Another not-really-a-post post

I want to build my own little monster. A Count Orlok. A Frankenstein. Maybe a Blaine the Mono. I don't like Anakin's spunky sidekick. That is not why I want to build a monster, of course. I'm just saying.

I watched a not-very-good-at-all movie on Thanksgiving called Neverwas. It had a lot of stars in it. Ian McKellan had a kingdom. Of course.

Something I find just a little creepy: Cookbooks based upon characters and food discussed in Christian fiction (e.g. Mandie, Mitford). Now, I don't say this because my eldest sister once made a chocolate pudding from one of these cookbooks which caused me no small amount of pain for days, including passing out on my way to the bathroom to throw up. No, I say this because there is just something creepy about these books, their potluck characters, their not-even-sneaky didacticism. I'm fairly well-versed in late 80s, early 90s Christian fiction. I'm not sure the damage can ever be undone.

I've taken over a corner of the living room. Books. Paper. So many stacks of articles, essays, chapters of books, OWLs, used paper waiting to be used again. It will take a while to clean up when the term is over.

I subscribed to Pier's Anthony's newsletter in middle school (relevant? nah). In the nanowrimo pep talk for week 4 (I'm not actually nanowrimoing, just observing), he said that "it is the Dreamers who ultimately make life worthwhile for the unimaginative rest of us." So please remember that, Dreamer peoples. I'm counting on you to entertain me for a good long while.

Not a fan of formality. No, not at all really.

Pretty much finished the critical crowbar assignment. And it only took me one day, two hours, and 48 minutes longer than I wanted it to.

Sunday to do: Respond to OWL, respond to classmate's short story, write own short story, read and respond to 10 pages of thesis

Alpha Beta Gamma ZOMG DEF-CON 4!

So Sara tagged me ages ago to do the alphabet movie meme, and I have finally gotten around to it. This is mainly because there are a ton of other things I should be doing right now but wish to avoid or take a break from. So here it is:

All the President's Men
Brazil
Chinatown
Dead Ringers
Event Horizon
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Go
Happiness
In Cold Blood
JFK
Kolya
L.A. Confidential
Mullholland Drive
No Country for Old Men
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
Psycho
Quick and the Dead
Requiem for a Dream
Son of Sam
Touch of Evil
Unforgiven
Videodrome
Wonder Boys
X-Files
You Can't Take It with You
Zodiac

I tag teh Prophet, Scarah, Mikey, and Doc, only two of whom I actually think read this blog (the first and the last). How's that for intentional inefficacy.

And you said it didn't matter

EugeneTooms vs. The Communists. They're more than a little sneaky.

I feel as though I know so very little about a small amount of subjects. I have this shallow knowledge of English and am constantly wishing I could read more or study something in depth, but I just don't have time. I feel like a calling station. And I have to write and write and write. I feel this growing resentment for the idea that I should always have something to say. As if there is nothing to be said just for shutting the fuck up for a while and listening. Everything's an argument. There's always something to prove.

I have a professor I very much appreciate because he always gives you the benefit of the doubt that you know what the hell you're talking about when he reads your paper. This is useful because quite often I have no idea what I'm going on about for 10-20 pages. I really don't.

I'm tired.
There is a man on tv, and his head is square.
Infomercials are starting, and JFK is ending.
Perhaps it is time to sleep.

Oh you, Dr. Johnson!

"[Metaphysical poets'] thoughts are often new, but seldom natural; they are not obvious, but neither are they just; and the reader, far from wondering that he missed them, wonders more frequently by what perverseness of industry they were found."

I'm surprised and amused by Dr. Samuel Johnson's vehemence. This violent yoking of ideas is a bit much for him, dear fellow that he is. Overwhelmed by those "combination[s] of confused magnificence that not only could not be credited, but could not be imagined..." Maybe he just wasn't trying hard enough?

blink blink yawn

I need to write a paper for Metaphysical and Cavalier poets, write a mini critical crowbar assignment, write a paper for Cather/Gilman, read a zillion book chapters and articles, write a paper for WC ind. study, write a short story for my fiction final, write my personal statement, pick a writing sample, respond to grad student's lit review, finish watching the Wire. I just want time to do absolutely nothing. I want writing to disappear.

At the end of the day, I still believe

we all have a Stradivarius hidden in the closet.
and we've been taking lessons our entire lives.

The end of a long and crappy day

3 hours of sleep. 1.5 hours of class. 6 hours of work. 1 hour of The Wire. It's my workshop week in fiction class. In the first workshop letter posted, a woman rewrote some of my sentences. In ways that significantly changed the meaning. Said they would be strengthened that way. What the fuck. I should just do OWLs and go to bed.

An election post

I haven't written about the election yet, but I know I need to write something. What blog could be without it? I voted for Obama. This was the first time the person I voted for had been elected president. Like Patrick, I don't pretend to know all the implications of this election. I have only been alive for the last 26 years, and I expect I will not be alive to see all of the far-reaching effects. I don't expect that Obama will be a perfect president; there aren't any of those, but I'm hoping he will be a good president--one we can respect and learn from and who, hopefully, will learn from us too.

I spent election night at home with Steve. I, like many others, cried a good deal. I thought of my friends who had left the country during Bush's administration. Of those who, regardless of whether or not they stayed or left, felt as though the world was a pretty fucked up place, and the US wasn't helping a whole helluva lot. And it still is a fucked up place, but this is the first time in a long time that I can imagine and hope for a situation in which opportunity for change can be taken advantage of. I don't expect all promises will be kept or that we'll see some insane amount of easy, fast improvement. I am hoping though, that we will have a president who we can respect not just because he is the president, but because of who he is as a person and what he stands for. I'm hoping that we as a nation can show the world we're willing to work for peace, willing to act humanely and respectfully toward other countries, and willing to support each other at home instead of ignoring the problems that plague us and cannot be fixed simply by pretending the bootstraps myth is a reality.

Twice a week, I work with a grad student who recently moved here from Taiwan. She asked me to explain why everyone was out in the streets making noise on election night. When I told her what this election means to a lot of people, she no longer seemed upset by the noise that had kept her from falling asleep. She told me that she and so many others in Taiwan know what it is like to feel like there isn't much hope, that things won't change fast enough, that they are not represented by their government. She told me the United States is not alone in this problem, and that she hopes things will be better for the US. I hope so too.

Fly like paper

I'm addicted to the Wire. I don't want another week to end or start. I want an eternal comma. There's a book I want to read. It is time warpy and features lizards and possibly koala attactivity the likes of which this world has never seen before. I didn't get nearly enough done last weekend. Caffeinated bacon. There is never enough time. I am thoroughly convinced of the total insufficiency of language. Happy Nanowrimo, dearies. Because there's a haunted car in everyone. I really like Shorpy. The line "OLD PICTURES, BETTER THAN NEW" makes me nervous though. I wonder if Ezra Pound would be proud, appalled, or just a little scared. Something else entirely? In the fall, I bake pumpkin bread and watch football. It is the thing to do. My yellow legal pad and my shiny silver zebra pen tell me everything will be all right.

The Day-After-Halloween Question of the Day: Can you identify which is Anne Rice and which is Willy Wonka? It's tricky, I know. Just do your best. It's all any of us can do.

Things to do:
*Write Personal Statement
*Write short story
*Write about WCID
*Figure out paper topic for Cather/Gilman
*Start Metaphysical and Cavalier poets essay
* Pretend that making a list will help get things done