Grandiose Monday

I like to pretend to be Iron Chef Marjimoto when I cook simple meals. I narrate it while I cook. "What's that she's adding in with the broccoli? She's using onion?! A bold move from Marjimoto. Let's find out what the challenger thinks about that!" Challenger: "Marjimotos onion skills are unparalleled, but, I still am confident I shall win." Audience: "Oh that looks like something I would like to try!" "I think it's a sweet dish of some sort..."

The bus schedules have changed. It is not good. I'll have to get up even earlier to get to class on time. I need a zap car. Or perhaps a zap scooter. Or even a zap monorail. Blaine is a pain, and that is the truth.

I suddenly don't have a lot of time to read. I knew it was coming, but that doesn't help. When you go from hours and hours on end with the option to stay up all night reading to not enough time to read or sleep, it's a not-so-pleasant transition.

Wikipedia tells me that Charlemagne's dad's name was Pepin the Short and that he "wore fancy jeweled swords to banquets or ambassadorial receptions" Charlemagne, that is. I've no idea what Pepin liked to wear. Finding out this kind of important information is one of the reasons I am pleased that Al Gore took the initiative in creating the internet. One day I too shall have my very own scissor lift. And I will be very tall. And I will quote "Ozymandias." And it will be a very good day.

Cut it out, Laura! That's the Atlantic you're messing with!

Mr. J. I miss him already...

Your result for The Who Would You Be in 1400 AD Test...

The Harlequin

You scored 42% Cardinal, 41% Monk, 44% Lady, and 30% Knight!

You are a mystery, a jack-of-all-trades. You have the king's ear, but also listen to murmurings of the common folk. You believe in the value of force and also literature. Truly you are the puzzlement of the age.

Take The Who Would You Be in 1400 AD Test at HelloQuizzy

Word of mouth

Last night I dreamed that Steve and I went to Amy Grant's house. She was no longer married to Vince Gill, and the centerpiece of her house was a grand piano. The rest of the house had far too much picnic checked red and white cloth. She was a bit of a mess. I told her not to worry. I still liked The Collection even if I didn't believe a word of it. I hummed El Shaddai. She cried even more. Who could blame her really?

I washed all my blankets today. Clean blankets make me sleep better. I really ought to fix up the Coos Bay quilt. It is getting rather frayed in parts. I don't know much of sewing, however, and so fixing gets put off because I really have no idea what I'm doing. If only I had know-how and initiative!

I use StatCounter. It tells me who visits and sometimes why. Some of the recent whys: "Arachnogenic necrosis," "Episode 22," "golem juicy sweet," "titular line," "language is the liquid," "way out there beyond this hick town barnaby," "syringe filled with holy water," "what causeway was sonny shot on," "distance avails not." I fear many were disappointed. I've no idea what causeway Sonny was shot on, and I know nothing of arachnogenic necrosis save for whatever was on the House dvds I was watching at the time I blogged that. When I got a bacterial infection ("Have you been camping? Did you drink any bad water?" "Uhhh not that I know of. I did eat Muchas Gracias though." "Ooooh."), I watched House endlessly for two weeks while I recovered, laying on the couch. The nausea medicine made me feel like bugs were crawling over me as I fell asleep. House had a lot of necrosis at the time. If someone comes looking for information though, they've reached a whatlimes dead end.

It's 3 in the morning, and I, in an effort to regain a normal sleep schedule, shall now go to sleep. Getting up before noon is all the rage, I hear.

Ill-advised

Our sleeping patterns are strange and off. We eat dinner at midnight. Worrying about the country. Of course I'm worried. Oh, benevolent Marj^god. Doesn't it make you happy knowing I'm up late thinking of you all? I worry about sentence variation in my emails, tweaking, rewording. I don't know why. I hate the word "flow," and wish people would stop using it. No idea how to phrase my personal statement. Goals? As an instructor? Well, to prepare students for academic writing, but more than that, to help them realize the ways in which writing/rhetoric/genres (ergh) are at play in their own lives and the meaningful communities of which they are a part. Not good enough, damnit, not good enough. Nothing seems to be, even if you mean it. This is no paragraph, but I'm pretending it is. Next!

I've spent the last week reading mostly. I lay on top of my Naboo Fighter Squadron comforter lost in paper cuts. Sleep, shower, read, eat occasionally, internet, read, lather, rinse, repeat. I'm trying to ignore a lot of things. Is it working? Hardly. "You're no Chamberlain, sorry." And here I was playing invisible drums like a motherfucker. He tries to use logic (have you heard of it?) to convince me J's death wasn't my fault. At all. But that doesn't work either. I think we both know better. Deep down. Technicalities are just that. I hear him in my sleep.

Today is the feast day of St. Abadir, beheaded. Abadir and Iraja, siblings, children of the sister of Basilides, the father of kings. Beheaded with 3685 others. Thankful(?) for small comforts? That wouldn't be comforting though. Given the choice, it's better to go alone than for 3685 others to go with you. The story is hardly founded, but feast day they have, and feast day their questionable story has more than earned, even as a story. I say so, if you want to ask who.

Last night I dreamed of irradiated fish. A gold necklace: on one side a book, the other an acorn. I couldn't reach doors. Perpetual basements. "I have 2 pair. Kings and 9s." "I hope there are nines on the board." "What? No. I'm playing Omaha. What the fuck are you playing?"

Let's step back in time.

Toby the Turkey Vulture

Meet Toby. I was beginning to think our turkey vulture adoption was a scam, but on my birthday this past week, Toby's information finally arrived! I know we'd chosen another name; unfortunately, he already had a name, and that name was Toby (I can't help thinking of Roots when I hear that name, so I wish we could have had our name, as I have no major associations with Aramis Sophronia Kittenry, Esq.). I apologize for them only putting my name on the adoption certificate when I clearly typed in 10 names. Perhaps they found it a bit daunting? If you'd like, I can photoshop it to reflect our turkey vulture adoption solidarity. ;) Also included were a letter about our particular turkey vulture, a fact sheet on turkey vultures, and a bookmark with a stirring poem written by the rehabilitator. Hehe. Follow the links to view all of these! If you'd like originals or copies of any of these items, please let me know, and I'd be happy to send them out posthaste.

Adoption Certificate
Letter about Toby
Turkey Vulture Fact Sheet
Bookmark and poem

Embarrassing fact: I just searched my gmail, and there were 38 search results containing the words "turkey vulture."

I love my mother

Me: i had to put batman in the fridge
the chocolates don't like the heat
so i have a head in my fridge
kinda creepy
Diane: Well not if you're the Adams family. Have you ever thought to take the candy out of the head?
Me: but then i wouldn't have a head in my fridge
Diane: True oh so true. I could get you another head
Me: You could, but usually one head in a fridge is enough

A little bit of everything

Things people have searched for recently that led them here: "I am not less perfect than Lore," "mad libs for middle schoolers," "Timothy Crafton McMinnville," "kandinsky little joys," "meow face," "Jehova Shamma," "pronounce jehovah Rohi," "immoderate," "I always remember my dreams."

Semi-recent news

My eldest sister got engaged. The day is January 31st.

My prophet defriended me on facebook and myspace. Probably considered lj, too. I know, wtf, right? I = monster.

I just went to the store to buy ingredients to deal with a severe cupcake deficiency. I am now baking cupcakes. What am I going to do with 24 cupcakes?

Whenever people disappear, my internet presence increases. I reach out, all tendrily, Cthulhuesque, for whatever humdrum things still-may-are starting to exist online. I start using applications I wouldn't normally. I add more feeds. Redesign poor bloggy which is too dark. I miss my Scully layout.

I'm a horrible conversationalist. In fact, I'm pretty bad with most human interaction. It's a fuckin' miracle I've been with the same person for 5 years and he hasn't suggested I go pretend to be Nancy Grace somewhere far far away from here.

I need to frost cupcakes, finish writing thank you cards, and find whatever part of me it is that the lack of causes all this fuzzy confusion. Kick the subconscious to the curb and swallow eternity whole.

Summer Reading List

Things I have read this summer. Because it's good to keep track. This post shall be updated from time to time as books get read. I need to read more.

The Night Gardener: A Search for Home by Marjorie Sandor

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream by Hunter S. Thompson

Diary of Patrick Breen: One of the Donner Party by Patrick Breen

Naked by David Sedaris

Life Among the Savages by Shirley Jackson

Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris

Batman: The Long Halloween by Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale

Batman: Year One by Frank Miller and David Mazzucchelli

Wild Magic by Tamora Pierce

Emperor Mage by Tamora Pierce

In the Realm of the Gods by Tamora Pierce

Rex Libris: I, Librarian by James Turner

Eleanor Rigby by Douglas Coupland

Alexander's Bridge by Willa Cather

Five Quarters of the Orange by Joanne Harris

No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy

Watchmen by Alan Moore (Author), Dave Gibbons (Illustrator)

Superman: Emperor Joker by Jeph Loeb (Author), Ed McGuiness (Illustrator)

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling

Black Hole by Charles Burns

Adverbs by Daniel Handler

The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman

The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon

Twilight by Stephenie Meyer x2

New Moon by Stephenie Meyer x2

Eclipse by Stephenie Meyer x2

Breaking Dawn by Stephenie Meyer x2

Moby-Dick by Herman Melville

Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri

The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde

The Great American Novel

I have to go back to school in a week and a half. It's far too soon. I think that's part of the sudden need to read in the past few weeks. Soon I won't have enough any time for reading what I want. I started reading Moby-Dick in part because it's on the list in my head a mile long and also because I've had my boss's copy for half a year and I really ought to give it back. I have my own copy, but his has annotation. I'm 1/3 close to 1/2 of the way through and it's a surprisingly fast and humorous read so far. Who knew Melville was so funny? He's a bit much all at once though. It's those damn chapters with information that is close to useless to me that bug me. The part where the wife of the inn owner thinks Queequeg has killed himself had me laughing (well, more of a heavy snicker). I hit my head on the window behind the bed. Fortunately, we hate sunlight enough that the window is covered with a very thick dark blue blanket.

"He's killed himself," she cried. "It's unfort'nate Stiggs done over again--there goes another counterpane--God pity his poor mother!--it will be the ruin of my house. Has the poor lad a sister? Where's that girl?--there, Betty, go to Snarles the Painter, and tell him to paint me a sign, with--'no suicides permitted here, and no smoking in the parlor;'--might as well kill two birds at once. Kill? The Lord be merciful to his ghost! What's that noise there? You, young man, avast there!"

It's hilarious. There are some beautiful parts as well. And then there's the annoying information that really isn't very useful to the story itself. Do I care that you think the whale is a fish? Not really. Do I even care at all about that giant cetology chapter that got us no where? Definitely not. Do I care about the long list of people who have at one time seen a whale in one place and failed to kill it only to find it in another place later and have done with it? Barely, and only because we know Moby-Dick is coming back later and he has no qualms about fucking you up, as evidenced through Ahab's loss of leg. The dumbass did seek "with a six inch blade to reach the fathom-deep life of the whale." Six inches? Are you fucking kidding me? (Slightly related: I don't think Lily was entirely fair in Star Trek: First Contact when she called Picard Captain Ahab. Picard may be a little grouchy at the Borg [and who wouldn't be? They go around changing the temperature and don't even join in with dancing on the holodeck], but it's not like he tries to get rid of them by poking them in the eye with one of those medical tricorder hand-held sensor array thingies. And he does go to "rescue" Data. He probably forgot that Data could pull bombs out of his arm.) Do I need the chapter that defends whaling as a profession both underappreciated and decidedly misunderstood? Possibly, but probably I could have done without. If they didn't want to whale, they'd get a job on a merchant ship. Or turn to sermonizing like Father Mapple. It may not be 1851 anymore, but we still have common sense. Whalery need not be spelled out for us in such agonizing detail. Let Ishmael talk more often!

In short, I like Moby-Dick. I'm enjoying it, and yes, this surprises me. I think it would make a good coloring book. Snarles the Painter could have his own page.

Dream I had the night of my birthday

It was war. I was on the side of a giddy Darth Vader who was in love with a lady safely barricaded in the house built into trees far behind our front lines. He positively glowed with happiness and skipped around the trees we were camped in. He was staring to annoy everyone with his cheery disposition and babbling about her in that deep James Earl Jones voice. Unfortunately, my friend Tawnya fell in love with Darth Vader, despite knowing of Darth's current relationship status. She painted a huge Darth Vader head on the moon to get his attention. Even more unfortunately, when the other side saw the moon, they thought that Darth Vader was taunting them. They attacked. They reached the house before he could fight his way to it. Enraged, Darth switched sides on us because he was so angry with Tawnya for provoking the enemy. This really pissed me off. I mean, how often do you get a Sith on your side? I let him know I was unhappy with his sudden change of heart, and he stomped off into the forest. "Fine," I yelled at him, "Go sulk then." While the battle carried on, a dog attacked me. I tried to reason with the damn thing, but he would hear none of it. He was a dog after all. I stabbed it to death with a broadsword feeling pretty angry that I would have to kill anything at all let alone a poor dog that was just in the wrong place at the wrong time attacking the wrong girl. I woke up feeling miserable about having killed the dog. Melatonin always makes my dreams weird.

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Everyday is like Sunday

People like me need teakettles. There's no denying that.

I have recently returned from 5 days down in California. You wouldn't think it to look at it, but there are no turkey vultures there. At first, you hardly notice, imagining them to be hovering just behind the giant billboards and advertisements for True Blood, Californication, 90210, and Pushing Daisies. It's fairly smoggy down there, and as we all know, turkey vultures like fresh, clear air for optimal death-thing discovery and munchies.

It was very nice to visit with family. We went to the Hollywood Bowl and saw the Los Angeles Philharmonic perform Tchaikovsky. While the fireworks were very good and Eugene Ugorski was quite impressive, my favorite piece was the symphonic poem, Francesca da Rimini. I personally do not like that Dante condemned her to that storm, forever out of reach of Paolo. I don't buy the Lancelot/Guinevere tale as grounds for seduction. Anyway, Francesca da Rimini was lovely, and the end was ever so stabbity stabbity and disturbing.

On Sunday, we went to the Santa Monica pier with Steve's family. We rode the ferris wheel. The view of the ocean and the pier was great from on high, my natural elevation in godship.

I read three whole books down there, so LA did me a lot of good. Relaxing too. Since returning, I've read four more books. I'm book hungry lately.

:(

David Foster Wallace is dead.
So sad.