The Perfect Winter Cocktail
(measurements not exact, but you really can't screw this up)
Half a wine glass of egg nogg
one fourth wine glass of 2% (or skim, even better) milk
a sprinkle of nutmeg
a shot of vanilla (optional)
a dash of Irish Whiskey
Stir.
I sipped this nifty little concoction while the red beans and rice simmered, the red cabbage (which is actually purple)cooked in balsamic vinegar and olive oil, and the yellow squash roasted in the oven.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
There is power in simply realizing when something has nothing to do with you. There is grace in allowing the absence of your contention to be your tactical offensive maneuver, in letting your silence suffice.
It is a tiresome phrase by now, but the only thing anyone can control is his or her response to what happens. I believe in steering the ship—in as much as it can be directed—but something, someone will always blindside me. There is always a point at which I will be out of my depth. Sometimes this point is realizing that someone quite simply doesn’t like me (or worse, doesn’t respect me).
There is power in my choosing to let that be what it is. Less easy, perhaps, is the realization that someone pities me, or has some other misconception that is fueling their dislike (far better to be disliked for noble reasons), but I have disciplined myself to some degree in this area, too. It is not up to me to correct anyone’s perception or change anyone’s mind. I am not that important. Even God refrains from such manipulation, and if ever someone was egregiously misunderstood, it is God.
In the past, I have spent years trying to change the scope of a person’s heart. Ultimately, it was the surest course toward total division—my final division from the person whose mind I wanted to change—more importantly, more devastatingly, it divided me from myself.
Recently, I was part of a group discussion about marriage proposals (how they happened) and engagement rings (how they were chosen). A few people in the group mentioned selecting their rings online by way of a popular Web site. I brightened, having heard of the site. One of the women asked me if I’d ever purchased a ring from the site. I had not, I told her, but had “designed” a ring via the interactive feature.
At that moment another girl piped up and said with something akin to mild wonder “You always say the most shameful things—then I realize ‘hey, I’ve done the same thing!’”
My response to this comment was one of legitimate curiosity. I told her that I hadn’t even considered that this was something shameful—that I’d simply wanted to know what all the terms (emerald cut, princess cut, square cut, baguette) translated to, visually.
She self-corrected. “I meant, embarrassing…”
I know this woman meant no harm. It was a moment of unchecked candor. It may sound harsh, but I was there. I saw her face and heard her tone. It was not malicious. But between this disclosure about once designing an engagement ring (sans fiancé) and other things she’s gleaned from my life by other throwaway comments I must have made, she’s made an assessment. And I’m not interested in changing it. I am content to let her find me pathetic, not because I agree with her, but because the dye is cast. I have been categorized and that is that. I know this girl doesn’t give me much conscious thought—for good or bad—her reaction to my anecdote probably took her as much by surprise as it did me.
It is at a time like that, at this point in my life, when I understand the absolute value of knowing who I am, being convinced of that. I don’t have to go on an internal tear about this. I don’t have to do any campaigning (there would be no end to this if I began it).
But…
this situation reinforced another lesson. Thoughtless sharing, or too much anyway, is often the instrument of regret. There’s something to be said for being inscrutable.
It is a tiresome phrase by now, but the only thing anyone can control is his or her response to what happens. I believe in steering the ship—in as much as it can be directed—but something, someone will always blindside me. There is always a point at which I will be out of my depth. Sometimes this point is realizing that someone quite simply doesn’t like me (or worse, doesn’t respect me).
There is power in my choosing to let that be what it is. Less easy, perhaps, is the realization that someone pities me, or has some other misconception that is fueling their dislike (far better to be disliked for noble reasons), but I have disciplined myself to some degree in this area, too. It is not up to me to correct anyone’s perception or change anyone’s mind. I am not that important. Even God refrains from such manipulation, and if ever someone was egregiously misunderstood, it is God.
In the past, I have spent years trying to change the scope of a person’s heart. Ultimately, it was the surest course toward total division—my final division from the person whose mind I wanted to change—more importantly, more devastatingly, it divided me from myself.
Recently, I was part of a group discussion about marriage proposals (how they happened) and engagement rings (how they were chosen). A few people in the group mentioned selecting their rings online by way of a popular Web site. I brightened, having heard of the site. One of the women asked me if I’d ever purchased a ring from the site. I had not, I told her, but had “designed” a ring via the interactive feature.
At that moment another girl piped up and said with something akin to mild wonder “You always say the most shameful things—then I realize ‘hey, I’ve done the same thing!’”
My response to this comment was one of legitimate curiosity. I told her that I hadn’t even considered that this was something shameful—that I’d simply wanted to know what all the terms (emerald cut, princess cut, square cut, baguette) translated to, visually.
She self-corrected. “I meant, embarrassing…”
I know this woman meant no harm. It was a moment of unchecked candor. It may sound harsh, but I was there. I saw her face and heard her tone. It was not malicious. But between this disclosure about once designing an engagement ring (sans fiancé) and other things she’s gleaned from my life by other throwaway comments I must have made, she’s made an assessment. And I’m not interested in changing it. I am content to let her find me pathetic, not because I agree with her, but because the dye is cast. I have been categorized and that is that. I know this girl doesn’t give me much conscious thought—for good or bad—her reaction to my anecdote probably took her as much by surprise as it did me.
It is at a time like that, at this point in my life, when I understand the absolute value of knowing who I am, being convinced of that. I don’t have to go on an internal tear about this. I don’t have to do any campaigning (there would be no end to this if I began it).
But…
this situation reinforced another lesson. Thoughtless sharing, or too much anyway, is often the instrument of regret. There’s something to be said for being inscrutable.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Stranger Than Fiction
Sarah and I finished out the leisurely weekend with a movie matinee. I finally saw "Stranger Than Fiction" and it was definitely worth the price of admission. I enjoy Will Ferrell, in general, and found his dramatic efforts to be as worthy as his comedic ones. His performance was credible and enjoyable. I was very intrigued by the points at which truth and fiction converge and it raised all sorts of provoking questions. And of course it was hard not to imagine my own life as the result of some external, governing authorial intelligence. If my life were a narrative, I think it would almost certainly have to be 3rd person omniscient. Who would that narrator be? Would this voice be male or female? I'll have to think about that one some more.
I finished watching the latest Netflix offering from my queue a few moments ago. "Friends With Money." Hmm. Well acted, but these people's problems are not my particular problems,their concerns decidedly not my concerns, so I remained distanced from the characters and the stories.
But back to "Stranger" for just a moment. It made me think about the places where my life needs a push, where I need to move forward in some direction(any good movie should make you think about your life, I think). There is this beautiful point in the plot when the hero understands and is able to articulate in no uncertain terms what he wants. It was inspiring. I think we all know what we want, we've just talked ourselves out of the possibility of it. I know I do that. All the time.
Sarah and I finished out the leisurely weekend with a movie matinee. I finally saw "Stranger Than Fiction" and it was definitely worth the price of admission. I enjoy Will Ferrell, in general, and found his dramatic efforts to be as worthy as his comedic ones. His performance was credible and enjoyable. I was very intrigued by the points at which truth and fiction converge and it raised all sorts of provoking questions. And of course it was hard not to imagine my own life as the result of some external, governing authorial intelligence. If my life were a narrative, I think it would almost certainly have to be 3rd person omniscient. Who would that narrator be? Would this voice be male or female? I'll have to think about that one some more.
I finished watching the latest Netflix offering from my queue a few moments ago. "Friends With Money." Hmm. Well acted, but these people's problems are not my particular problems,their concerns decidedly not my concerns, so I remained distanced from the characters and the stories.
But back to "Stranger" for just a moment. It made me think about the places where my life needs a push, where I need to move forward in some direction(any good movie should make you think about your life, I think). There is this beautiful point in the plot when the hero understands and is able to articulate in no uncertain terms what he wants. It was inspiring. I think we all know what we want, we've just talked ourselves out of the possibility of it. I know I do that. All the time.
I must be stressed (still). Have been having a slew of strange, absurdist dreams (John Mayer working at my office, but wearing his suit and tie backward as a demonstration of his rejection of the 9-to-5 business model) that indicate, clearly, that I feel uncomfortable with my abilities in each of the major areas of my life. The other night I dreamed that my advisor had invited his entire tuesday night class to a thesis meeting with me and fully expected them to all offer up revision suggestions, and when I balked at this, I came off looking like a complete and total ass. Finally, I attempted (in my dream life) to join a truly rinky-dink gym only to find out that it was $300 a month, so there was no way I could afford it.
Am trying to maintain perspective and regain some semblance of a feeling of control.
Must detox from the richness of Thanksgiving food. This is no time for me to fall apart (completely).
Am trying to maintain perspective and regain some semblance of a feeling of control.
Must detox from the richness of Thanksgiving food. This is no time for me to fall apart (completely).
Friday, November 24, 2006
Leftovers
On Wednesday night I met up with Catchka for dinner. I decided we should go to this neighborhood pub that has survived for at least two years, though it never seems very busy. I figured it would be cheap and very no frills. Now I would say that it is subpar, and though my expectations that night were decidedly low, they still missed the mark. More on that in another post (blog wars!)
C dropped me off at Sarah's house after our lacklustre meal so that Sarah and I could do as much meal prep as possible for Thanksgiving dinner. Of course, by the time I showed up Sarah already had gotten quite a head start on the homemade sausage stuffing (with dried cranberries and pine nuts), the aroma of which filled her place with all kinds of goodness and love-- the macaroni and cheese casserole, and the gingerbread for the gingerbread pumpkin trifle (a la Paula Deen).
Thursday morning we woke up, not that early, did a few more things at S's place, then packed up the car and headed to my apartment where the stage was set for some fine holiday fun. I had asked my family to show up at noon. It was more like 2 when they got there, but that was actually better.
A lovely artichoke dip and red wine (and Sarah's homemade rum punch) were set out as appetizers by the time my sisters (and babygirl!) arrived. My mom and her friend got to my place about 20 minutes after the girls showed up. My Christmas 2006 playlist warmed up the dining room, while we all chatted and caught up.
Crystal's boyfriend wasn't set to arrive until about 4:30, but the food was all ready to be served by about 3:30, so we all ate (Crystal opted to wait for him, but sat at the table with us and occasionally I force fed her bites of my food). Once Brandon arrived, we were starting to do a little clean up, but all the food was still out and relatively warm... nukeable.
My mom, her friend, and Caryl got the tree assembled in no time flat while I washed and dried dishes. This, apparently, was exhausting, because they didn't even bother to put the lights on (Caryl and I did that later, then Crystal joined us to help decorate).
We took lots of photos, then played a rousing round of Outburst (then moved on to a less rousing, but still fun turn at Taboo). My mom really wanted to watch a movie, so we stuck in a DVD ("Over The Hedge"--originally we thought Brandon's young son would be joining us) and ate some of the three dessert options (carrot pie, dutch apple pie, and the gingerbread pumpkin trifle) and drank coffee.
Everyone left at about 9 or so, and since I have some light traveling plans with Sarah, I came back to her place last night so we'd already be together today when it was time to hit the road.
Well, I'm off to enjoy the rest of the weekend... and the leftovers.
On Wednesday night I met up with Catchka for dinner. I decided we should go to this neighborhood pub that has survived for at least two years, though it never seems very busy. I figured it would be cheap and very no frills. Now I would say that it is subpar, and though my expectations that night were decidedly low, they still missed the mark. More on that in another post (blog wars!)
C dropped me off at Sarah's house after our lacklustre meal so that Sarah and I could do as much meal prep as possible for Thanksgiving dinner. Of course, by the time I showed up Sarah already had gotten quite a head start on the homemade sausage stuffing (with dried cranberries and pine nuts), the aroma of which filled her place with all kinds of goodness and love-- the macaroni and cheese casserole, and the gingerbread for the gingerbread pumpkin trifle (a la Paula Deen).
Thursday morning we woke up, not that early, did a few more things at S's place, then packed up the car and headed to my apartment where the stage was set for some fine holiday fun. I had asked my family to show up at noon. It was more like 2 when they got there, but that was actually better.
A lovely artichoke dip and red wine (and Sarah's homemade rum punch) were set out as appetizers by the time my sisters (and babygirl!) arrived. My mom and her friend got to my place about 20 minutes after the girls showed up. My Christmas 2006 playlist warmed up the dining room, while we all chatted and caught up.
Crystal's boyfriend wasn't set to arrive until about 4:30, but the food was all ready to be served by about 3:30, so we all ate (Crystal opted to wait for him, but sat at the table with us and occasionally I force fed her bites of my food). Once Brandon arrived, we were starting to do a little clean up, but all the food was still out and relatively warm... nukeable.
My mom, her friend, and Caryl got the tree assembled in no time flat while I washed and dried dishes. This, apparently, was exhausting, because they didn't even bother to put the lights on (Caryl and I did that later, then Crystal joined us to help decorate).
We took lots of photos, then played a rousing round of Outburst (then moved on to a less rousing, but still fun turn at Taboo). My mom really wanted to watch a movie, so we stuck in a DVD ("Over The Hedge"--originally we thought Brandon's young son would be joining us) and ate some of the three dessert options (carrot pie, dutch apple pie, and the gingerbread pumpkin trifle) and drank coffee.
Everyone left at about 9 or so, and since I have some light traveling plans with Sarah, I came back to her place last night so we'd already be together today when it was time to hit the road.
Well, I'm off to enjoy the rest of the weekend... and the leftovers.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
I remember being a teenager and hating that the holidays meant being away from my friends. Of course, I looked forward to Thanksgiving and Christmas in some ways, but more often than not I felt relief when it was time to go back to school and regain the semblance of normalcy that a school schedule imposed on my angst-filled life. It was an unburdening to go back to the manageable drama of cafeteria politics, the navagable terrain of 6th period ennui. This continued through my college years, only it was worse because the breaks were longer, the family stress more intense.
As I've probably mentioned, I am hosting my mother and sisters (and a couple of friends of theirs) this year. Sarah is coming,too, but it hardly seems accurate to say that I'm hosting her when she's doing more than half of the work... anyway, the day that I couldn't wait for when I was 16 is finally here. And it's odd. This is what it's like to have the holidays on my terms, when I can technically do anything I want, be with anyone I want, and my only non-negotiable is that I am with my family. The people that I still wanted to flee prolonged periods of time with at this time of year not even 5 years ago.
I'm in a weird place right now. I feel very blah. And can't seem to get started, energy-wise. I mean, I'm working, I'm doing what I need to do, still plugging away on the Independent Study, awaiting the thesis decision...I cleaned my apartment. I mean I'm doing stuff, but I just can't seem to engage some things the way I want to.
So my family is coming and I think it's going to be good. I think it will go fine, I guess. But something is still amiss. I feel out of control of something small, but integral to my own peace of mind. I don't know what that is.
As I've probably mentioned, I am hosting my mother and sisters (and a couple of friends of theirs) this year. Sarah is coming,too, but it hardly seems accurate to say that I'm hosting her when she's doing more than half of the work... anyway, the day that I couldn't wait for when I was 16 is finally here. And it's odd. This is what it's like to have the holidays on my terms, when I can technically do anything I want, be with anyone I want, and my only non-negotiable is that I am with my family. The people that I still wanted to flee prolonged periods of time with at this time of year not even 5 years ago.
I'm in a weird place right now. I feel very blah. And can't seem to get started, energy-wise. I mean, I'm working, I'm doing what I need to do, still plugging away on the Independent Study, awaiting the thesis decision...I cleaned my apartment. I mean I'm doing stuff, but I just can't seem to engage some things the way I want to.
So my family is coming and I think it's going to be good. I think it will go fine, I guess. But something is still amiss. I feel out of control of something small, but integral to my own peace of mind. I don't know what that is.
Monday, November 20, 2006
And now, we interrupt your regularly scheduled thesis and Independent Study angst for a slew of quiz results...
| You Are 75% Left Brained, 25% Right Brained |
 The left side of your brain controls verbal ability, attention to detail, and reasoning. Left brained people are good at communication and persuading others. If you're left brained, you are likely good at math and logic. Your left brain prefers dogs, reading, and quiet. The right side of your brain is all about creativity and flexibility. Daring and intuitive, right brained people see the world in their unique way. If you're right brained, you likely have a talent for creative writing and art. Your right brain prefers day dreaming, philosophy, and sports. |
| You Are Expressionism |
 Moody, emotional, and even a bit angsty... you certainly know how to express your emotions. At times, you tend to lack perspective on your life, probably as a result of looking inward too much. This introspection does give you a flair for the dramatic. And it's even maybe made you cultivate some artistic talents! You have a true artist's temperament... which is a blessing and a curse. |
| Your Aura is Red |
 You have a high level of emotion. This can mean passion, but it can also mean rage. Usually, you don't take these emotions out on others. You just use them as motivation - and it works! The purpose of your life: embracing all the wonders of the life, lots of travels, and tons of adventures Famous reds include: Madonna, Marilyn Monroe, Jennifer Lopez Careers for you to try: Dancer, Boxer, Surgeon |
| Your True Birth Month Is November |
 Patient Secretive Romantic Inquisitive Trustworthy Determined Hardworking High-spirited High abilities Unpredictable Never give up Sharp thinking Thinks forward Always thinking Motivates oneself Loves to be alone Has a lot of ideas Difficult to fathom Extraordinary ideas Unique and brilliant Brave and generous Well-built and tough Careful and cautious Dynamic in personality Deep love and emotions Uncertain in relationships Honest and keeps secrets Can become good doctors Less talkative but amiable Stubborn and hard-hearted Fine and strong clairvoyance Not able to control emotions Does not appreciates praises Thinks differently from others If there is a will, there is a way Hardly become angry unless provoked Knows how to get secrets out of others |
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Sarah and I just got back from Wegmans where all of the greater suburban Baltimore population was also shopping. I am usually annoyed by the throng at this grocery store (honestly, it was probably about the same as any other Saturday afternoon or Sunday morning that I've been there), but I purposed in my heart to be in a good mood, no matter how many clogged aisles I faced. I got a mix of hazelnut and dark espresso at the coffee shoppe and made my way through the maze looking for all the Thanksgiving trimmings to lay the best feast possible for my family. Having Sarah as my partner in this venture made the shopping trip less overwhelming, so I don't want to discount the impace of that on my mood, either.
Honestly, I can't wait for Thursday. I'm having everyone arrive at noon, so we can really have the whole day together. And as per a relatively new tradition of mine, we are going to put up my tree on Thanksgiving night to the backdrop of Christmas music. I can't wait for the smell of baking squash and the golden buttery scent of macaroni and cheese casserole, hazelnut coffee, homemade stuffing with sage sausage... all of it swirling into the dining room, our dog trotting around happily, just knowing she's getting leftovers.
Honestly, I can't wait for Thursday. I'm having everyone arrive at noon, so we can really have the whole day together. And as per a relatively new tradition of mine, we are going to put up my tree on Thanksgiving night to the backdrop of Christmas music. I can't wait for the smell of baking squash and the golden buttery scent of macaroni and cheese casserole, hazelnut coffee, homemade stuffing with sage sausage... all of it swirling into the dining room, our dog trotting around happily, just knowing she's getting leftovers.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
V and I got together for breakfast (this is becoming our monthly tradition :)) at Jimmy's in Fells Point and had the best discussion about art and standards, and how one determines these standards. We talked about structural considerations and evocative qualities. It was all very thrilling. Jimmy's is pretty busy, so as soon as we were done we released our table (before we were out the door our table had been bussed and two new people had already been seated there)and walked over to Sound Garden. I almost bought two used DVDs but ultimately decided against the purchase (with V's help). I just paid a lot of bills so I don't have nearly as much leftover money as I normally do at the mid-month point.
After Sound Garden we walked over to the Daily Grind for a latte (V) and an Americano (me). We sat outside and chatted for a bit about the CNN article on happiness we had both recently encountered. I was interested to read that Harvard Psychologist Daniel Gilbert found that having children has a "small negative effect on happiness," and further that "Once you pass an income of $50,000, more money doesn't buy much more happiness."
Our last stop on the Fells Tour was Bluehouse (the location of my poetry reading this past summer). v had never been there and I had a hunch it was the kind of thing she would love. She did! We decided to get together next on November 30th--the day after her birthday--so we can celebrate.
Once back at my apartment, I freshened up a bit, blew my hair dry (washed it this morning and had just kind of let it do its own thing for several hours, so it required some assistance at that point), then went to GiGi for lunch (much to my chagrin, I had nothing with which to make a complete meal in the house).
At 3 I went over to Hopkins to participate in a scientific study (related loosely to brain function and visual perception). It was about an hour and a half total, and I got 15 bucks for my time. I took a cab there, but was feeling adventurous, so I walked all the way home (I was delighted to see that it was still daylight when I left the lab). Remembering that I still had nothing with which to make a meal at home, I stopped off at my neighborhood Market (Eddie's) and picked up a bottle of Yellow Tail Shiraz-Cabernet, two packets of fresh shrimp, brussel sprouts, and fire roasted red peppers. My earnings from the experiment came in handy; I paid for my wares in cash and headed the last few blocks home.
First, I let the wine breathe. After doing up a few dishes from last night, I set about making a roasted red pepper, garlic, and scallion puree for the shrimp (sauteed over relatively high heat); I lightly salted the brussel sprouts and put them in the oven to roast; when the shrimp were done, I started some grits (salt and black pepper, a little half & half and mozarella thrown in for good measure); lastly I warmed some maple butter corn bread I made earlier in the week. It all came together so well.
Later tonight, Sarah will come to pick me up. We have Thanksgiving shopping to do tomorrow!
After Sound Garden we walked over to the Daily Grind for a latte (V) and an Americano (me). We sat outside and chatted for a bit about the CNN article on happiness we had both recently encountered. I was interested to read that Harvard Psychologist Daniel Gilbert found that having children has a "small negative effect on happiness," and further that "Once you pass an income of $50,000, more money doesn't buy much more happiness."
Our last stop on the Fells Tour was Bluehouse (the location of my poetry reading this past summer). v had never been there and I had a hunch it was the kind of thing she would love. She did! We decided to get together next on November 30th--the day after her birthday--so we can celebrate.
Once back at my apartment, I freshened up a bit, blew my hair dry (washed it this morning and had just kind of let it do its own thing for several hours, so it required some assistance at that point), then went to GiGi for lunch (much to my chagrin, I had nothing with which to make a complete meal in the house).
At 3 I went over to Hopkins to participate in a scientific study (related loosely to brain function and visual perception). It was about an hour and a half total, and I got 15 bucks for my time. I took a cab there, but was feeling adventurous, so I walked all the way home (I was delighted to see that it was still daylight when I left the lab). Remembering that I still had nothing with which to make a meal at home, I stopped off at my neighborhood Market (Eddie's) and picked up a bottle of Yellow Tail Shiraz-Cabernet, two packets of fresh shrimp, brussel sprouts, and fire roasted red peppers. My earnings from the experiment came in handy; I paid for my wares in cash and headed the last few blocks home.
First, I let the wine breathe. After doing up a few dishes from last night, I set about making a roasted red pepper, garlic, and scallion puree for the shrimp (sauteed over relatively high heat); I lightly salted the brussel sprouts and put them in the oven to roast; when the shrimp were done, I started some grits (salt and black pepper, a little half & half and mozarella thrown in for good measure); lastly I warmed some maple butter corn bread I made earlier in the week. It all came together so well.
Later tonight, Sarah will come to pick me up. We have Thanksgiving shopping to do tomorrow!
Friday, November 17, 2006
I met K almost immediately after work for cocktails at the Brewer's Art. We had much catching up to do. In the time since I've last seen her she's dated and broken up with someone. We had the best time. We called her sister Catchka just before leaving the BA to tell her how much we really want her to be happy.
Happiness is much on my mind of late. I am reading Darrin McMahon's Happiness: A History as one of the last of two books for the Independent Study. I really want everyone I love to be happy. And what surprises me is how often that means not getting what you thought you wanted. But sometimes it does mean that. Whatever will give my friends the greatest ultimate, lasting satisfaction is what I hope for them. And the grace to know it when it comes.
Happiness is much on my mind of late. I am reading Darrin McMahon's Happiness: A History as one of the last of two books for the Independent Study. I really want everyone I love to be happy. And what surprises me is how often that means not getting what you thought you wanted. But sometimes it does mean that. Whatever will give my friends the greatest ultimate, lasting satisfaction is what I hope for them. And the grace to know it when it comes.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
(Be Here)Now
Some would say that it's a worthwhile challenge to issue one's self--to be fully present and attentive in each moment of one's existence. But what would that mean, exactly? How would that look? What would that require?
I've been in the presence of a few people (maybe 3 in my whole life) that I believe had found a way to affect this kind of attentiveness. And it's a seductive experience to have someone like that focused so fully on you. It's seductive just watching them be present where they are.
To fully possess yourself you must fully forget yourself, then remember what you forgot, but with forgiveness, with distance. Or something.
What am I on about, you wonder?
So do I.
Some would say that it's a worthwhile challenge to issue one's self--to be fully present and attentive in each moment of one's existence. But what would that mean, exactly? How would that look? What would that require?
I've been in the presence of a few people (maybe 3 in my whole life) that I believe had found a way to affect this kind of attentiveness. And it's a seductive experience to have someone like that focused so fully on you. It's seductive just watching them be present where they are.
To fully possess yourself you must fully forget yourself, then remember what you forgot, but with forgiveness, with distance. Or something.
What am I on about, you wonder?
So do I.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
The End
I watched the last disc of Arrested Development: Season 2. Now I have seen every single episode of the show that everyone loved, but that not nearly enough people watched. And, a couple of days early, I dropped off my thesis. Unexpectedly, Sarah and I got together today after work and she took me to campus to make the errand easier (I would've had to take the bus on Friday morning, otherwise). I anticipated, initially, that I would be working on it till the last possible minute, but it is what it is, and now it's not up to me.
In other news, I took the first step toward loan consolidation. After going into a small fortune's worth of debt for this program, I'm going to need all the help I can get.
I watched the last disc of Arrested Development: Season 2. Now I have seen every single episode of the show that everyone loved, but that not nearly enough people watched. And, a couple of days early, I dropped off my thesis. Unexpectedly, Sarah and I got together today after work and she took me to campus to make the errand easier (I would've had to take the bus on Friday morning, otherwise). I anticipated, initially, that I would be working on it till the last possible minute, but it is what it is, and now it's not up to me.
In other news, I took the first step toward loan consolidation. After going into a small fortune's worth of debt for this program, I'm going to need all the help I can get.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Last Friday Night I enjoyed a delightful meal with two friends (Sarah and E) at the Brewer's Art. The Neurosurgeon was supposed to join us, but he did not get out of the OR in time. So, what was to be a happy foursome of witty, intelligent women, and the very-droll-in-his-own-right doctor, became simply a girls' night. The conversation was scrumptuous. We talked of men (we don't really understand them, but we love them), politicians (we understand them too well, we fear), and a host of other topics that kept us laughing heartily. The Shiraz-Cabernet was so mellow and round, the braised short rib, melt-in-your-mouth delicious, and the fig and carmelized onion crepe, the embodiment of perfection. It was one of those movie meals, one of those movie scene talk-fests. The dining room is perfect for fall-- high ceilings, dark wood, white table cloths. The essence of warmth.
Something a little out of the ordinary happened. A woman came up to me who reads my blog because her brother was kind enough to link to an article and a podcast I did that featured back in early September. She recognized me, I suppose, because at some point I must have posted a photo. Still, it was remarkable to me that I could be picked out of a crowd by someone who'd never actually met me before. I was and am so glad that she came over to say hello. If she's reading now, I say again--it was so nice to make your acquaintance.
In a matter of hours now, the thesis will be handed in. Quite literally, it will be out of my hands, but it's been so consuming that I haven't had time to be worried about anything that usually drives me crazy. I can't believe it's nearly Thanksgiving, and then after that, a few weeks later, that it will be Christmas.
I think having meaningful, personal work that drives you is the crux of happiness and contentment. It has caused me to have a singularity of vision that I haven't had to employ in years. Everything has been very clear to me. It has been so easy to say no to anything that threatened my committment to the work I was doing.
I wish this kind of healthy obsession on everyone.
I spend, as a rule, so much time not doing much of anything. And I hate it. I hate purposelessness. I always have, and yet I get sucked right into the vortex of it, with ease.
Going out to dinner with my friends was so wonderful because it was a reward--like coming up for air, just briefly. But the being submerged feels and felt like life.
These poems are finished. I am bereft. I understand, now, what writers mean when they say that depression often follows the completion of a book. But it's not just that it's finished, that it's over with these particular words, for this particular time (Lucille Clifton would say that "poems are never finished, they are only abandoned"), but it's also the thought of having to start all over again with new words. It feels like I just don't have it in me to do it again. I gave everything to these 25 pieces I'm putting out there as a statement to the university about my craft. And I am shredded. And I am invigorated.
That's love.
Something a little out of the ordinary happened. A woman came up to me who reads my blog because her brother was kind enough to link to an article and a podcast I did that featured back in early September. She recognized me, I suppose, because at some point I must have posted a photo. Still, it was remarkable to me that I could be picked out of a crowd by someone who'd never actually met me before. I was and am so glad that she came over to say hello. If she's reading now, I say again--it was so nice to make your acquaintance.
In a matter of hours now, the thesis will be handed in. Quite literally, it will be out of my hands, but it's been so consuming that I haven't had time to be worried about anything that usually drives me crazy. I can't believe it's nearly Thanksgiving, and then after that, a few weeks later, that it will be Christmas.
I think having meaningful, personal work that drives you is the crux of happiness and contentment. It has caused me to have a singularity of vision that I haven't had to employ in years. Everything has been very clear to me. It has been so easy to say no to anything that threatened my committment to the work I was doing.
I wish this kind of healthy obsession on everyone.
I spend, as a rule, so much time not doing much of anything. And I hate it. I hate purposelessness. I always have, and yet I get sucked right into the vortex of it, with ease.
Going out to dinner with my friends was so wonderful because it was a reward--like coming up for air, just briefly. But the being submerged feels and felt like life.
These poems are finished. I am bereft. I understand, now, what writers mean when they say that depression often follows the completion of a book. But it's not just that it's finished, that it's over with these particular words, for this particular time (Lucille Clifton would say that "poems are never finished, they are only abandoned"), but it's also the thought of having to start all over again with new words. It feels like I just don't have it in me to do it again. I gave everything to these 25 pieces I'm putting out there as a statement to the university about my craft. And I am shredded. And I am invigorated.
That's love.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
The Best Kind of Sunday
I was up a bit late last night (talking to my sister and watching disc 2 of Arrested Development, season 2) so I slept in this morning, but not too late. I showered, made a quick, protein-heavy breakfast of scrambled eggs with steak, cheese, and onions (coffee to drink, of course), then did up the dishes. Full of purpose, I made my way to the library to return the Wallace Stevens books, then hit the market. Fortunately, I thought to bring my back pack with me, so the trek home was much easier (most the of the produce and one bag of stuff fit snugly in the knap sack) than usual. Because I managed to scare up enough quarters in change from my marketing errand, I was able to do two loads of laundry, one of which included my sheets and towels.
I whipped up some banana bread (from a box mix, but I added vanilla syrup and chocolate chips) while the clothes spun and dried; I got an early start on dinner so that it would be a simple matter of warming it up when the time came to eat.
Things had really suffered around here for the last few weeks while I devoted the lion's share of my attention to my art, so I purged my mail and excess papers that needed to be processed then filed or discarded; I dusted, took out the trash, then made myself read the articles in magazines I'd been saving. Once I was done (I only skimmed them, which is so typical of me)I threw the magazines out.
Now I read for the Independent Study for the next few hours before bed. At about eight or so, I'll warm a piece of the bread and have a bit of tea.
This is one version of the perfect day.
I was up a bit late last night (talking to my sister and watching disc 2 of Arrested Development, season 2) so I slept in this morning, but not too late. I showered, made a quick, protein-heavy breakfast of scrambled eggs with steak, cheese, and onions (coffee to drink, of course), then did up the dishes. Full of purpose, I made my way to the library to return the Wallace Stevens books, then hit the market. Fortunately, I thought to bring my back pack with me, so the trek home was much easier (most the of the produce and one bag of stuff fit snugly in the knap sack) than usual. Because I managed to scare up enough quarters in change from my marketing errand, I was able to do two loads of laundry, one of which included my sheets and towels.
I whipped up some banana bread (from a box mix, but I added vanilla syrup and chocolate chips) while the clothes spun and dried; I got an early start on dinner so that it would be a simple matter of warming it up when the time came to eat.
Things had really suffered around here for the last few weeks while I devoted the lion's share of my attention to my art, so I purged my mail and excess papers that needed to be processed then filed or discarded; I dusted, took out the trash, then made myself read the articles in magazines I'd been saving. Once I was done (I only skimmed them, which is so typical of me)I threw the magazines out.
Now I read for the Independent Study for the next few hours before bed. At about eight or so, I'll warm a piece of the bread and have a bit of tea.
This is one version of the perfect day.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
A little comedy of errors...
So I had this meeting with my advisor planned. We were going to meet at the City Cafe at 8. Keep that in mind while I digress, out of necessity, for just a moment.
When my sister visted me last Saturday we decided to set up a family plan through my cell phone provider. She'd been without a phone for a month, and it just seemed like an easy thing to remedy, so we got the ball rolling. Her phone arrived, at my address (the billing address) yesterday. But she couldn't come to get it yesterday, so that meant she'd have to come by tonight. I figured I could just have her meet me at the City Cafe for a brief handoff during my meeting, and that would be that.
I got to the cafe a few minutes before 8. My advisor called; he was running late. He asked if I wanted to wait for him or if I thought meeting at my place would be better. I don't know why, but even though I knew this would introduce a complication, I told him I'd see him at my place. I figured I'd have time to call my sister at work and tell her about the change of plans. No such luck. She clearly left at 8 on the dot.
And thus began a complicated, sit-com-esque chain of events. My advisor shows up to my apartment and we start talking, but I'm all distracted because of all the hullabaloo (not being able to reach my sister, feeling thrown off due to the changes). My mother calls right in the middle of our conversation (I had already called the restaurant and left a message for my sister there), worried that Crystal would somehow come to harm because of the snafu. I was worried too... but nothing like my mother who WOULD NOT GET OFF THE PHONE.
You have to imagine my advisor laughing during the conversation that went something like this:
"Okay, mommy..."
[my mother talking]
"Okay..."
[my mother still talking]
"Mom, I really have to get off the phone... I know, but I left a message... Okay..."
"Please go get my baby!" [this would be my mother]
So off the prof and I went. Once inside the restaurant, I saw my sister immediately. She was on the phone with my mother, who WOULD NOT GET OFF THE LINE (my sister brought a friend with her, and was using his phone at that point).
Anyway, I handed her the goods and went off to resume what was an incredibly heartening meeting with the literary genius. With minor, minor suggestions and issues raised on a handful of the pieces, he told me that I've done good work and that it should be sent out for publication. We also talked about the Independent Study and how we'll meet once more to go over that, but that really that's also in the can as far as he is concerned.
I have really labored over these poems and have interrogated all of the reading I've done with as much integrity as I could muster, and this conversation was the payoff. He's happy with it; I'm happy with it. Honestly, I feel like celebrating already.
So I had this meeting with my advisor planned. We were going to meet at the City Cafe at 8. Keep that in mind while I digress, out of necessity, for just a moment.
When my sister visted me last Saturday we decided to set up a family plan through my cell phone provider. She'd been without a phone for a month, and it just seemed like an easy thing to remedy, so we got the ball rolling. Her phone arrived, at my address (the billing address) yesterday. But she couldn't come to get it yesterday, so that meant she'd have to come by tonight. I figured I could just have her meet me at the City Cafe for a brief handoff during my meeting, and that would be that.
I got to the cafe a few minutes before 8. My advisor called; he was running late. He asked if I wanted to wait for him or if I thought meeting at my place would be better. I don't know why, but even though I knew this would introduce a complication, I told him I'd see him at my place. I figured I'd have time to call my sister at work and tell her about the change of plans. No such luck. She clearly left at 8 on the dot.
And thus began a complicated, sit-com-esque chain of events. My advisor shows up to my apartment and we start talking, but I'm all distracted because of all the hullabaloo (not being able to reach my sister, feeling thrown off due to the changes). My mother calls right in the middle of our conversation (I had already called the restaurant and left a message for my sister there), worried that Crystal would somehow come to harm because of the snafu. I was worried too... but nothing like my mother who WOULD NOT GET OFF THE PHONE.
You have to imagine my advisor laughing during the conversation that went something like this:
"Okay, mommy..."
[my mother talking]
"Okay..."
[my mother still talking]
"Mom, I really have to get off the phone... I know, but I left a message... Okay..."
"Please go get my baby!" [this would be my mother]
So off the prof and I went. Once inside the restaurant, I saw my sister immediately. She was on the phone with my mother, who WOULD NOT GET OFF THE LINE (my sister brought a friend with her, and was using his phone at that point).
Anyway, I handed her the goods and went off to resume what was an incredibly heartening meeting with the literary genius. With minor, minor suggestions and issues raised on a handful of the pieces, he told me that I've done good work and that it should be sent out for publication. We also talked about the Independent Study and how we'll meet once more to go over that, but that really that's also in the can as far as he is concerned.
I have really labored over these poems and have interrogated all of the reading I've done with as much integrity as I could muster, and this conversation was the payoff. He's happy with it; I'm happy with it. Honestly, I feel like celebrating already.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Thanksgiving In-Flux
Because my mother is a creature who is far more interested in possibility than actuality, I still have no idea what my family is doing for Thanksgiving. For the longest time she was going to be in Canada for the holiday visiting some friend of hers. Then my father died and she decided that she didn't want to be away from my sisters and me at such a family-focused time of the year. We felt the same way. But she decided to go anyway. Then she changed her itinerary so she's not leaving until the following morning.
So, now that she will be stateside, we are back to the guessing game of whose home will she thrust us upon so that her holiday can be just how she imagines it. My mother is a people person. She likes a lot activity and flurry--a good amount of chaos. She has no patience for contemplation and quiet, intimate gatherings. To her, this spells b-o-r-i-n-g.
My one sister really feels connected to my mother's side of the family--but that tradition of being with them, as we've always known it, has changed since my uncle died a couple of years ago. My aunt now goes to her son's house to celebrate with his immediate family. It's more awkward. We're not even sure if this is something to which we are invited...
Having a spacious apartment makes me a great candidate for hostess, and I would love to do it. It makes the most sense for me to be the one to make arrangements and buy groceries, go crazy with preparation stress, all of it--but trying to pin my mother down is like trying to grasp oil.
So this is my way of saying I'll keep you posted. You'll know something when I do.
Because my mother is a creature who is far more interested in possibility than actuality, I still have no idea what my family is doing for Thanksgiving. For the longest time she was going to be in Canada for the holiday visiting some friend of hers. Then my father died and she decided that she didn't want to be away from my sisters and me at such a family-focused time of the year. We felt the same way. But she decided to go anyway. Then she changed her itinerary so she's not leaving until the following morning.
So, now that she will be stateside, we are back to the guessing game of whose home will she thrust us upon so that her holiday can be just how she imagines it. My mother is a people person. She likes a lot activity and flurry--a good amount of chaos. She has no patience for contemplation and quiet, intimate gatherings. To her, this spells b-o-r-i-n-g.
My one sister really feels connected to my mother's side of the family--but that tradition of being with them, as we've always known it, has changed since my uncle died a couple of years ago. My aunt now goes to her son's house to celebrate with his immediate family. It's more awkward. We're not even sure if this is something to which we are invited...
Having a spacious apartment makes me a great candidate for hostess, and I would love to do it. It makes the most sense for me to be the one to make arrangements and buy groceries, go crazy with preparation stress, all of it--but trying to pin my mother down is like trying to grasp oil.
So this is my way of saying I'll keep you posted. You'll know something when I do.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Early Bird
I love being such a naturally early riser during the week. I got to my polling place by 6:55, was done, line and all, by 7:21 and was at work by 7:40. Still an hour and twenty minutes before I technically have to start. Coming in early really helps me to get my bearings.
My meeting with the advisor is postponed until later in the week, and since Sarah is under the weather, she and I will have a marathon revision session via phone tonight. I want to focus on about 7 of the poems that I think need the most attention. This is better, actually. So when I see my professor I'll be giving him something that is pretty near finished.
I love being such a naturally early riser during the week. I got to my polling place by 6:55, was done, line and all, by 7:21 and was at work by 7:40. Still an hour and twenty minutes before I technically have to start. Coming in early really helps me to get my bearings.
My meeting with the advisor is postponed until later in the week, and since Sarah is under the weather, she and I will have a marathon revision session via phone tonight. I want to focus on about 7 of the poems that I think need the most attention. This is better, actually. So when I see my professor I'll be giving him something that is pretty near finished.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Since I've been home, I've figured out the best direction for one of my poems. It nagged at me all day at work while I familiarized myself with some components of a project that's ramping up... anyway, the piece is infinitely more satisfying now. I'm meeting with Sarah, tomorrow, for another revision session prior to meeting with my literary sensei. My goal is to have all this put to bed by Saturday. I want to go into next week with the thesis in the can.
Oh, and of course I'm voting. First thing in the morning. See you at the polls!
Oh, and of course I'm voting. First thing in the morning. See you at the polls!
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Mary Tyler Moore Moment
You know the opening credits to the "Mary Tyler Moore" show? The sequence of her walking through the busy downtown streets of Minneappolis, alone in the crowd, that ultimately culminates in her throwing her hat up into the air in extreme, self-actualized jubilation? Well, there was no hat toss, but I did take a spontaneous walk through my neighborhood today. I tried reading Plato's Symposium and McMahon's "Happiness" exploration, but I am maxed out on reading for anything that requires concentration.
Anyway, I went on this walk while listening to "32 Flavors" on repeat and just felt...unobligated, for five minutes. After yesterday's birthing session of poetry revision (and yes, it does feel like labor at this point), I'm spent. I had just enough energy left to implement the changes and get them off to the prof., but I just couldn't make myself do anything more. I was and am so run down.
And while I traversed the cobblestone paths, saw the statues in the dog parks emblazoned by the sun, and noted all the dreadlocked artistic types, one refrain went through my head:
You're gonna make it after all...
After the walk, I came home and did a very little, I mean a truly negligible amount of work work, then I caught up on reading my O magazines (that have been piling up along with the last three months of "Real Simple" on the coffee table) and called Catherine ("Catchka" to the uninitiated). We talked of sociopaths (in the grad program, at her job), her own grad school aspirations, and just stuff, and it was wonderfully liberating to not force a strict intellectually-driven schedule on myself for five minutes. How freeing it was to just wash and roast carrots and potatoes for my dinner.
You know what I remembered when I took the time to not read those heady, daunting texts? I don't even need the Independent Study for credit. Clearly, I'm not about to blow it off (how ironic that I've worked harder for it, emotionally, than almost any other class)--but it gave me some much-needed perspective. So, I'll read selections from Happiness: A History and I'll give Plato's dialogue a fair perusal, but the thesis deserves my attention most right now. This week, I nail down the rest of my revisions, and then I turn it in. After Thursday the 17th, I spend the rest of the semester (about two and a half weeks) on the IS. And it is what it is. Maybe I need to give myself permission to not even try to read for the IS until this time next week. Something to think about...
You know what I predict? That when this is over I'll be utterly bereft. I haven't cared this feverishly, for anything, in a long time. Not since I was in the process of applying to the program.
This is the single best thing I've ever done for myself. I am going to make it, after all.
You know the opening credits to the "Mary Tyler Moore" show? The sequence of her walking through the busy downtown streets of Minneappolis, alone in the crowd, that ultimately culminates in her throwing her hat up into the air in extreme, self-actualized jubilation? Well, there was no hat toss, but I did take a spontaneous walk through my neighborhood today. I tried reading Plato's Symposium and McMahon's "Happiness" exploration, but I am maxed out on reading for anything that requires concentration.
Anyway, I went on this walk while listening to "32 Flavors" on repeat and just felt...unobligated, for five minutes. After yesterday's birthing session of poetry revision (and yes, it does feel like labor at this point), I'm spent. I had just enough energy left to implement the changes and get them off to the prof., but I just couldn't make myself do anything more. I was and am so run down.
And while I traversed the cobblestone paths, saw the statues in the dog parks emblazoned by the sun, and noted all the dreadlocked artistic types, one refrain went through my head:
You're gonna make it after all...
After the walk, I came home and did a very little, I mean a truly negligible amount of work work, then I caught up on reading my O magazines (that have been piling up along with the last three months of "Real Simple" on the coffee table) and called Catherine ("Catchka" to the uninitiated). We talked of sociopaths (in the grad program, at her job), her own grad school aspirations, and just stuff, and it was wonderfully liberating to not force a strict intellectually-driven schedule on myself for five minutes. How freeing it was to just wash and roast carrots and potatoes for my dinner.
You know what I remembered when I took the time to not read those heady, daunting texts? I don't even need the Independent Study for credit. Clearly, I'm not about to blow it off (how ironic that I've worked harder for it, emotionally, than almost any other class)--but it gave me some much-needed perspective. So, I'll read selections from Happiness: A History and I'll give Plato's dialogue a fair perusal, but the thesis deserves my attention most right now. This week, I nail down the rest of my revisions, and then I turn it in. After Thursday the 17th, I spend the rest of the semester (about two and a half weeks) on the IS. And it is what it is. Maybe I need to give myself permission to not even try to read for the IS until this time next week. Something to think about...
You know what I predict? That when this is over I'll be utterly bereft. I haven't cared this feverishly, for anything, in a long time. Not since I was in the process of applying to the program.
This is the single best thing I've ever done for myself. I am going to make it, after all.
Sarah and I got together for breakfast and a major thesis revision session yesterday morning. Sarah is my copy and content editor, and as such, felt it would be better for us to have a face-to-face as opposed to her simply making marks on the document and giving it back to me. It was painful, but productive. I know that I am in full-on stress mode because my default solution at this point, if something is not working on first pass, is to remove it. Believe me, I have exhausted that privilege. At this point, I am down to 27 or 28 pages (poetry theses only need be between 25 and 35 pages), so I have no room to maneuver.
My sister Crystal came in yesterday afternoon at about 3:45. We talked for a couple of hours then went to dinner at Never On Sunday, where the cheesesteak is delicious, but kept me up with indigestion. It was responsible for quite a scare, actually. My rumbling stomach seemed to be the herald of a stomach "thing," and believe me, I cannot have a stomach thing, or any thing right now. I am down to 12 days. 12 days. I cannot lose a second.
So I prayed. And whatever it was passed. I guess maybe it was just a digestion issue, but I'm telling you, I had chills. I give God all the credit for the fact that I woke up feeling fine. Crystal is still sleeping. I think I'm going to have some oj and depith a grapefruit.
I sent my advisor the result of yesterday's revisions. I think it'll make our talk on Tuesday better. The stuff I sent him Friday morning was just not..., well it wasn't... you know.
My sister Crystal came in yesterday afternoon at about 3:45. We talked for a couple of hours then went to dinner at Never On Sunday, where the cheesesteak is delicious, but kept me up with indigestion. It was responsible for quite a scare, actually. My rumbling stomach seemed to be the herald of a stomach "thing," and believe me, I cannot have a stomach thing, or any thing right now. I am down to 12 days. 12 days. I cannot lose a second.
So I prayed. And whatever it was passed. I guess maybe it was just a digestion issue, but I'm telling you, I had chills. I give God all the credit for the fact that I woke up feeling fine. Crystal is still sleeping. I think I'm going to have some oj and depith a grapefruit.
I sent my advisor the result of yesterday's revisions. I think it'll make our talk on Tuesday better. The stuff I sent him Friday morning was just not..., well it wasn't... you know.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
I had a dream about my father the other night. In the dream, it was still the case that he had died, but he was sitting in a blue armchair. I asked him if people had a hard time touching him now that he was a spirit (i.e., did hands just kind of pass through him). He indicated that it wasn't really an issue. So I tried to tickle him. And he laughed.
Friday, November 03, 2006
32 Flavors (and then some)...
Is my "finish the thesis" anthem. It's on heavy rotation in my iTunes library at the moment, and 32 flavors is the forecast for the foreseeable future. I will not be doing anything, talking to anyone, or listening to any talk that makes me feel like I am less than 32 flavors...
I'm so tired tonight, but I'm pushing on and starting Darrin McMahon's Happiness: A History for the Independent Study. I meet with my advisor on Tuesday and I want to have begun this daunting survey of the intangible. I turned in the Wallace Stevens response yesterday morning and have sent him more thesis revisions as of last night, so I'm hoping we can have a fruitful discussion. I will be revising more over the weekend. I am going to tap dance circles around this thesis (a little mania can be useful)!
One thing is startlingly clear (other than that this is a bad day for Evangelical Christians and Republicans, but this is not a political blog, so moving on...):
I would love to pursue this type of study full time. Ph. D. here I come. Ph. D., you are not ready for me...
Is my "finish the thesis" anthem. It's on heavy rotation in my iTunes library at the moment, and 32 flavors is the forecast for the foreseeable future. I will not be doing anything, talking to anyone, or listening to any talk that makes me feel like I am less than 32 flavors...
I'm so tired tonight, but I'm pushing on and starting Darrin McMahon's Happiness: A History for the Independent Study. I meet with my advisor on Tuesday and I want to have begun this daunting survey of the intangible. I turned in the Wallace Stevens response yesterday morning and have sent him more thesis revisions as of last night, so I'm hoping we can have a fruitful discussion. I will be revising more over the weekend. I am going to tap dance circles around this thesis (a little mania can be useful)!
One thing is startlingly clear (other than that this is a bad day for Evangelical Christians and Republicans, but this is not a political blog, so moving on...):
I would love to pursue this type of study full time. Ph. D. here I come. Ph. D., you are not ready for me...
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Life or Death
The pervading sense of alienation that has come from pursuing my scholarship alone has created a sense of urgency in my art, in me. I am fighting for something, for the first time, I feel that it's a matter of life or death if it happens. Galway Kinnell has a poem called "prayer" that is simply "whatever happens/ whatever is is what I want/only that but that."
I would never stick my head in an oven, but I understand why Sylvia Plath did. I love what I'm making and sometimes I think that love will kill me.
"how beautiful to be in a state of emergency," as the crazy sage Bjork states.
The pervading sense of alienation that has come from pursuing my scholarship alone has created a sense of urgency in my art, in me. I am fighting for something, for the first time, I feel that it's a matter of life or death if it happens. Galway Kinnell has a poem called "prayer" that is simply "whatever happens/ whatever is is what I want/only that but that."
I would never stick my head in an oven, but I understand why Sylvia Plath did. I love what I'm making and sometimes I think that love will kill me.
"how beautiful to be in a state of emergency," as the crazy sage Bjork states.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
The Mean Reds
Today was a day, all right. As the illustrious Catchka, put it, "it's called 'a day'." This day was the day of Pale Flower Syndrome (so named by yours truly). I recalled the events of last night with a new clarity. I seemed wan to myself from the distance of hours--something in me reaching, that way that I can reach when I feel myself drowning. I wonder, seriously, if I'm not more socially awkward than I thought.
Wallace Stevens would call it "that old catastrophe." Some days it seems like I haven't made it very far at all. I'll tell you one thing, though. I refuse with everything I am to let my peace of mind be usurped. I am never going back to that familiar misery. God, no. God. no.
Today was a day, all right. As the illustrious Catchka, put it, "it's called 'a day'." This day was the day of Pale Flower Syndrome (so named by yours truly). I recalled the events of last night with a new clarity. I seemed wan to myself from the distance of hours--something in me reaching, that way that I can reach when I feel myself drowning. I wonder, seriously, if I'm not more socially awkward than I thought.
Wallace Stevens would call it "that old catastrophe." Some days it seems like I haven't made it very far at all. I'll tell you one thing, though. I refuse with everything I am to let my peace of mind be usurped. I am never going back to that familiar misery. God, no. God. no.
