1. Grab 2. Shake vigorously

Maybe if you keep shaking, some quarters will fall out of her sleeve!

That's when I went looking for Yoda

I haven't blogged a good deal lately because this post (the one right here, this very post, the very ping-pong ball! Imagine! We had to call the whole thing off! Why, it was ghastly! It was just ghastly!) is the 500th post. So it's supposed to be special, isn't it? Well, it's going to be fairly normal because what's more special than that. So happy 500th post, whatlimes. And now, to commence with the actual bloggerishness.

Lately, I have become somewhat concerned with others' perceptions of me. It stemmed from a particular incident a week or two ago. In one of my classes, a friend and coworker who was sitting by me sat and thought a good long while before raising his hand and contributing a comment about the story we had read. I thought it was a very good comment. I leaned over and told him as much and that he had a great reading of that particular passage, one I hadn't thought of. Later in the week, I heard him talking to another friend of mine. He told her, the other day in class, I thought a long time before contributing something in class and when I did, Marjorie leaned over and told me my comment was total crap. I had said the exact opposite. Now, I can understand if he misheard me. I was, after all, speaking very quietly. But he didn't say "What?" He didn't ask if he had misheard me. He simply assumed that I would think what he had to say was crap and that I would say that to him. He didn't even bother to question it. I took this to mean that on some level he thinks I'm the sort of person who would say that kind of thing to someone. And that's just not me. Not by a long shot. I would never tell someone that what they had to say was crap. This is a person who I have hung out with a couple times and talked to many times and who I thought had a fairly okay idea of who I was. It seems so strange to me. I'm sure it also has something to do with him and his belief that people don't value him as a person or his input, but even then, I thought he would at least question the idea of me being a bitch.

So I started thinking, what if other people think these things too? People tend to assume I'm being sarcastic when I really am enthusiastic about what they have to say. I think people assume a good deal about my expectations, about my likes and dislikes, and about what I think based upon whatever random information they've gotten about me. It worries me because I'm really not sarcastic in relation to people that often. Sure, I have a somewhat dry sense of humor, but I'm not malicious. I like people. I'm afraid of people, but I like them. I know I'm considered odd by some, smarter than I am, frightening even. But I'm not at all, and I really don't see exactly how these beliefs about me are being formed. I'm different, just like everyone else.

I love football. I prefer artificial light to sunlight. I don't sleep much or well. I love coffee, but it's not the reason I can't sleep. I <3 hippos, but that's not the reason either. Words make me happy. I use .7 pencil lead even though I break it constantly and mutter things under my breath, which often makes the students with whom I work laugh and suggest .5. I believe in individual rights and not infringing upon those of others. I'm a bit of a hermit, but I have Steve, so I don't have to claim the title entirely. Indecision and I are good friends. I lock my doors. Always. I forgive a lot. Life is easier that way. I'm quite afeared of speaking aloud, but when something needs to be said, I say it. I suck at math but believe one day, given enough time, I might not. Triscuits=yum. I need 57 more credits to graduate. I need to get going on that.

They're gonna make hobbit movies. Big, expensive hobbit movies. I haven't figured out how I feel about this yet. I always preferred LoTR.

Limping aces

I drank 5 cups of decaf green tea today. Take that, free radicals! I was hoping to make my last day at home restful and what have you so that tomorrow I won't feel like total shit at school. I even plan on going to bed early, by midnight. CURFEW SHALL NOT RING TONIGHT! Oh, how I miss Desk Set. I haven't watched it in ages. WHAT AM I GONNA DO WITH MY PHILODENDRON?!

The thing I like about the uncanny novellas we're reading is the "Dear reader." I like being included. I like being dear. Nowadays that doesn't fly in stories, but it's okay with me, in any time.

My favorite Beatles song is Eleanor Rigby, but the race is close. Very close.
I like Blackbird.
I prefer "afeared" to "afraid."
I still cannot roll my r's.
Yesterday I took out my tongue stud. I miss it already.

The closer I get to graduating (even though it's still a year away), the more I worry about finding a job and paying off loans. What on earth will I do? What marketable skills do I have? I probably won't just head off to grad school. Those require GREs and personal statements and goals and frightful things like that. I'm afraid I'll just end up right where I was before I came to school, working at a bookstore, being told what to do by heartless bastards I can't stand. One really must have goals, but I can't think of any. So very worrisome.

Enjoy Family Life!

Last Saturday, the Jehovah Witnesses came acallin' at 9:30. They rang twice to no avail. When we heard the van drive away, we opened the door and found a little pamphlet telling how we could have a happy family! Apparently, it involves having access to tropical birds and leopard cubs. It's no wonder there are so many sad families. First you have to find the cubs, and then you have to allow your children to play with the cute, but dangerous, creatures!

From inside the piece of crap: "So Jesus Christ is right. An intelligent God created the first humans and arranged for happy family life. God brought the first couple together in marriage and said that the man "must stick to his wife and they must become one flesh." (Genesis 2:22-24) Could it be, then, that today's family problems are due to the pursuit of life-styles that violate standards set by the Creator in his Word, the Bible?"

"Simple, but very practical! The Bible also directs a husband to 'assign his wife honor.' (1 Peter 3:7) He does this by giving her special attention, including tenderness, understanding, and reassurance. He also values her opinions and listens to her. Don't you agree that any family will benefit if the husband treats his wife with concern, as he himself would want to be treated?"

And here is where it gets really good... "A wife contributes to family happiness by assisting her husband to fulfill his heavy responsibilities. This is what was intended, since God provided a wife to be "a helper for him, as a complement of him." (Genesis 2:18) Can you appreciate the blessing to family life when a wife shows her husband respect by supporting his decisions and cooperating with him to achieve family goals?"

In the next edition... Childe Roland to the Watch Tower Came!

Step out of the gloom

Hodgepodge

Today I went to Safeway to fill a prescription. Apparently my insurance only works at the school pharmacy though. They said they'd understand if I didn't want to buy the cough syrup after all, but I told them the pharmacy isn't open until Tuesday, and I can't wait. They discounted it as much as they could (it only ended up being $17) and the nice lady gave me a $25 gift certificate for my groceries. So really, I got free cough syrup + $8. It was very nice because I was ever so tired to begin with and rather disappointed my insurance is crappy enough not to work anywhere but at school. Just walking around Safeway tired me out. This whole being sick on a three day weekend is a drag. I've spent most of my time sitting around feeling like shit. Oh, and coughing up brown gunk. I'm not wheezing every time I take a breath anymore though! It was pretty bad for a while. Yay antibiotics. I can't imagine being one of those people who refuses all medicines. I'd be dead 10 times over probably.

The Giants beat the Packers. That Favre interception was a dagger through my heart. I wanted a Packers-Patriots Super Bowl so badly. I've been hoping for one since about week 5. Hopes dashed. It would have been magical. Now it's just East Coast and perfect season hoopla. More than a bit disappointing. What's even more disappointing though is the thought of there being no more football in two weeks. It's the most depressing time of year.

A few days ago, I bought a new humidifier. It's frog-shaped and works a lot better than the old one, which wasn't at all animal shaped. I wanted the penguin, cat, or elephant, but Bed Bath only had frog and pig.

While waiting for over an hour at the urgent care clinic on Friday, I read The Lifted Veil. Good stuff. Circular. Detailed. It felt like reading a bowl of pudding that hadn't set yet. Marj bless the novella.

I'm considering going to the Vagina Monologues this year. I need to go to a community event for Womens Studies class. I'm hesitant to. I've read about the Vagina Monologues, and as far as I can tell there are no female-male sexual experiences depicted in a good light, just negatively. And apparently an older woman raping a young girl is okay if she got her drunk first and the girl is 16. I mean really, what the fuck. What is empowering about that? I read that the line "If it was rape, it was good rape" has been removed from the text of the Vagina Monlogues, but the thought that it ever was there to begin with is also sickening to me. There's no such thing as good rape. And if someone thinks that, they're not being empowered, they're lying to themselves. I don't know if I'd want to pay money to see this. Maybe I should go see it, because just reading the text, I don't think I get it.

An ailment which I will avoid at all costs

The Edwin Smith Surgical Papyrus is awesomeness. Each diagnosis to a case ends with "an ailment which I will treat" or "an ailment not to be treated," or "an ailment with which I will contend." Even then, false hope was avoided.

Case Thirty: Instructions concerning a sprain in a vertebra of his neck.

Examination: If thou examinest a man having a sprain in a vertebra of his neck, thou shouldst say to him: "look at thy two shoulders and thy breast." When he does so, the seeing possible to him is painful.

Diagnosis: Thou shouldst say concerning him: "One having a sprain in a vertebra of his neck. An ailment which I will treat."

Treatment: Thou shouldst bind it with fresh meat the first day. Now afterward thou shouldst treat [with] ywrw (and) honey every day until he recovers.

Gloss: As for: "A sprain" he is speaking of a rending of two members (although) it (=each) is (still) in its place.

An open letter to my lungs

Dear Lungs,

You and I have been together 25 years now, and I thought we were getting along well. That was until the pneumonia. You have betrayed me, Lungs. How could you! It's almost as bad as when Ron deserted Harry and Hermione when they were out looking for horcruxes. I won't apologize for checking the donor box on my drivers license form! I know you've been bored lately, what with me not smoking and winter being super wheeze-worthy and all, but come ooon. I can't go to school like this. Let us call a truce. I'll blast you with these antibiotics, 2 inhalers, advil, and cough syrup regardless, but if you surrender now, it won't be as bad as it could be. I won't send out the miniature flying monkeys. Deal?

xoxo

M

I'll blow your house down

In Russian class today, I asked a question about one consonant change in the word "friend" when going from nominative singular to genitive plural. It launched a wonderful explanation of consonant shifts which, to my delight and everyone else's chagrin, lasted almost 20 minutes and left me feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. I like thinking of languages as alive, because they are. I want to know their histories. Latin morphemes were one of the few useful things the HS at the Hellmouth taught me. Sometimes when I can't sleep I recite them in my head... hyp, hypo, hypodermic, below, beneath. Jux, juxta, juxtaposition, near, next.

I spent hours today helping someone with a single page cover letter. It was for her dream job, and I worked with her yesterday on it as well. By the end, it was a damn fine letter, and I hope she gets that job. She worked so hard on it and has many wonderful experiences that have made her an interesting, positive, proactive person. At one point we spent probably 20 minutes on one sentence that just wasn't quite right but very important in the opening paragraph. We tried tons of variations. I'm glad to have been a part of her pursuing a job she's so passionate about. The day ended with me doing an OWL and feeling so very tired, but at least I know I have done something today.

In other news, I feel like I'm getting sick. I'm tired, and it's only midnight. My nose is running (for the hills. no doubt an early start on the three day weekend). My throat hurts. I just ate some minestrone soup. Tea would be in order if I had more time, but I ought to go to bed. I have a new pillow coming in the mail. Buckwheat. I've no real idea what that is except in regards to the pancakes served at that diner attached to the Amber Room on 9th street. I've never eaten them though, so I know very little indeed. I reached at an awful angle to pick up my mouse after it flew from my hand onto the floor behind the poposan chair. Something in my neck hurts. Sleep is very much in order.

Professor Adventure

My friend Evan wrote this. I've been talking to him online for years, but we've never met. We are unsure of each other's existence, even though he is no longer in Wisconsin, but in Eugene, which is not far from here at all. I read this the other day and enjoyed it. So I'm posting it here. It's good to keep things handy.


I once rode a bison through Chicago, when the lights were all out.

I ordered an eight-in-one crowbar, because a one-in-one crowbar only gets you into so many doors.

I can't juggle. But I can knock things out of the air. RIGHT OUT OF IT. Much as though I were a magician. Hoowoosh.

I have three mouths. Only one is visible from the air.

I have never been delirious, recovering from illness, or right now simultaneously unless I am lying from the fever that is boiling my honesty glands. They're sort of above and behind the armpit.

I accept that context affects the meaning of the word "Experimental", but part of me still wishes they'd take more notes.

I cannot talk to animals or small children in a way they'll understand, regardless, they seem to like me.

I walk the walk to the exact degree I talk the talk. People think I boast until they see me wrestle a bear to the ground, but I think everyone hated that band at Chuck-E-Cheese. I out-fight robot animals.

I hate looking at the stars. Places you can't go and the places between those places that are a million million miles of cold, boring, and hydrogen. Screw that. Like staring at the bars in a cage. Total downer.

I eat eggs constantly. Redirecting the flow of future life keeps me young.

I would wear a vest only if it had big black circular speakers built into it. Or if it was a gift.

Flying is cool. I would rather be invulnerable and make a jetpack. Or catapult.

I haven't had a piggy-back ride for years. Wusses.

-Nadie Pero Yo

Get to the polls

They want to vote me off the island!

Sinfest

Before the dark times, before the Empire

When I listen to Ani DiFranco's lyrics, "I wanna be more than a pretty girl," I think, well gosh, don't we all, but wouldn't it be nice to be pretty too? I think it would, though usually I'm too lazy to try.

I'm writing a post for the portal right now about OWL formats. It's odd; I've been away from work for a month (though working from home a few hours here and there), and I've found that upon returning, I was actually jolly. I missed my boss and coworkers. Most jobs I've had, I've enjoyed to a certain degree (because repetition is fun in grocery stores, and I love books so much it's hard to not enjoy spending time in bookstores), but I don't think I've enjoyed any as much as this one. I've always been useful, but I rather like this kind of useful. I don't know why it should seem so strange to me.

I've spent hours on a one page assignment that isn't getting any better. I think it's time to say fuck it and try to forget that 30 people will be reading it, ready to judge my words and send lightning bolts into my skull with their super-heated English major eyeballs. They're dangerous folk. Not of the fringe, but something else entirely. I'm paranoid, I know, but I'm just not good at this sort of thing. I'm better at... some things that I can't think of at 1 am when I ought to be snug in bed, visions of sugarplums dancing and so forth.

Anywhere

I have to go to school tomorrow. It's 12:35, the night before, and it still hasn't quite set in. I took some advil pm to ensure I'll sleep at a normal time. If I only hadn't sold Foucault, I could fall asleep in no time. I had the strangest dreams last night. My old friend Jenny from middle school and my 8th grade history teacher who used to test us on "Native American Sign Language" (I think he really just made them up after watching too much Dances With Wolves) were going out to buy a Christmas tree. I was sitting at the foot of a chair in a miniature replica of the Colosseum listening to an orchestra. They weren't all that good, but I didn't want to move.

1:30. Maybe if I just imagine Foucault? Or read. Or some such. Such such such.