Sunday, February 27, 2005

quick and dirty

I'm feeling completely unmotivated. For hours, I've been contemplating doing work. I have a women's lit test to prepare for, and I'm not sure how to go about that. I have a "short exercise" to do for BobCarb, but it looks like it's supposed to be an eleven-paragraph essay. That kind of bothers me, so I ignore the assignment altogether. And I have a page-and-a-half-in-Spanish culture credit to write up. The film I'm writing about? Intacto, which I saw like three weeks ago or something. Let's see if IMDB can conjure up some memories to write about... All of this, I need to do in roughly two hours so I can get a good night's sleep. Because I didn't sleep nearly fourteen hours during what I'm going to inaccurately refer to as last night. Hey, I needed that rest. Or hibernation.

Thursday, February 24, 2005

baggage that seems to still exist

Looking at last night's post, I could see BarbCobb's influence all over it. Okay, in two places. And they're just little things.

(1) I'm varying in and out of two styles of dashes. There are the ones I've been making for years--which do not have any spaces between them and the words--that are approved by the most recent MLA Handbook. Then there are the ones that BC wants us to use -- which have a space before and after the dash -- that appear in my last post. This is one of those rules, even though I'd like to stick with MLA on this, I consider correct in a writer's style as long as he or she is consistent. I am not. You punctuation hypocrite, you.

(2) Sophrosyne. It doesn't matter that I just spent nearly half a semester talking Platoin philosophy. I credit this to BC because we never used the word in in PHI. (And obviously, it was a little out of practice since I misspelled it originally, but I did fix it after messing it up again by accidently putting in a zero instead of an o in my editing.) Anyway, how 'bout dragging up the humanidades 2-1-1 with the hamartia, peripeteia, anagnorisis, and sophrosyne.

And for those of you who haven't already given up this blog entry to be nothing but dissertations on manipulations of language, something...else. Hmm, what else?

Oh, I don't have class at all today. I only have one class on Thursdays, but it has been cancelled. That's particularly good because I have a heaping mountain of homework and studying to do. I'm not sure if I have one or two tests tomorrow. I know there'll be one in Spanish. But women's lit, I doubt. We didn't have class yesterday, so we haven't even discussed an exam. It's on the syllabus. Wouldn't it be easier to email the professor to see what's happening? Maybe. But I'd almost rather not study, go in, and have the test whilst all along thinking we wouldn't. Call it sheer laziness if you like.

Yesterday, I found out that the idiots who have been firing things off at the Birds live in my own apartment complex. That's comforting.

For some reason, I have Keith Urban's "You'll Think of Me" in my head, and I haven't heard that song in forever. I think it's because I woke up early this morning (coughing) around 4 am.

On that oh-so-interesting note, have a good day!

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

up, down

Today has been a myriad of things.


If there's anything I've learned from this day, it is this: It just won't do to be guided about by circumstances and the emotions those circumstances bring. Emotions are okay. We need to feel to be alive. But I can't let them control me or else I would have been in complete tumult today. Okay, so maybe I was, and I have suspicions it was a microversion of what being a manic-depressive feels like. It was quite unhealthy. Equally unhealthy is the stoicism -- also commonly known as indifference or apathy -- that I find so inviting. Either way, I'd be letting emotions (or the lack thereof) determine my state of being.

To look for the good things in life and hope they outweigh, or at least overshadow, the bad seems a bit flimsy, don't you think. I don't think that if I sat down, tallied all the things that happened today in a two-column chart, and compared the number of marks I would be able to mathematically determine today was good or not. I'm actually beginning to wonder if there are such things as good and bad experiences. Experiences are just experiences, and they make us who we are whether we like them or not. The glass is not half full or half empty. It's just a half a glass of water.

I know I'm throwing lots of seemingly bold statements out there. But they're really just considerations. Not mantras or even beliefs. Just thoughts. They're hardly even logical thoughts either. I'm crossing way too many concepts (goodness and badness, enthusiasm and stoicism, optimism and pessimism) to be making any sense. And I'm thinking it's not a balance or a teetering sophrosyne I'm looking for.

I guess I'm going back to that search for that constant, that immovable foundation that I know is there. I know what it is. But knowing what it is doesn't mean I find it without looking.

Sunday, February 20, 2005

for the moments i feel faint

"Progress is the life-style of man. The general life of the human race is called Progress, and so is its collective march. Progress advances, it makes the great human and earthly journey towards what is heavenly and divine; it has its pauses, when it rallies the stragglers, its stopping places when it meditates, contemplating some new and splendid promised land that has suddenly appeared on its horizon. It has its nights of slumber; and it is one of the poignant anxieties of the thinker to see the human spirit lost in shadow, and to grope in the darkness without being able to awake sleeping progress." Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

Call it lay philosophy if you wish. You may also want to stamp a big "COMMON SENSE" on it with red ink. Either way, I think it's a concept worth consideration.

The past facilitates the future. There would be no present without the past. There would be no future without the present.

Bold statements, indeed. And there is probably some failing logic in there. But let me talk this out.

I didn't begin this because I had some grandiose revelation that deserved to be chiseled into the immortal walls of cyberspace. I just happened to reflect on the past and how it has led to the present. There are so many aspects of my life that wouldn't be existent if a chunk out of the middle of my past hadn't occurred.

I have a recurring fear of the future. (I believe I've told this before, but I'll tell it again.) I know when it began. It was the summer before freshman year of high school. I had just gotten back from a trip to Florida. And I don't remember the reason, but I was sleeping in the living room floor that night. And right there on that hardwood floor as I tried to get comfortable that four years from then, I would be getting ready to go to college. The mere thought of it scared me to tears. How ridiculous that seems now, right? Because there was still a future to come that would prepare me. But I couldn't see that future. How was I to know that four years from that night I would be a completely different person who was (at least more) ready to take that next step. I was trying to get from one cliff of the Grand Canyon to the other in a babystep. No wonder I cried myself to sleep.

Looking back and seeing each slat of the bridge that would carry me across fall into place is easy. Yet another version of "hindsight is 20/20," no doubt. But waiting for that next foothold to come is not easy. And sometimes, it's tempting to believe that it will never come and you'll just have to jump from where you are--no matter how far you are from the other side. But what I'm learning is this: That foothold will come. The best thing for me to do is enjoy the view from where I am until it does.

Life is that cliché journey. You can't get from one place to another without actually traveling the road. It is so simple, but so often, I forget.

In light of this, I'd like to note that on December 21, 2003, I made a list of my fears. I looked back on them just now, and I can say that, though I'm not a fearless person by any means, I'm much less afraid of these than I used to be. It wouldn't be accurate to go through and bold the ones that I've conquered. It's not that clear cut. It's not a checklist. But I can say that I've made at least some progress in all of these and great progress in many.

"I'm afraid of commitment.
I'm afraid of responsibility.
I'm afraid of having an opinion.
I'm afraid of making decisions.
I'm afraid of being vulnerable.
I'm afraid of being alone.
I'm afraid of change.
I'm afraid of rejection.
I'm afraid of failure.
I'm afraid of audiences.
I'm afraid of saying goodbye.
I'm afraid of being first.
I'm afraid of growing up.
I'm afraid of reality.
I'm afraid of the future."

My fears didn't disappear over night. It was a matter of journeying, taking an uneasy step across a rickety bridge, even though I didn't fully trust it. There have been lots of me tightly closing my eyes and holding on for dear life while tip-toeing along only to open my eyes, see that I hadn't plummeted to my demise, and let out a most relieving sigh.

By no means have I met the greatest obstacles of my life or taken the most fearful steps of the journey, but maybe I've learned enough to keep my eyes open a little more.

Seeing as I've plastered it all over everthing I can, it's probably clear that this lyric has had profound meaning for me lately.

"Overcoming these obstacles is overcoming my fears." Relient K, "For the Moments I Feel Faint"

Friday, February 18, 2005

friday night write

I slept late today because I don't work on Fridays and my first class was cancelled. I got up at 9:25. That's what I call sleepin' in. Classes were fine. Two out of three let out at least twenty minutes early, so that was good.

I got a head-start to Paducah to get my passport application and fee turned in. I had loaded my guitar in the car, though I'm not sure why. Maybe I thought I'd find a bench at Noble Park, take my shoes off, put some flowers in my hair, and play socially-aware folk songs whilst letting birds alight on me. I don't know. It didn't happen because I ended up following the business loop from one end of town to the other and right on out of it--far far away from any hippie haven. I did make a mandatory stop in Calvert City to hang out with the sisterly family.

Tonight, I'm just chillin'. I've been playing some guitar (sans park benches, shoelessness, flowers, and birds), doing a bit of picking-up around the place, and contemplating doing something that might be considered advancement toward surviving this week. I have an insane amount of obligations for the coming week. Just on the surface, it's looking like three tests, a paper, a reading journal submission, and a booktalk. It's midterm already, isn't it?

Mom and Sissy and the Gang are coming to Murray tomorrow because Sissy's working a health fair thing at WalMart. Mom and I are going to attempt to keep Victoria and Kathryn alive throughout the five-hour duration. It should be an interesting (fun?) day.

Sissy hooked me up with some cough medicine stuff. I'm about to cough my head right off of my shoulders. I'm not sure what I've got, but something tells me it's similar to the pesky illness called bronchitis. I better go out to the car and get that bottle of codeine now.

I've been sparsely adding some pictures to my Flickr account. Long live Flickr. I love it. It is most definitely to place to go if you're looking for some photographs. I spent a vast majority of today looking up photos of Segovia and London with Tessa in advanced comp. I'm thinking of getting a premium Flickr account. But is it worth the investment. Ponder, ponder.

Thursday, February 17, 2005

i love the '90s

This, which I stole from Jenny, is one of the best you-know-you're-a-child-of-the-'90s-if things I've seen. So here it is with the ones I identify with in bold and my comments are in italics.

You’ve ever ended a sentence with the word “PSYCH!”

You watched the Pound Puppies. I vaguely remember watching it.

You can sing the rap to the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. Don't make me illustrate.

You wore biker shorts under your skirts and felt stylish. But I did own Spandex.

You yearned to be a member of the Baby-Sitters Club and tried to start a club of your own.

You owned those little Strawberry Shortcake pals scented dolls. No, but I always wanted to.

You know that “WOAH” comes from Joey on Blossom.

Two words: M.C. Hammer. Isn't that three words, kind of? How 'bout Hammer Time?

If you ever watched “Fraggle Rock.

You had plastic streamers on your handle bars. Most definitely.

You can sing the entire theme song to Duck Tales. Hmm, not all of it, but how about Rescue Rangers?

You remember when it was actually worth getting up early on a Saturday to watch cartoons.

You wore a ponytail on the side of your head. Does it matter that it wasn't during the '90s?

You saw the original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on the big screen. No, but I remember watching it at school. I was more of the cartoon kinda girl. I wanted to be April.

You got super-excited when it was Oregon Trail day in computer class at school. Somehow, I managed to be in the class that went all the way through grade school without having Oregon Trail opportunities. Darn 01s.

You played the game “MASH” (Mansion, Apartment, Shack, House). And more elaborate versions, too.

You wore a Jordache Jean jacket and you were proud of it. No, but I'm pretty sure my sister did.

L.A. Gear.

You wanted to change your name to “JEM” in Kindergarten. Is it okay that I don't understand this? But to make up for it, I'll tell you that I did go by "K. Z." amongst my friends for a while in fifth grade. What kind of friends let me do that?

You remember reading Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing and all the Ramona books.

You know the profound meaning of “Wax on, wax off.” I don't think I've ever seen all of Karate Kid.

You wanted to be a Goonie. Another cinematic failure of mine. I have seen all of The Goonies, but it was far too recently.

You ever wore flourescent clothing. Haha, 701 Green.

You have pondered why Smurfette was the only female smurf.

You took lunch pails/boxes to school. But for the life of me, I can't remember what was on it. But I had the thermos and everything.

You remember the craze of taking lunch pails/boxes to school.

You remember the craze then the banning of slap bracelets.

You still get the urge to say “NOT” after every sentence. And an occasional "DUH!"

You remember Hypercolor T-shirts.

Barbie and the Rockers was your favorite band.

You thought She-Ra and He-Man should hook up.

You thought your childhood friends would never leave because you exchanged friendship bracelets. And all sorts of other friendship wear. Buddy bands, anyone? Okay, not really.

You owned a pair of jelly sandals. One for each time the fad came around, which was at least twice.

After you saw Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure you kept saying “I know what you are, but what am I?” But the big effect of that movie was the generation-specific fear of clowns.

You remember “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!”

You remember going to the skating rink before there were inline skates. But I could never do it. Rollerblades saved my roller-career.

You ever got seriously injured on a Slip ‘n’ Slide. Well, it doesn't help that most of the ones in existence were make-shift: garbage bags, a water hose, and a bottle of Dawn. And lots of obstructing objects.

You have ever played with a Skip-It.

You had or attended a birthday party at McDonald’s. I was just thinking about this the other day. I don't remember whose it was, but I had a horrible time.

You’ve gone through this list occasionally saying “totally awesome.” Some things I've been able to weed out.

You remember Popples. Still have them somewhere ... I really wish I could find mine. I loved it. It was pink and blue.

“Don’t worry, be happy.”

You wore like, EIGHT pairs of socks over tights. I didn't like socks now, and I didn't really then. So to heck if I'm going to wear multiple pairs.

You wore socks scrunched down. Okay, so I did do this.

“Miss Mary Mack Mack Mack, all dressed in black black black” "With silver buttons buttons buttons all down her back back back."

You remember boom boxes vs. CD players.

You remember watching both Gremlins movies.

You know what it meant to say “Care Bear Stare!” I think I saw one episode of that show and don't remember anything about it.

You remember watching Rainbow Brite and My Little Ponies.

You thought Doogie Howser was hot. I was in love with him.

You remember Alf, the lil furry brown alien from Melmac.

You remember New Kids on the Block when they were cool. I had a tee-shirt with them on it, a sweater (not a sweatshirt, mind you) that had the name of the band on it which I wore in my kindergarten picture, books about them from Scholastic Book Fair, and a little view-finder with pictures of them on the inside. No, I don't remember them. Actually, I don't think I ever had their tape. Strange...

You knew all the characters names and their life stories on Saved By the Bell, the ORIGINAL class. Are we talking the junior high episodes with Miss Bliss or the high school ones. Either way, I'm on top of it. I pride myself on knowing the first and last names of the actors and their characters.

You know all the words to Bon Jovi's "You Give Love a Bad Name." No, but I do have a tendency to sing, in a most disgusting voice, the like "Shot through the heart, and you're too blame. You give love a bad name," with mine and Holly retarded voice distortion on "love" and "name."

You played and /or collected Pogs.

You used to pretend that you could transform into a Power Ranger. No, I was more like one of the kids that made fun of the other kids who pretended to transform into Power Rangers.

Wednesday, February 16, 2005

a better point-of-view

Today. Hmm. How 'bout it. It has been rough. Nothing very detrimental has happened, but my spirits have been torn down repeatedly. But you know what, I'm tired of the rollercoaster. I don't want to want anymore. I want to be content with the way things are. And I should be, but instead, I find that loose end of everything and get tripped up by it. I just want to see the good in things. Because it's there, and I know it. But I fail to have a calm vision -- that calm, steady vision that doesn't go blind simply because the scene changes for the seemingly better or worse. It just keeps seeing.

"How You Love Me" -- Bebo Norman

Hope came home, home to me today
And fear has run the other way
Words are weak, they don’t know how to say
You know I still believe in you

And should my dreams fall through
I will be safe with you
So with every breath I can breathe
I’ll sing about how you love me
I’ll sing about how you love me

On a lighter note, I bought myself a thirty-dollar Korg guitar tuner this evening. I got it to accompany the new-to-me Yamaha acoustic guitar that Mom and Dad bought off Arenda's friend. It was sorely out of tune, and so was the Washburn. My other tuners have crashed and burned, and today, with the help a little emotional money-spending, I got everything tuned up. I ran through my routine of songs. You know, I don't know much, so I just play the ones I know in rotation. But it serves its purpose -- whatever that might be. I think it's normally a stress-reliever, as it was today. But I tell you what. Those strings might be even easier, if it's possible, to hold down than those on the other guitar, but they hurt the heck out of my fingertips. Maybe it's because I haven't played in a while, but this feels like it did the first time I laid hands on a guitar. Painful stuff. Beautifully and painfully familiar.

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

spring magic

I probably look like something ridiculous that fell off the trash wagon. And I don't care. When I saw that was predicting 70 degrees for today and, probably erroneously, was predicting an even greater 71 degrees today--yes, another degree matters--I put on a tee-shirt that I normally only sleep in (that'd be my Broerman & Sons COACH shirt), and when I realized that none of the socks I particularly like were clean, I slid on the sandals. I don't feel like I'm coercing the weather. I like to think of it more as encouraging it.

I have a tendency to forget, but Dr. Waag just walked into the library a few minutes ago as he does every morning (except today he's not clad in the whole trenchcoat and hat get up) and made me remember. Chances are, I've told you, but let's just make it official, huh? I applied to study abroad in Spain this summer. If all goes as planned, I'll be spending a little more than the month of June in Segovia. Living with a host family and all that. I'm excited! I just can't believe I went through with the application process. It was something like taking off a bandaid. It needs to go. You want it to go. But you're just kinda scared to pull it off. And when you do, it hurts a little, so you just rip it off as fast as you can. And then you're glad you did.

That's the strangest analogy in the history of analogies. But whatever. This weekend, Mom and I had a conversation about how I'm having a slight breakdown over the fact that I only have two semesters before I graduate, and that's taking only what's required of me. And then, of course, there's the whole thrusting me out into the world part from which I can't help but shrink. And I realized how sad it is to me to think that after this semester, my Spanish language education will formally be over. All of this was multiplied by the fact that I feel that I have to get out in four years and that I know that goal is really ridiculous. And the truth is that I've been feeling this pressure from the parents. So after that talk with Mom, I've decided to go to Spain and add a semester to my college career. And it excites me very much. I believe I have the capabilities to develop a strong use of the language, and this trip will benefit me in so many other ways. And as for the extra semester, that means I get to take some classes that don't exactly fall straight from the Murray bible. More Spanish, perhaps? Creative writing courses? Maybe even an art class? I'm not sure. I haven't gone through an figured it all out yet, but either way, it's exciting. And I feel much freer.

There's a revision of my personal narrative due today, so it would be wise to work on that. But chances are, I'll do a revision of my collegiate future instead. Also, I'll probably be following some of the resource links on the KIIS website so that I can learn all about this far away place that I jerked up and decided to go to without any real consideration. What a decision maker am I.

Today feels right. Like a day in the spring semester that always has a way of being just a little more magical than the fall.

Friday, February 11, 2005


Today has been absolutely lovely. While walking to class this morning, I was filled with a sudden desire to read The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame. I've never read it, but I knew that it matched the magical feeling I had.

Call me a geek. I don't care.

After class, I came home and began looking for a copy of the book to buy off the internet, but I wasn't sure I was getting the right edition from, so I thought that maybe-just-maybe that used bookstore on 12th Street might have it. So I lit out in great hope. But they didn't have it. They did, however, have three Newbery Medal winners to add to my quickly-growing collection.

I have Out of the Dust by Karen Hesse, and few days ago, I ordered The Giver by Lois Lowry and Missing May, which I read in junior high, by Cynthia Rylant. Today, I bought Number the Stars by Lois Lowry, Jacob Have I Loved by Katherine Paterson, and a hardback copy of Crispin: The Cross of Lead, a rather new Newbery Medal winner, by Avi.

When will I read these? I have no idea. And I'm not really sure what my obsession with children's books is, but I think I'm trying to make up for my nearly bookless childhood. And I think children's literature has such a greatness that we don't usually comprehend as children and that we choose to ignore as adults. Plus, I have to do two book talks on Newbery Medal winning books this semester in Teaching Reading.

[Before you think of me as a deprived person--and maybe I am--let me tell you that my parents raised me well. The tradition of storytelling runs deep in my blood, as well as an insatiable curiosity. These are ingredients for the love that I have for reading and writing. And I did read as a child, just not as much as most of my book-loving peers. I'm a miracle, I suppose. Or more likely, a late-bloomer. But I am lucky. Most people who don't learn to love reading as a child never do. Child and adolescent literacy is so important. Hear the teacher?]

Alas, my search for The Wind in the Willows didn't cease, mind you. I knew that I would be able to find a copy at the Calloway County Library. And I did. There were several different editions, and to my excitement, they had the one with illustrations by Ernest H. Shepard. It has that wonderful Beatrix Potter pastoral feel. So I checked out my first book from that library. Thank you, Dr. Bolin.

Ignoring the cold and clinging to the beauty of the day, I went to the park to read. I settled in a sunny spot for a few pages, but it was just too chilly. So I closed the book (which was hitting this incredibly sappy spot I've been speaking of) and pulled out the camera. I liked to have killed myself--or atleast broken a bone or two--several times climbing and crawling about the creek. Let's just say I got a little muddy. And I'm washing my jeans right now. It was great, great fun. :-)

Thursday, February 10, 2005


Well, that was very magical, indeed. I was typing along, a paragraph or two into what was going to be this post, when I apparently swept my thumb across the mousepad of this laptop, highlighted everything, and deleted it. All at once. All before my eyes, but if I had've blinked, I would've missed it.

I was just saying how I've begun the write-the-paper-the-day-it-is-due routine. I have a 750-word first draft of a personal narrative due today. That's not such a big deal. But tonight (or when I get finished with my narrative), I have to write my first draft of the BarbCobb paper. That is a big deal. I finally got an okay on my thesis, but it looks more like a thesis paragraph rather than a thesis statement. I'm not even sure I remember what my original intent was.

There's nothing quite so exciting as talk of a book club. And there has been talk. And the first title is 1984, which I've not read and would like to. But when? When on earth will I be able to do it? I can barely get through what I've got as it is. This is a sad situation, ladies.

Okay, so I'm not really sure how, but I just found a pretty funny website. It's called Am I Right, and there is a section of misheard lyrics of songs. Of course, I went straight to John Mayer, and the first one I read had me doing that unstoppable-laugh-that-you-laugh-when-you're-not-supposed-to-be-laughing. The real lyric from "83" is "Oh make me a red cape / I wanna be Superman," but the person heard "Oh make me a rat cage / I wanna be Superman." That struck me as so hilarious--and still does as I write it. And the funny part is that it is very likely that that person thought he was saying that. You can't half understand what he's saying if you don't already know the lyrics. And so I felt it was only right to submit the two misheard John Mayer lyrics that came to mind.

I honestly thought this is what he said:
"Now we're tired by the fire" for "Now we're tired, battered fighters" - "Split-Screen Sadness"

And there is nothing quite like Lesli's:
"Your footsteps are tomahawks" for "Your footsteps are down the hall" - "Come Back to Bed"

Lesli's need to go ahead and make up the lyrics she doesn't know reminded me of the "Miss Independent" situation where she said "No longer need to be the misses" for "No longer need to be defensive." So I went to see if that lyric had been misheard, and indeed, it had. The best one that made me laugh as much as the rat cage was "No longer need to be the biscuit."

Sorry, sorry. I will quit boring you with all this. I'm just trying to avoid working on my narrative.

Tuesday, February 08, 2005

real quick here

I've just a few minutes before -- No, I lie. I don't have a few minutes of anything. I have class at 5:00. Tessa wants to go by the coffee shop beforehand, so that means we're leaving at 4:30. And it's 4:00ish now. And I still have to look over and sort out some stuff for class. What on earth am I doing?

I guess I just wanted to say that today has been better than yesterday. And yesterday didn't end up so bad.

Last night before I went to bed, I made that thing that you might have seen if you checked my blog anywhere between 11:45 last night and, I don't know, 10:00 this morning. I tried to be all creative with the quote that's on Into the Wardrobe again. It didn't work out so good. But I really like the quote. It's from The Screwtape Letters. Mind you, this is a senior demon that advises his nephew on the tricks of the winning-souls-for-satan trade talking here. "Our Enemy" is God.

"Be not deceived, Wormwood, our case is never more in jeopardy than when a human, no longer desiring but still intending to do Our Enemy's will, looks round upon a universe where every trace of Him seems to have vanished, and asks why he has been forsaken, and still obeys."
Screwtape, The Screwtape Letters, C. S. Lewis

Monday, February 07, 2005

petty grievances

So much for that continuance of lovely weather that I'd hoped for. But it's okay. I have a place in my heart for gloomy, misty days like this, too.

Today hasn't been my favorite day in all my life. Philosophy was okay, but I realized that my discussion board post pretty much completely missed Plato's point. In advanced comp, I came to the conclusion that I can't write a thesis. But at least BarbCobb pushed back the due date for the first draft to Friday. Women's lit sometimes gets on my nerves--just because it can. And the Spanish quiz probably won't be the most successful thing I've ever done. Way to go, Super Homework Queen. You done real good this time.

Oh, and let's talk about the forty million people who flooded the Curris Center today. Ten thousand other students have to eat lunch too. And at least one of them has to do it, study, and be back in class in an hour. That means you and your little name-tags need to quit thinking you're cool because you're eating college food and get out of my way.

Sorry, I'm just a little disgruntled today. Don't worry. It'll pass.

Maybe tomorrow will be better. But let's look at it this way: Today's not over with yet. It still has time to redeem itself. And it's possible that I'm the one needing the redeeming, huh?

Sunday, February 06, 2005

who knew it was super bowl sunday?

I have been Super Homework Queen this weekend. (That's right. Not just a royal ruler, but a royal ruler will hero powers.) And the sad part is that I'm still not done. But that's okay. This sense of accomplishment drives me on. I only have to study for a Spanish quiz and email BarbCobb a revised thesis for my paper. The Spanish is no big deal. I just don't know how I feel about nailing down a thesis prior to even writing the paper. But here's to decision making, right? Surely it'll help.

Most of this homework I've done, I had to do somewhere else because the internet and all those stinkin' name-that-tune challenge you Xanga kids are throwing at me keeps me from accomplishing much. Really. Earlier today, I sat down to look at SparkNotes to see if the section of Republic I planned to read pertained to the question I needed to answer. Note that I didn't have any intention of copping out and just reading the SparkNotes. Anyway, I thought, Before I do that, lemme check those survey things out first because, hey, that's more fun. Ooh, look. Something shiny. A brand new list of twenty-five songs from Holly... Fifteen minutes later, I'd completely forgotten about looking at the SparkNotes and was still confused about what I was supposed to read for philosophy.

So I had to get out of here. Yesterday and today, I went to Starbucks to do my reading. That means I've spent something like five hours and too much money on Venti Caramel Macchiatos in that place. By the way, I was a big girl yesterday and could hold my Venti, aside from the fact I was soon unable to focus on the words on the page of the book I was reading. But today, I barely made it. I'll save my money for special occasions. But anyway, I've come to really love that place. No wonder most of the civilized United States is obsessed with it.

What will they drag out next to scare off the birds? Canons? For the past couple weeks, the scene around this neck of Murray's woods has looked like a scene from a Hitchcock film. And from the sound of it, various groups of people--or maybe it's the same group--have attempted to rid the place of the birds, but it hasn't worked. I'm not so sure what's so special about the six or eight trees behind this corner of Brentwood, but at least once a day there are probably five thousand of them hanging out on the limbs and screaming like crazy. The gunfire, the fireworks, and the bombs, some of which I think are stink bombs, have not done the trick. Now it sounds like someone's trying out his pellet gun. Good luck with that, sonny.

On a much more lovely note, hasn't this weather been awesome? With all the recuperating (AKA sleeping) I've been doing, I haven't been out enjoying it much, but now I feel much better. I hope it hangs around a bit this week.

Saturday, February 05, 2005

my buddy rob

Rob just called. It's his 22nd birthday, and he's having a moving-in party at his new apartment in Newburgh. He asked me to come, but obviously, I can't. I'm down here in Murray. As I could tell, he was drunk. But he promised me that he wasn't getting out. He's just going to sit there and watch his big-screen television, which made me feel better, of course. Then he wanted me to come to his Super Bowl party tomorrow night. I guess he was pretty darn drunk because he forgot that I'm at school again, but when I reminded him, he wanted me to tell Lyle hi. Of course, I don't know Lyle. I don't even know Rob. He had the wrong number.

new deep

"Stop trying to figure it out / Deep will only bring you down"
John Mayer, Heavier Things, "New Deep"

"Trust God from the bottom of your heart;
don't try to figure out everything on your own.
Listen for God's voice in everything you do, everywhere you go;
he's the one who will keep you on track.
Don't assume that you know it all.
Run to God! Run from evil!"
Proverbs 3:5-7, The Message

"Don't be lured away from him by the latest speculations about him. The grace of Christ is the only good ground for life. Products named after Christ don't seem to do much for those who buy them."
Hebrews 13:9, The Message

I don't like to admit when I have questions of faith. I feel like whatever I say might do something to disprove the God I believe in. But that's something I can't do: disprove God. But lately, some beliefs, supposedly Christian beliefs, have seemed to disprove God to me. Seemed. They haven't, but they sure have set me off into a whirlwind of questioning.

Socrates said, "The unexamined life is not worth living for the human being." For the most part, I believe this is true. How can we believe those things on which we stake our lives without even considering their validity? But what I don't believe is that we must be determined to find every answer to every question. Some questions, we just can't answer. That's not to say they are unanswerable.

Faith, belief, and knowing are different from understanding. I believe that God is fully wise, even if I don't understand it. I don't have to. And so much of what has had me confused is people trying to make answers to questions they don't even understand, questions that really make no difference. And maybe that's an immature statement, and I'm willing to grow out of it. But there's no sense in stunting my growth.

"We don't yet see things clearly. We're squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won't be long before the weather clears and the sun shine bright! We'll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!"
1 Corinthians 13:12, The Message

Friday, February 04, 2005

bottom of the barrel

So I was weaving my way through a series of blogs, linked by association, and I found one I rather enjoy. There was a subtitle of sorts that went like this: There is a kind of happiness and wonder that makes you serious.

After reading through the blog for a while and moving on to others, I recalled that line and realized how true and beautifully articulated it is. But I remembered that there was no attribution. Though the author of this blog seems to be very insightful, I couldn't quite conceive that he penned it. So I took to the search engine. I was and was not surprised to learn that this was written by C. S. Lewis. What did indeed throw me off was that I've read it. In The Last Battle in The Chronicles of Narnia.

It took a lot of frustrating searching and skimming, but I finally found the context of it, which I felt was necessary for my own benefit. I learned a lesson through this process: It is very helpful for people looking for the origin of a quote to not only name the work from which it came, but also to guide, at least loosely, them to the location. So for anyone looking for the place where this quote can be found through a search engine, as I just did for far too long, and having stumbled upon this page:

"[T]here is a kind of happiness and wonder that makes you serious."
C. S. Lewis, The Last Battle, near the end of "Further Up and Further In"

Okay, I just felt like I owed that to the internet.

I find myself in the midst of a terrible mess. In the wake of the first three weeks of school and being sick, this place has collapsed in on itself. Or something like that. So much laundry needs to be done. So many dishes need to be done. (I need someone to train my incompetent self in the skills of dishwasher-using. Sad, I know.) I haven't straightened the couch up since Dale left last Saturday. And books. Sweet mother at the books. Strung from one end to the other. It's driving me insane, but all I really want to do is sleep. Yes, yes. I know this sounds much like the symptoms of depression. I don't think that's it. Though I am not sure what it is. Laziness, maybe? But I feel that it's possible that I am on the cusp of a cleaning spree. Might I add that the word cusp disgusts me?

So, uh, I have a new guitar. Yeah, I know. A friend of my cousin's was selling it for $50, and my cousin thought I might want it so she told my Mom. Well, they bought it sight-unseen. I don't need it, but hey, it won't hurt to have another, right? It's an acoustic Yamaha. That's all I know. Oh, and it came with the case. Mom has it at home. I guess I'll eventually get it. But right now, what I need is a tuner.

Um. Yeah. I'm out of boring things to talk about. How's that for the bottom of the barrel?

Thursday, February 03, 2005


They're having a showing of Napoleon Dynamite at the BSU tonight. I'd like to have stayed to see it, but I have a lot to do as far as homework goes: read on The Republic for philosophy, read whatever it is that we won't talk about in women's lit, and all kinds of Spanish hoopla. (I know hoopla isn't the right word there, but it sure is fun...) And I over-achieved and went ahead and did my advanced comp stuff. BarbCobb's a crazy woman having us email her two assignments with two different deadlines between two classes. But whatever. I wasn't about to wait until the last minute (being 7:59 tomorrow morning) to email her the second assignment. I'm going to try to go to bed at a decent hour tonight and sleep until at least 8:00. That'll be glorious. (Note that this is the only reason I didn't go and get a Caramel Macchiato after TNT.)

Now for more Spanish hoopla. I was extremely bored in the library today--though I'm not sure why because it seemed everybody was having a computer problem--and I was looking up the suggestions that returns when you search my name. No. I don't know why. Anyway, it turns out that my name is very similar to the scientific name for plants, usually flowering ones. Way to go, botany. But I also noticed casita, which I thought was pretty and looked rather Spanish in nature. And I was right. It means little house. So I looked up the word for prairie, and discovered that yes, Little House on the Prairie is La Casita de la Pradera on Spanish-speaking television. I felt much better after I settled that. Then I thought on the fact that adding -ita or -ito as the ending to lots of nouns makes them little. So at my favorite translating site, I began making my own Spanish words to see if they meant small this or small that. I had both successes and failures.

So ladies and gentlemen, for your multilingual pleasure, here is my presentation of

Words That Do and Do Not Mean
What I Thought They Did in Spanish

Cuadernito does mean little notebook.
Pezito, pesito, pescito, and pescadito do not mean little fish.
Librito does mean booklet.
Hombrito does not mean little man.
Gatito and gatita do mean kitten.
Vacita does not mean little cow.
Mesita does mean small table.
Carrito does not mean little car, but it does mean cart.
Perrito does mean little dog.
Estafadorito does not mean little racketeer.

Yes, so that was very fun and enlightening, no? No? No. It wasn't very much fun at all. So now that we're done not having fun, let's begin the real fun with Plato and Socrates and social justice.

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

whatever is all this mess?

I'm sick. So far, let's see what I've got in my system: Four ibuprofen. One can of chicken noodle soup (John Progresso, if you will). One cup of Equate knock-off TheraFlu. A couple swigs of Gatorade. A popsicle. An orange. I'm trying everything. Except Nyquil or Sudafed or that Tylenol Severe Cold and Flu stuff I bought last time I was sick. I never took any of it because it intimidated me. But the last thing I need to be at about 6:00 (or 6:20, depending on the snoozes) in the morning is comatose. So hopefully, I've pain-killed, nourished, steamed, chilled, electrolyted, and citrused myself back to health. I have N'Ice throat drops on stand-by. I'm sure the cashier at WalMart thought I was crazy. As well as everyone else in the store.

After my mom me callled while I was trying a different method--sleeping it off--she called my sister. She, in turn, called me and gave me a strict WalMart shopping list. So I rolled out of bed pretty much out of it and went to purchase my wellness. Needless to say, I was still asleep as I was perusing the aisles of the store. And it took me about four times as long as a normal trip to get in and out. I would just stand in the aisles looking at shelves and shelves of things going, "What is all this stuff? And what am I looking for?" I still feel that way looking at the words as I type them.

I think that means it's bedtime.

Tuesday, February 01, 2005

he doesn't even wear socks

Considering this is the first time I have actually seen my redesign on an actual computer screen, I just now discovered how terribly uncomfortable it is. I'm sorry. Not fixing it. At least for a while. I did change the picture, though. I didn't realize how crappy that "washed up" looked against those trees. But I really did like the font. So I'll probably change it again when I get home. You're right. I'm never satisfied.

This is what, the third week of school? I'm already quite tired of it. I'm already habitually getting up later and later. And that first burst of academic ambition is waning rather rapidly. I'd rather stare at a brick wall (or some other exercise in futility) than actually do what I need to do for class.

:-/ And the semester finally just reared its true, ugly head. The crazy lady just came into the library. Why can't she just go to Applied Science? I think she's following me. Okay, now I'm the crazy one.

That's not an impossibility, either. Last night I had a rather humorous dream in which I was a drug dealer. Okay, so even in the dream, it wasn't something I was used to. I just happened to have a small stash that I needed to get rid of. I haven't a clue how it came to be mine. I finally decided who I was going to sell it to, but I was mortally afraid I would get caught, so I dumped it into his socks. Yeah, I don't know. The funny thing is that I'm pretty sure what I was selling to him was itty bitty wild onion bulbs. Maybe that's why he ripped me off. He paid me with a $120 bill, and he and his friend took off with my cell phone and the contents of my wallet. So what's the moral of the story, kids? Don't try to sell baby onions to Justin and Ryan. By the way, I miss those boys.

Alright, alright. I'm going to focus on homework now. I need to do something different. 'Cause I'm pretty sure I just saw Steve Zissou and the three-legged dog walk by the library.