- Just cited my professor in the paper I'm writing for him. Here's hoping I'm correct in thinking his is not one of the articles I grossly misrepresented in my annotated bibliography, since I pulled the text from there...
- I fucking hate not having a parking space. I've literally paid more in tickets than I would have to get a spot. I need to do something about this. Anyone have a driveway/garage spot I can rent for the winter? (Bonus points if I can pay in cookies, hugs or stimulating discourse on visual rhetoric.)
- So while I'm slowly working to distance myself from my self-assigned title as the Worst Graduate Student of All Time, I'm falling deeper and deeper into the pit of being the Worst Adult of All Time. See: unpaid parking tickets, unspeakably stressful UW Credit Union debaucle, failure to have bought AN single Christmas gift, the fact that upon waking this morning and realizing I had eaten the last of my Candy Cane Kisses my first thought was "dammit, what the hell am I going to eat for breakfast now?", etc.
- I have still not watched the film upon which the bulk of my aforementioned paper's argument will rest. My draft currently starts with "[insert stuff about the scene where he walks btwn Towers here.]" That scene is the basis of my whole case.
- I discovered that Penny's recent gastric distress was almost certainly due to her new habit of eating my hair elastics. Guess that's a good reason to follow through on my constant resolutions to stop leaving them all over the house.
- It's been a year since I wrote a long paper so I might simply be forgetting (altering my own memory of the historical narrative, if you will - which you shouldn't), but I do not recall having this much trouble organizing the initial presentation of my idea. Sheesh. Turns out situating yourself in a scholarly context is complicated. Yeesh.
- [A bit later:] ...okay. I might have dramatically underestimated what I have to say for Mike. For the first time EVER, I think I have too much theory and context to present and not enough of my own ideas. I might not have to come up with a new argument for Christa - I might just split the idea further and make Mike's paper entirely about framing the kind of images I'm looking at and Christa's entirely about Man on Wire and what it's doing with 9/11. Maybe. Because I am looking at some serious length issues here.
Fucking ideas. And standards. Bah. I'm going to Woodman's.
(A second later - How is all that typing only 2 pages long???????)
- I fucking hate not having a parking space. I've literally paid more in tickets than I would have to get a spot. I need to do something about this. Anyone have a driveway/garage spot I can rent for the winter? (Bonus points if I can pay in cookies, hugs or stimulating discourse on visual rhetoric.)
- So while I'm slowly working to distance myself from my self-assigned title as the Worst Graduate Student of All Time, I'm falling deeper and deeper into the pit of being the Worst Adult of All Time. See: unpaid parking tickets, unspeakably stressful UW Credit Union debaucle, failure to have bought AN single Christmas gift, the fact that upon waking this morning and realizing I had eaten the last of my Candy Cane Kisses my first thought was "dammit, what the hell am I going to eat for breakfast now?", etc.
- I have still not watched the film upon which the bulk of my aforementioned paper's argument will rest. My draft currently starts with "[insert stuff about the scene where he walks btwn Towers here.]" That scene is the basis of my whole case.
- I discovered that Penny's recent gastric distress was almost certainly due to her new habit of eating my hair elastics. Guess that's a good reason to follow through on my constant resolutions to stop leaving them all over the house.
- It's been a year since I wrote a long paper so I might simply be forgetting (altering my own memory of the historical narrative, if you will - which you shouldn't), but I do not recall having this much trouble organizing the initial presentation of my idea. Sheesh. Turns out situating yourself in a scholarly context is complicated. Yeesh.
- [A bit later:] ...okay. I might have dramatically underestimated what I have to say for Mike. For the first time EVER, I think I have too much theory and context to present and not enough of my own ideas. I might not have to come up with a new argument for Christa - I might just split the idea further and make Mike's paper entirely about framing the kind of images I'm looking at and Christa's entirely about Man on Wire and what it's doing with 9/11. Maybe. Because I am looking at some serious length issues here.
Fucking ideas. And standards. Bah. I'm going to Woodman's.
(A second later - How is all that typing only 2 pages long???????)
Thursday, December 2, 2010
It's the Most Christmasy Time of the Year!
Alright. As of 7:32 CST today, Becca's Christmas season has officially begun - I'm listening to "All I Want for Christmas is You" for the first time this year.
(Aside - in addition to starting my season, this song also reminds me of Ryan Whalen, and how he once put this song on at a party at his place in like, mid-October or something, and we all went insane and danced and sang our faces off because it was the Best Idea Ever.)
(Aside - in addition to starting my season, this song also reminds me of Ryan Whalen, and how he once put this song on at a party at his place in like, mid-October or something, and we all went insane and danced and sang our faces off because it was the Best Idea Ever.)
Thursday, November 18, 2010
It's a bird, it's a place, it's A GRADUATE STUDENT!
So now it's 11/16 and I'm STILL furiously annotating - while also grading second portfolios, trying to avoid a major Teaching Fail in these final weeks, and living on almost literally nothing. Seriously, I need to go through the month's expenses with a comb next week because I have *no* idea how this check went so fast. I mean, that's not true - it was overpriced wine, eating out and Chicago. But still.
And now - Superpowers I currently wish I had:
The Power to Stop Polo Overturning his Water Glass! Weak start, I know. But it's driving me insane. Background - the two of them have always loved drinking out of people cups. I don't really understand the allure it holds for them, and it appears to be independent of cleanliness; no matter how clean and new the water in their bowl and how old the water in the glass, they go for the glass every time. They've broken a good number of them this way, by knocking them off tables and such while trying to stick their heads down far enough to get to the liquid. So a few weeks ago, I decided to stop fighting it and give them their own "cat glass." (Really what happened was that I left a pint glass of water on the floor and they practically danced a jig around it every time I was in the room, so I decided to just let things take their course.) I top it off whenever I think of it, they stay better hydrated, we all win. Except that Polo cannot stop knocking the fucking thing over. Not once in the first two weeks, but now it's like, every day. And I don't understand it at all. I've seen it happen enough to have a decent sense of it - he drinks, stops, bats at the glass with a (huge, huge) paw, drinks some more, bats some more, until BOOM! it tips. And somehow he's surprised. I have no clue why he keeps doing it - I'm leaning towards a theory that he's got depth perception issues like that dog in Clean Slate, but that would make his uncanny ability to jump onto crowded side tables without knocking shit over a legit superpower on its own, so who knows. But it's getting old.
The power to shake my students just shy of silly with my MIND! This isn't a unique wish. And a lot of them are doing great - honestly, it's probably more me than them. But come the fuck on, guys. We're in this together. It's an odd group - the majority of them are really great, unique, interesting people, but somehow there is *no* sense of community, all very fragmented and kind of "..."
The power to not be such a pushover in regards to my personal life! Awhile back, I realized dragging myself through a fog of misery created by my inability to stop hoping things with Cesco would somehow work out was probably not very good for me, and took the shockingly proactive step of cutting him out of my life entirely. He was not a huge fan of this, but I thought I'd been clear it was really best for me. And yet magically here we are six weeks later with me helping him revise his CV and essays for grad school applications. I suppose it's not, you know, shocking that I would do this; Brad's training has reduced(/elevated, depending on the day) me to the point where I have an almost Pavlovian response to people who are writing applications for anything - I'm like the Lassie of writing tasks. Plus Lord knows I'd like to see him once again living 800+ miles away from me. But I'm still kind of at a loss as to how he wrangled me from complete radio silence into exchanging lighthearted CV-themed banter within the space of less than a week. To channel Ron Burgundy - I'm not even mad I'm just impressed. Mad will come when I read his personal statement and realize all over again how much the universe conspired to fuck me over on this one, but even then it will be largely channeled at myself. It's the painfully ironic romantic clusterfuck that just keeps on giving, I guess.
The power to make money appear in my checking account! I literally cannot patronize any of the seven hundred-odd Madison establishments that only take cash because I have a balance of 5.92. It's just wins all around for me right now. Christ.
The power to go back in time and sign Leigh and I up for presentation dates that aren't December 1st! I'm sorry, but asking me to give an even vaguely formal presentation about my final paper three full weeks before said paper is due is just ridiculous and unreasonable. It's asking us all to engage in a collective act of fantasy - Mike will pretend it's sane and logical to ask us to present work that clearly, absolutely does not exist yet, I will pretend that what I'm saying actually forms part of some existing seminar paper-esque piece of work, and my classmates will pretend they care. It's just pure farce designed to put me in my grave early and ensure that stress makes me as annoyed by and annoying to my family over Thanksgiving as possible.
The power to remember where I'm allowed to park my car on a given day! Seriously Madison, what the fuck is up with your parking regulations? Come on. Though I've discovered that the alternate-side thing may not be as awful as I'd expected - but it's still annoying.
And now - Superpowers I currently wish I had:
The Power to Stop Polo Overturning his Water Glass! Weak start, I know. But it's driving me insane. Background - the two of them have always loved drinking out of people cups. I don't really understand the allure it holds for them, and it appears to be independent of cleanliness; no matter how clean and new the water in their bowl and how old the water in the glass, they go for the glass every time. They've broken a good number of them this way, by knocking them off tables and such while trying to stick their heads down far enough to get to the liquid. So a few weeks ago, I decided to stop fighting it and give them their own "cat glass." (Really what happened was that I left a pint glass of water on the floor and they practically danced a jig around it every time I was in the room, so I decided to just let things take their course.) I top it off whenever I think of it, they stay better hydrated, we all win. Except that Polo cannot stop knocking the fucking thing over. Not once in the first two weeks, but now it's like, every day. And I don't understand it at all. I've seen it happen enough to have a decent sense of it - he drinks, stops, bats at the glass with a (huge, huge) paw, drinks some more, bats some more, until BOOM! it tips. And somehow he's surprised. I have no clue why he keeps doing it - I'm leaning towards a theory that he's got depth perception issues like that dog in Clean Slate, but that would make his uncanny ability to jump onto crowded side tables without knocking shit over a legit superpower on its own, so who knows. But it's getting old.
The power to shake my students just shy of silly with my MIND! This isn't a unique wish. And a lot of them are doing great - honestly, it's probably more me than them. But come the fuck on, guys. We're in this together. It's an odd group - the majority of them are really great, unique, interesting people, but somehow there is *no* sense of community, all very fragmented and kind of "..."
The power to not be such a pushover in regards to my personal life! Awhile back, I realized dragging myself through a fog of misery created by my inability to stop hoping things with Cesco would somehow work out was probably not very good for me, and took the shockingly proactive step of cutting him out of my life entirely. He was not a huge fan of this, but I thought I'd been clear it was really best for me. And yet magically here we are six weeks later with me helping him revise his CV and essays for grad school applications. I suppose it's not, you know, shocking that I would do this; Brad's training has reduced(/elevated, depending on the day) me to the point where I have an almost Pavlovian response to people who are writing applications for anything - I'm like the Lassie of writing tasks. Plus Lord knows I'd like to see him once again living 800+ miles away from me. But I'm still kind of at a loss as to how he wrangled me from complete radio silence into exchanging lighthearted CV-themed banter within the space of less than a week. To channel Ron Burgundy - I'm not even mad I'm just impressed. Mad will come when I read his personal statement and realize all over again how much the universe conspired to fuck me over on this one, but even then it will be largely channeled at myself. It's the painfully ironic romantic clusterfuck that just keeps on giving, I guess.
The power to make money appear in my checking account! I literally cannot patronize any of the seven hundred-odd Madison establishments that only take cash because I have a balance of 5.92. It's just wins all around for me right now. Christ.
The power to go back in time and sign Leigh and I up for presentation dates that aren't December 1st! I'm sorry, but asking me to give an even vaguely formal presentation about my final paper three full weeks before said paper is due is just ridiculous and unreasonable. It's asking us all to engage in a collective act of fantasy - Mike will pretend it's sane and logical to ask us to present work that clearly, absolutely does not exist yet, I will pretend that what I'm saying actually forms part of some existing seminar paper-esque piece of work, and my classmates will pretend they care. It's just pure farce designed to put me in my grave early and ensure that stress makes me as annoyed by and annoying to my family over Thanksgiving as possible.
The power to remember where I'm allowed to park my car on a given day! Seriously Madison, what the fuck is up with your parking regulations? Come on. Though I've discovered that the alternate-side thing may not be as awful as I'd expected - but it's still annoying.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Maybe I should ditch this little white rental on the interstate
[Note: Started this like over a week ago. Oh Becca - can't even finish blog posts on time.]
Oh man. My life may have highs and lows in terms of interest/enjoyment level, but it's alllll maxed out for sheer content. Yikes. Daylight savings has begun - and as always, this is when the semester kicks it up a notch.
Not all in a bad way though. The trip to Chicago for Ben Folds with Nora and Nathan was pretty epic, and worth the effort that went into the planning. We made good travel partners - nice, easy dynamics, and the best parts of traveling with three people. Three's tough sometimes - we all know the adage - but I think that when the balance is even among the three people, without one dramatically stronger or weaker bond, it's pretty much the ideal group size, especially for small experience-based trips. Five's getting unwieldy, and you won't get to talk to everyone, and everyone ends up feeling like they missed something. Four inevitably becomes two groups of two. But we made a good trio.
There may have been a bit of confusion arriving in the city (Becca forgetting where the directions she printed actually took us, parking on the wrong 300 block of Ohio and consequently forfeiting $14 for parking). But there was tasty Indian food for dinner, and a great show. It's funny...seeing a Ben Folds show isn't quite like seeing other people I really like. It's in part because his body of work is so huge that you don't go in hoping for one particular favorite, since A) you likely have too many to pick and B) it's hopeless. Yet you can depend on hearing a good chunk of the classics - all of the big ones post-Suburbs, really, at this show. The nostalgia factor is really what makes the magic though. Like most people there, I've been listening to Ben Folds since before I could drive. And then once I could, it was Rocking the Suburbs in my jury-rigged stereo. I (or rather, the audience) am on the cover of his live album giving him the finger. Three of his songs have served as crutches during breakups over the years. And now he's partnered with my favorite author on the latest addition to the canon. He looms large for me. And though we've all got different Foldsian narratives, it's the same for everyone. Maybe you love his songs because you've been fired, had an abortion, been advised not to join the armed forces by a parent, had a friend take a shitton of acid and spontaneously convert to Baptism. Or maybe not. But we've all been in love, all been dumped, all found life incredibly nonsensical yet moving at some point or another, and at a good number of those points Ben Folds provided the soundtrack. So when you see him play...it's not so much about that specific show as it is with other bands.
Which meant I wasn't phased by some of the technical fuckups (nothing terrible, but limited how well his voice came through sometimes), or the fact that it's clearly unnatural and (at least now, at the tour's outset) somewhat tough for him to sing words someone else wrote. It was still awesome. And of course not everyone was quarter-lifers like the three of us. I saw some snowy peaks in there, and the guy behind us was practically a child. (His face when Ben played "Underground" in the encore was priceless...he was like, "what is this and why the hell is it being played where a major hit should go?") Not a huge crowd for the venue, which meant all was civil and we had a good view. And I was reminded why I always make the New Year's resolution to see more concerts: it's because they're awesome.
Post-show we hit up the Violet Hour, a lounge/bar that in daily life would be far too swank for me but is perfect for occasional drop-ins and makes me feel cool, because apparently anyone who's got taste remotely like mine has been to and loved it. I'd been once before with Maeve and Co., right at the end of MA spring, and while I had a great time, the fact that I was coming off a major life change or two and miiiight have been dressed like an elementary school teacher kind of limited the magic.
We had to wait about half an hour to get in, which wasn't unexpected - but I'd forgotten the way lines like that, even ones consisting of groups, tend to wait in relative silence. I hate that - not that that'll be a surprise to anyone. It's boring, and in addition we were all in danger of sobering up and falling asleep, which would have been tragic. So we all rose to the occasion and played 20-odd minutes of "Kill, Marry, Fuck" at a quiet but not inaudible volume while waiting for admission into a major Chicago hot spot. (The looks we got from both the couple behind us and the host when we turned to theorist groupings were truly priceless.) Once inside, we settled into a lively conversation that covered everything from Marxist theory (naturally, with Nora there) to 9/11 to college hijinx. We also consumed some of the best cocktails it's ever been my privilege to drink. And I might have made us do whiskey shots. We ended up more or less closing the place out, then catching a cab (such luxury! I'm going to be living on Ramen for the rest of the month) (not like I wouldn't have been anyhow) back to the hotel and crashing immediately despite Nathan and I's intentions to catch Nora up on some major YouTube classics.
Woke up a bit worse for wear, Nathan drove us home, he and I are obsessed with the a cappella version of "Effington," we stopped at a creepily middle-America Dairy Queen in Janesville, all crashed when we got back to our homes. Great weekend. It reminded me that adventures can actually be better now that I'm old.
And then of course despite being certain I'd be too busy and tired to go out Sat night, I ended up at the Mason with the larger gang until 2:30. And regretted it not at all. I'm a lucky girl in my friends.
I did manage, through what feels like Herculean effort on my part but was probably just reasonably Fear-motivated catch-up, to finish my entire academic to-do list for the weekend. Of course, I wrote it with an eye to making it modest and actually doable given my plans, but still. Small victories and all. It's going to be a rough week until Wed is over, then will just be the usual "OMG it's mid-November fuck"-style week. Things are both helped and hindered by the fact that I'm incredibly excited about my VisRhet final paper - I just want to work on it. But of course I have no time to do so - or rather, what time I might be able to scrape up is needed for the 25-source annotated bibliography detailing not my research for the paper but "the conversation" I'm entering. Yes this is good for me blah blah, but it can't help but feel chafing when all I want to do is run with my topic.
----------
Oh man. My life may have highs and lows in terms of interest/enjoyment level, but it's alllll maxed out for sheer content. Yikes. Daylight savings has begun - and as always, this is when the semester kicks it up a notch.
Not all in a bad way though. The trip to Chicago for Ben Folds with Nora and Nathan was pretty epic, and worth the effort that went into the planning. We made good travel partners - nice, easy dynamics, and the best parts of traveling with three people. Three's tough sometimes - we all know the adage - but I think that when the balance is even among the three people, without one dramatically stronger or weaker bond, it's pretty much the ideal group size, especially for small experience-based trips. Five's getting unwieldy, and you won't get to talk to everyone, and everyone ends up feeling like they missed something. Four inevitably becomes two groups of two. But we made a good trio.
There may have been a bit of confusion arriving in the city (Becca forgetting where the directions she printed actually took us, parking on the wrong 300 block of Ohio and consequently forfeiting $14 for parking). But there was tasty Indian food for dinner, and a great show. It's funny...seeing a Ben Folds show isn't quite like seeing other people I really like. It's in part because his body of work is so huge that you don't go in hoping for one particular favorite, since A) you likely have too many to pick and B) it's hopeless. Yet you can depend on hearing a good chunk of the classics - all of the big ones post-Suburbs, really, at this show. The nostalgia factor is really what makes the magic though. Like most people there, I've been listening to Ben Folds since before I could drive. And then once I could, it was Rocking the Suburbs in my jury-rigged stereo. I (or rather, the audience) am on the cover of his live album giving him the finger. Three of his songs have served as crutches during breakups over the years. And now he's partnered with my favorite author on the latest addition to the canon. He looms large for me. And though we've all got different Foldsian narratives, it's the same for everyone. Maybe you love his songs because you've been fired, had an abortion, been advised not to join the armed forces by a parent, had a friend take a shitton of acid and spontaneously convert to Baptism. Or maybe not. But we've all been in love, all been dumped, all found life incredibly nonsensical yet moving at some point or another, and at a good number of those points Ben Folds provided the soundtrack. So when you see him play...it's not so much about that specific show as it is with other bands.
Which meant I wasn't phased by some of the technical fuckups (nothing terrible, but limited how well his voice came through sometimes), or the fact that it's clearly unnatural and (at least now, at the tour's outset) somewhat tough for him to sing words someone else wrote. It was still awesome. And of course not everyone was quarter-lifers like the three of us. I saw some snowy peaks in there, and the guy behind us was practically a child. (His face when Ben played "Underground" in the encore was priceless...he was like, "what is this and why the hell is it being played where a major hit should go?") Not a huge crowd for the venue, which meant all was civil and we had a good view. And I was reminded why I always make the New Year's resolution to see more concerts: it's because they're awesome.
Post-show we hit up the Violet Hour, a lounge/bar that in daily life would be far too swank for me but is perfect for occasional drop-ins and makes me feel cool, because apparently anyone who's got taste remotely like mine has been to and loved it. I'd been once before with Maeve and Co., right at the end of MA spring, and while I had a great time, the fact that I was coming off a major life change or two and miiiight have been dressed like an elementary school teacher kind of limited the magic.
We had to wait about half an hour to get in, which wasn't unexpected - but I'd forgotten the way lines like that, even ones consisting of groups, tend to wait in relative silence. I hate that - not that that'll be a surprise to anyone. It's boring, and in addition we were all in danger of sobering up and falling asleep, which would have been tragic. So we all rose to the occasion and played 20-odd minutes of "Kill, Marry, Fuck" at a quiet but not inaudible volume while waiting for admission into a major Chicago hot spot. (The looks we got from both the couple behind us and the host when we turned to theorist groupings were truly priceless.) Once inside, we settled into a lively conversation that covered everything from Marxist theory (naturally, with Nora there) to 9/11 to college hijinx. We also consumed some of the best cocktails it's ever been my privilege to drink. And I might have made us do whiskey shots. We ended up more or less closing the place out, then catching a cab (such luxury! I'm going to be living on Ramen for the rest of the month) (not like I wouldn't have been anyhow) back to the hotel and crashing immediately despite Nathan and I's intentions to catch Nora up on some major YouTube classics.
Woke up a bit worse for wear, Nathan drove us home, he and I are obsessed with the a cappella version of "Effington," we stopped at a creepily middle-America Dairy Queen in Janesville, all crashed when we got back to our homes. Great weekend. It reminded me that adventures can actually be better now that I'm old.
And then of course despite being certain I'd be too busy and tired to go out Sat night, I ended up at the Mason with the larger gang until 2:30. And regretted it not at all. I'm a lucky girl in my friends.
I did manage, through what feels like Herculean effort on my part but was probably just reasonably Fear-motivated catch-up, to finish my entire academic to-do list for the weekend. Of course, I wrote it with an eye to making it modest and actually doable given my plans, but still. Small victories and all. It's going to be a rough week until Wed is over, then will just be the usual "OMG it's mid-November fuck"-style week. Things are both helped and hindered by the fact that I'm incredibly excited about my VisRhet final paper - I just want to work on it. But of course I have no time to do so - or rather, what time I might be able to scrape up is needed for the 25-source annotated bibliography detailing not my research for the paper but "the conversation" I'm entering. Yes this is good for me blah blah, but it can't help but feel chafing when all I want to do is run with my topic.
----------
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Lucky Guy
Turns out Dexter is a much better fit for my current mood than Community, funny as that show may be. See, Community is too relatable and too alarming - too many jokes about Britta being old, the charms of sexual tension, the joy of a life where getting a D in Spanish is your biggest concern. Dexter though - it works. It's unrealistic in just the right way, takes place in a setting I've visited but never known, and revolves around a dude with no feelings - exactly the quality in which I desire lessons! I tip my hat to you, Showtime. Way to come through.
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