In which I get uppity

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Her Eminence the Very Viscountess St. Eph the Disheveled of Wallop upon Deane Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

{Something more substantial coming soon, I promise.}

In which nous n'amuseé pas

Which Historical Lunatic Are You?
From the fecund loins of Rum and Monkey.

Drat, I was hoping for Henry VI. (And please forgive the bad French.)

In which things are better now

Two delightful things happened today. First, I got a response from one of my advisors, the Demanding Advisor who has never quite accepted my dissertation premise. He gets it now, and calls my approach "profound and promising." He also started the message with "Hooray!" and had some specific ideas for fleshing out the chapter to a more chapter-like length. So, yay.

Then C. got an interview call from the university where I'd most like us to go, and is high on his list as well. He's been itchy the last couple of days waiting for calls, so this has settled him down nicely. And tickets to Philadelphia aren't looking crazy-expensive, so it's off to MLA for him. So, woo.

Also, the quarter is officially done for me. Finally. I have two late papers to deal with, but I can't change the grades until January, so I'm not worrying about them. I'm also finishing up an incomplete with a student that requires some actual thought on my part, but that's not so bad and is making me reconsider the course and how it went. Oh, and the teaching observation thing was fine, kind of helpful but more telling me I'm fairly awesome, which is always nice to hear. I think I just waited too long to jump through this particular hoop; it would have been very useful the first year I was teaching, before I figured out how to stand up and use the board. I'm better now.

In which I am... not right

I'm halfway through this last batch of grading and I just... enh. Nothing's particularly wrong with any of them, but nothing's spectactular, either. They're all solid A- papers, which is not a bad thing by any means, but I'm feeling... not right. I don't know if I'm not in a good enough mood to be grading, or not in a cranky enough place. I should be happy that this batch of upperclassmen know enough to foreground their claims, to engage with the quotations, to have a position from which to argue, but I'm getting hung up on their inability to format quotations and put the quotation marks in before the parenthetical citation.

I'm not sure what this feeling is that I'm sucked into right now. It's not the Mean Reds, it's not cranky, it's not depressed, it's just minorly annoyed with the ongoing minutae of day-to-day life. Which I'm not even engaged with, since I've left my apartment, like, twice in the last week. I have no excuse. It's almost like bershon, but the grown-up version, where the object of disgust is my pajama-wearing self.

But halfway done! Eleven more!

Oh, and I forgot to report back on What I Learned from My Teaching Observation. I don't get the official feedback from my observers until Monday, but I watched the tape and learned that I 1) wave my hands around my face all the damn time, making me look like I'm doing some kind of seizure-inflected dance, 2) say "all right?" and "yes?" pretty much constantly (I'm thinking about replacing the first with "aiight?"), and 3) I read textual quotations much too fast. C. says that, shockingly, my teaching approach, performance-wise, mirrors his. Because, of course, we share a brain. Which is just as romantic as it sounds.

In which I check in

So, yeah, it's the end of the quarter and I'm mostly MIA 'round here. Sorry about that. How about some random bullet points?

• I finished the chapter that I've been plugging along on since, oh, this time last year. It is somehow no longer than the last draft. Eh, whatever. I'm turning it in tomorrow, and I like its new title.
• Attention: Internets--The word you're looking for is "simple" not "simplistic." Not synonyms, and stop pretending they are.
• All my shows are fall-finale-ing! So sad! What will I do without Heroes and Betty and Gilmore Girls for the next month? Read books?
• Speaking of books, yet another pleasure-reading novel from the UChaos library has been recalled. Uncool, people. Stop it. I'm going to start leaving nasty notes again in the books I return.
  
• I've been sucked in to an online monster-killing game. It's only a bit compulsive.
  
• Oh, dear, I have papers coming in tomorrow and grading to get behind. Drat.
  

In which my true self is revealed

How evil are you?

Well, maybe, but I did return a Home Despot credit card I found on the street today.

In which we regroup

Wow, it certainly has been a while. I'm, like, the anti-NaBloPoMo 'round here. Sorry.

Ok, first it was the end of the quarter at St. Happy U., which included a final-exam time-slot of 8:45 a.m. Dude, seriously. For all of four students who took the exam option. And now I have a pile of papers and exams to grade by Friday, so I really should get started on those soon.

Then, I dove into teaching Donne at UChaos. I was so excited about doing Songs and Sonnets (in which there are no sonnets!), but they're so tired, it was quite a slog through them. And tomorrow we do some Elegies and The First Anniversary, which I fear will further trample them down. And how about ending with some refreshing Herbert? Yes, that'll be awesome. Plus, I'm being observed for some Teaching-Certificate-related nonsense on Wednesday. Whee.

Then there's the good: Thanksgiving in Rural PA. Family, food, the whole shebang. Instead of cheesecake, this year I made this, which is so super-fantastic I want to eat it every morning until the end of time. And I've ascended to a new level of competence in my mom's eyes, as I was left singularly in charge of the kitchen for a good 45 minutes while she had to run out and pick up my brother from somewheres. I think I've perfected my green-bean recipe (pan-fried in olive oil with minced onions, splashed with balsamic, lemon, and lime juice, topped with crumbled cheese, fresh mozzarella in this case, though feta is better). And my mom introduced me to the wonder of fancy-schmansy gourmet salt. We are a salt-loving family.

Mostly, it was good to see everyone together and happy after a fairly tough year that isn't quite over yet. Sappy, yes, but we made up for that with the general mocking and hard-time-giving.

There was also shopping, of course, as this seems to have become an inadvertent tradition. We chose our spots wisely, though, and so were not trampled. Carl wound up with not one, but two velvet sportscoats. Because he clearly needed them. We might have to throw a party for the burgundy one.

Oh, yeah, and there was a party last weekend. Our friends look pretty swanky when we force them to dress up. But remind me that the weekend before Thanksgiving is no time to be throwing a party, though it did mean that we left a fairly clean apartment.

And how are you? Full? Happy? Thankful? Tired?

In which I catch up on some correspondence

Dear Ohio,

Thanks for a lovely weekend. You were so very nice and gracious that I hate to mention this one little thing, but could you do something about the roadkill? I'm still traumatized by the chunk of deer that I ran over Thursday night (and then screamed for a mile) and the drive back to Columbus brought three more deer, two coyotes, and a wide variety of small, smushed critters. Just, ew. Also, aaaaaahhhhhhh.

And this may just be a small-town quirk, but that thing where you turn off the traffic signals at 10 p.m.? Is weird. But I did love your ranch dressing. Thanks for that.

Kisses,
S.

* * * * *
Dear UChaos,

Listen, I'm only telling you this because I'm your friend. You know you're super-cute and super-nice and super-cool, but you have, like, this reputation? Like, with other universities? They think you're like, mean and snobby and crazy. Now, I tried really hard this weekend to tell them that you're totally not like that, but for some reason they're kind of... scared?...of you. Did you, like, use to make fun of everyone else? I think that maybe you need to apologize to some people, because they would totally be your friend if they really knew you.

Just being honest because I love you,
S.

* * * * *
Dear St. Happy U,

Thank you so much for finally being done with the quarter. Could you maybe talk to UChaos about this scheduling thing? Because I don't think they understand it.

Love,
S.

In which all's well that ends well

Good day. Presentation went well. Not a lot of questions for me, but I'm choosing to believe that the reason for that is that I blew their minds, baby. And the Grand Old Man who sat in on my session, the GOM who's editing a fancy edition of My Play, said it was one of the best papers he's ever heard (oh, heavens) and asked for a copy.

And then, because I do what I do, I rounded up a herd of grad students and junior faculty, got them drunk, and took them on a midnight field trip to Wal-Mart. It's a gift, what I have.

In which I live-blog my continuing procrastination

9:14 p.m.: I'm here, wherever this is, ensconced in my tiny faux-Victorian room overlooking an impressive-looking river. I have wireless, but no phone except roaming. I have water, and yogurt, and snacky Gardettos, and cigarettes, and music. I have 17 pages that need to become 10, and if they could cohere at some point, that would be great, too.

Thanks for the good thoughts and cheerleading. I'll keep y'all posted.

9:56: Ok, earlier there was some kind of air-raid siren, and just now there was some kind of explosion outside that sounded not really like fireworks. Where the hell am I?

I'm now up to 19 pages. This is not the direction I'm supposed to be headed in.

10:51: Holding steady at 16 pages. It seems that I'm writing just as much as I'm cutting. Need diet Coke. Must put pants on.

12:21: Things were weird out there. The QuickyMart had, in its array of bottled iced teas, extra-sweet tea. Apparently I'm in the south.

But now I've read Carl what I have, and pieces are sliding into place. Kind of. Down to 10 pages. We may be in the home stretch.

12:45: Done! No, really! I think it might actually be good! Yay me!

1:18: Final update. Wow, had I only read my horoscope for this week before I sunk into crazyland:

Sometimes, Virgo, you're too damn smart for your own good. You may describe a problem so brilliantly, for instance, that you think you've solved it merely by talking about it, and never get around to actually fixing it. On other occasions your fine mind runs amuck in an orgy of razor-sharp analysis, cutting things apart in order to understand them but not putting them back together again. I beg you not to indulge in these excesses during the coming week. Your intelligence will be soaring beyond even its usual exceptional levels, and it would be a shame for you not to capitalize on it momentously. (Free Will Astrology)

Next up, then, capitalizing on my enormous, exceptional brain.

In which I freak out

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh.

Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhaaaaaahhhhh.

Paper still not done. At least I'm packed. Freaking out.

Someone remind me that I do this to myself, under the stupid idea that I work better under deadline.

In which I am clearly unprepared

So, that conference paper? The one I'm giving on Friday afternoon, after flying to Columbus tomorrow and then driving to the conference college and then jumping on the hotel bed? Still holding at 16 pages gleaned from the much longer essay with a totally different argument. Still lacking its own argument or any connective tissue. Still lacking either a section explaining the title or the scene mentioned specifically in my abstract. And still not writing itself.

And yet, my head refuses to work properly. It wants to flip through the Sephora catalog while watching Top Model. At least I got all my class-related work done today, including a stack of essay grading, some pdf-making, and writing up a quiz and a whole slew of final essay prompts. (Let's not think right now about the final exam I'll have to write as soon as I get back.)

I need my own personal cheerleader for moments like this.

In which I further consider business cards

Paying no attention to the swelling to-do list at my elbow, let's think about Al's suggestion for what else to put on my imaginary business cards. She's going with "Erstwhile Rockstar." Yes, this pleases me. Other tagline options:

• Gal-about-Town
• Better than you
• Grammar Ninja
• Freelance Crank
• Hi.

and a new, strong contender, cribbed from Truewit at Blogging the Renaissance:

• The early seventeenth century: shining Golden Age of EVERYTHING.

Ok, that bit of silliness aside, I now have to turn to the seven remaining items on this weekend's to-do, including such minor tasks as "write conference paper" and "grade pile of midterm essays."

In which I lodge a complaint and pose a question

Item the first: My El station is closing in a month, for an unspecified length of time. Granted, I'm on a stretch where the stations are really close together, so this'll add only a couple of blocks onto my walk to the train, but one of the appealing things about this apartment was the fact that it's only two blocks from the train. Plus, how awesome is it to close a station just as winter, snow, ice, and unshoveled sidewalks are posed to make an appearance? Not awesome at all, actually.

Item the second: Would it be deeply cocky of me to make up some business cards for the conference? Nothing fancy, just something with my name and e-mail address--it seems pretentious to put my university or candidate status on it, right?

Item the third (unadvertised): I got a small travel grant for the conference. This means I can indulge in a large-ish car for the drive from Mid-Sized Midwest City (where I'm flying in) to Nowheresville Conference City. What should I get?

In which the light at the end of the tunnel heaves into sight

Say it with me: Two more weeks. Two more weeks. Two more weeks and I'm free of the early class. Which is good, because they're working my last handful of nerves.

On the other hand, today I'm fully in favor of Daylight Saving Time, even though I continue to not understand it a whit--dude, I'm from Arizona, where we understand DST so little that we just gave up on it entirely. After last week's gloomy, pre-dawn wake-up times, today's happy sun greeted me. Just wait, though, I'll be cursing this evening as I trudge home in the 6:00 dark.

And the hotly-anticipated answer to Guess This Text? Troilus and Cressida, by Our Boy Will. Which, yes, I taught last week and with which I nearly prompted a mutiny. There was firm though irritated lecturing on the importance of reading, for pete's sake, followed by a class for which less than half the students showed up. So, today should be fun, then.

In which we play Guess the Text

[Yes, it's a meme-thing, grabbed from Dr. Crazy, she of the miraculous grading checklist. I'll be back with complaints soon, but in the meantime, this can be a clue as to what I've been up to lately, as the book came directly from my bookbag. A clue: instead of the fifth sentence, I had to pick the fifth line.)

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 4 sentences on your blog along with these instructions.
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.

"Without perdition, and loss assume all reason
Without revolt. This is and is not Cressid.
Within my soul there doth conduce a fight
Of this strange nature that a thing inseparate
Divides more wider than the sky and earth"

In which I am a victim of my own good intentions

Just finished responding to eleventy squillion midterm paper proposals. Every time I do this, I wonder why I do this. But if I can head off one student who wants to write about how this play/poem reveals a Universal Truth about Human Nature, it's totally worth it. I suspect I may still get some Universal Truths about English Literature, but that's more funny than sad and eye-gouging-making, so I'll take it.

Tomorrow=essay grading. All so I can have yet another Fun Wedding Weekend. Why are all my friends and relatives so intent on pairing off in legal fashions all of a sudden? Don't they know that I need my weekends free for lolling about and whining?

Oh, and I made the mistake of looking at my Winter Shx enrollment--35. Crap. So I have that to look forward to.

Lush update: I stopped on the way home from class to restock my Sexy Peel. I love that it's literally on the way home. Makes it less of an indulgence and more of an efficient errand.

In which I become jet-set

I just can't stop with the buying of the airline tickets. No, the rush of three cities in four days has changed me. I'm a jet-setter now. In the next month, I'll be hieing my high-flying self off to such fantabulous ports-of-call as... Pittsburgh! And... Next-to-Nowhere (And West Virginia), Ohio! Jellus? Yes, yes you are.

Classes are kicking me when I'm down, what with that stack of midterm exams and essays waiting for me. And more coming next week, because even though both St. Happy and UChaos are on quarters, they're two weeks off from each other. Stupids. But at least some small part of my unconscious had a hand in my syllabi, as I'm teaching the same play in both classes this week. Which means that I'm only carrying around one slim Pelican edition, rather than the many and multiple copies of two or three different texts that I'm used to. It felt weird, though, so I had to go buy honkin' Arden editions of this week's and next's. Just so I'd be properly ballasted for my commute.

In happier, and more commercial news, there's now a Lush counter in the Marshall Field Macy's across from where I catch my second bus of the day. But, since I've decided I hate my campus office, there's nowhere to stash any purchases. Is it tacky to bring a pungent but lovely-smelling shopping bag to class with me?

In which we resume, yet again

You wouldn't have thought the Wedding Weekend would have killed me so very dead, but it did. It was fun, it was awesome, but it did us all in. Evidence of the fun is on Flickr; evidence of the dead is the radio silence that followed.

But now I'm back, and in the throes of midterms, part one. I've written up the exam, but I'm feeling less-than positive about the essay prompts. And the UChaos class wants prompts for their essays (coming up in a week), as well. Bah. But there's hope: This idea is fantastic, and I'll be implementing it for these midterm essays coming in on Friday. As I mentioned in the comments there, academic blogs are my new, best pedagogy resource.

Oh, and the first sickness of the school year is upon us. Stupid students, who won't stop kissing each other and coughing on their papers. I'm trying to keep faith in the miracle cures of Zicam and Airborne, but I still feel like crap.

In which my decrepitude becomes apparent

The fun, it is killing me. Our friend Gabi was in town this weekend and fun was pursued with a vengance, which meant that Friday night included trips to four separate bars and aborted attempts to enter two more before my committment to being a good time expired and I went home. Saturday was better; we parked ourselves at Delilah's and waited for fun to come to us. And Sunday, of course, = football and fried foods. A fun time, all around, but I'm clearly too old to go out on successive nights like that. So why not do it again next weekend, only with flying!

Toward that end, there was shopping. I found a dress for the Weekend of Weddings--a vintage heavy-satin wiggle dress with some interesting lacework detailing around the neckline. It looks late '50s and it fits me perfectly. Fishnets and some big hair should get me all set for the Vegas festivities, but I'm still undecided about what I'm wearing in Tucson.

Oh, and then there was class. UChaos started yesterday, and for the first time ever there I have a full house. And then some. We'll see how many I scared off yesterday with my rampage through English history ("Oh! I forgot James! He was kind of obsessed with witches! And had issues with women. But, considering his family history, that's not terribly surprising, no?"). But it was nice to see that I have five returning students from various classes in my past; considering the caliber of faculty we have, I'm fairly astonished that they'd choose to take a second class with me.

Also, the new tv season is killing me, what with all the shows all the time. Tivo helps, but I'm only one woman. Who should be reading Sidney's sonnets instead of watching Studio 60. And Gilmore Girls. And Top Model. At least Life on Mars is done for the moment (and it's awesome and you should find it on dvd), along with all my summer reality crap, so that clears the schedule somewhat. But I suspect there will be attrition in the future.

In which I make a (triumphant?) return

I have to go down to campus today, for various and sundry reasons, but one is the Beginning-of-the-Year Reception. Whee. I suppose I'll make an appearance, if for no other reason than to make sure that Flaky Advisor gets the materials she needs to write me a letter for conference funding. But I'm spooked, for the first time ever, by the idea of the reception. I know fewer and fewer people every year. I have no idea who the people are who are heading the grad social-ish committee, the same committee I myself served on just a couple of years ago. I honestly thought that I'd avoid the diss-years alienation problem, but, alas. I've become that ghostly sixth-year haunting the department, quivering slightly in the light, scurrying back to the safety of the library (metaphorically, that is; I hate our awful, brutal library and avoid it as much as I can).

Let's pretend, however, that my on-campus absence is due not to hermetical ways but due to my having a life outside the academy. In fact, part of the reason I can't stay long at the reception and lead a drunken contingent of first-years to the local pub for further revelry (the highlight of previous receptions) is that a friend is coming in from out of town tonight and I have to pick him up at the airport. Yay for visits! (Never mind that I still need to plan the first two classes of my UChaos class that starts on Monday. I'm sure I'll have time... sometime? On the bus to class on Monday, maybe?)

In which I have an embarrassment of riches

What happens when the same proposal is accepted by two different conferences? Can I tweak the paper to make them different? Should I mention that things might be slightly different from the proposal? Shouldn't the internets have this kind of information available somewhere?

Eta: Ok, having done some research, I think I'll have sufficient new stuff in the second iteration of the paper, since the chapter it's based on will be done by then. Now I just have to figure out how to tell the panel organizer that the title and/or content may be different than the proposal. But since the panel is Shx and contemporaries, he should be happy that I'll be including a contemporary, right?

In which my home is full of nerds

I'm wasting my Saturday night watching videos of my youth on YouTube, and I have discovered two things:

1) Carl is a gay nerd. He not only owns and knows all of Erasure's 12" remix singles, he has a favorite (the Big Train remix of "A Little Respect," apparently).
2) I spent my high-school years as a proto-emo nerd. Case in point.

In which I am delighted

Check it: I had two conference submissions accepted today, within hours of submission. Which means either they're desperate or I'm awesome. I'm going with the latter for the moment. As this is my first serious foray into the conference world, I'm quite pleased with the quick and happy results.

Special thanks to Flavia for her helpful advice on the proposal format--it worked!

In which there is one more thing

Late addition to the complaint list: I'm torturing myself reading over the MLA job list, where I'm not even halfway through and have found 29 postings for my field (also noted here and here). And that's just the ones that name-drop Big Willie. And many of them are in not-bad places! Why now? Why not save some of this bumper crop for next year when I'll be able to throw my hat in the ring? Let's just hope that this clears out a number of my job-seeking compatriots, leaving room next year for me. Good luck to those lucky enough to be out there this year.

Stupid dissertation that is still not writing itself. I kind of hate myself right now.

Eta: Final tally--52. Wow.

In which I register some complaints

• I have no idea why Blogger's being stupid with comments. Apparently, it doesn't like to acknowledge people who have Blogger accounts, so comments have to be posted under the "other" option. I ran into this on KT's blog as well, so I'm thinking it might be a problem larger than li'l ol' me.
• Why is it no longer possible to buy a six-pack of diet Coke at the grocery store? Why must I buy my six-pack from our local (very nice but) overpriced bodgea? If I'm at home, I'm enjoying my diet Coke in two-liter form, but since St. Happy became a Pepsiopoly, I'm taking a can of my choice to class with me. A six-pack will last me two weeks; I neither need nor have room for yet another twelve-pack of soda in my fridge (which already houses one of Coke and one of black cherry Fresca). Vive la six-pack!
• I am seriously going to start running down people on the sidewalk. Fully loaded, my bookbag weighs probably 15 pounds, and I am willing and able to sling it at those who will not cede me the 18 inches of space I need to pass. If you're walking two or three abreast toward me, something's gotta give, and it's not gonna be me, because I'm wearing pretty shoes and the grass is muddy.
  
• I'm shopping for a dress for the end-of-the-month multi-wedding extravaganza, and I hatehatehate being exactly at the tipping point between "regular" and "plus" sizes. A size 12 in a plus store is, like, two inches bigger than the same size at a regular store, leaving a two-inch gap where I live and where there are no dresses. There are, of course, two solutions to this: lose weight and go down to the land of 10, where things make sense again; or, gain weight and move toward the land of 16, where things also make sense. Or I can just wear one of the fourteentrillion black dresses I already own (proving that this size discrepancy exists in time rather than as an absolute, since I had to have bought these dresses sometime).
  
• My left knee is evil and has decided to protest stairs. Which is a problem, as I live on the third floor and must navigate stairs both at home and at the El station. Also, dear Aleve, you do not work on joint pain, so shut up about it already.
• Laundry is calling out, pleading with me to just do it. But, see above, re: stairs and evil knee.

P.S. to Al: I've left a couple of comments for you recently, but you have comment approval turned on! Approve me! Validate me! Tell me I'm loved!

In which I have a dilemma

One of my students from my spring course at UChaos has asked me for a law-school recommendation. I warned her off that she didn't want one from me because, um, I'm not a faculty member? Like, at all? But then I get a response that she's "talked to some people" and is comfortable using me as a recommender. I'm happy to write for her, because she was good in class and all, but I'm still concerned that I'll be her death knell. She's applying to big-city schools, so I know they'll be expecting high-caliber letters. Should I even agree to this, and figure out a way to address the weirdness of me in my letter? Or should I beg off, somehow?

In which there is a kind of memorial and a kind of management

We did Titus today, and I normally don't try to link course material to "real life" because I think (hope) that my students are bright enough to see why classic literature is important in their everyday lives. But today, as we were talking about the absurd jumps in magnitude and response in the play, it struck me that at the heart of this overwrought, gory, slightly campy play is an extended meditation on how an individual responds to unspeakable grief. In the face of literal horror--his mutilated and raped daughter--Titus runs out of methods of performing grief and starts to laugh. It's not madness, yet, but it's a recognition of how impossible responding rationally to the impossible really is.

The other attempts to respond are equally untenable, but recognizable. Titus is willing to exchange his own bodily pain for the hope of... well, hope itself. He cuts off his hand in exchange for the life of his sons and recieves, in return, their heads. It looks like a sacrifice, but really, isn't it just a desperate grab (pardon the pun) for anything that looks like not-grief? And then the immediate shift to the language of revenge, which obscures but doesn't mitigate grief, at least offers a version of the future in a moment that looks like the end of the world.

Which is to say... I don't know what. Titus is not a hopeful play, but it's true in as much as there are times when we have nothing left to say.

So here's my memorial: Five years ago, I slept in, because classes wouldn't start for two weeks yet. Carl got up early to do some writing. It was a beautiful day, clear and crisp and not yet fall but no longer summer, exactly. Around nine, Carl came in to tell me that I might want to wake up, since the end of the world might be happening. And that's all. No one we know was hurt or killed. Our lives didn't change. But I still couldn't watch the footage again this morning, and I still don't know what words work to make this better.

In which things improve

The second day was better. I have a handful of students who, when I start to get exasperated with the lack of response to my questions, will speak up. I do love the overachievers when they make my life easier (plus, that was me as an undergrad, because I just could not shut up). And I got to play with my wired classroom, leading a close reading on the computer display, highlighting linked images in a Word document. Super-geeky, but fun.

This hour-long format, though, is going to be a struggle (see above, re: not shutting up). I had to hold them at the end to take the roll I forgot at the beginning of class (I'm switching to a sign-in scheme this week, once enrollment settles). I ran out of time for my intro to Titus, so I sent them off with "Between 1590 and 1594! Tragedy! Bloody! Look for striking imagery! Make a note of what's funny!" So, yeah, that'll make for a productive Monday class.

But then I got a real weekend, after my summer of all one long weekend. Not that I did anything, but it did feel different. I did procrastinate terribly (and am still doing so, obviously). And my friend Nicole sent me some cute slipper-socks, just in time for the autumn weather that's descended on our fair city.

And, um. That's all. Back to Titus for me.

In which I dye and then I die

Dying first: First class this morning. Woke up bright and early, did some warrior poses (for "confidence" and "energy"), ate some cereal, drank some coffee, put on my cute new outfit, and headed out to the train with half an hour or so to go the eight stops to campus (estimated trip time: 15 minutes).

You know what happened. So I got to class late, flustered, not having drunk my diet coke yet. Talked too fast, talked too much, didn't even get to play with the fancy-schmancy a/v hookup in the classroom. Did the "Why Shx is important" song and dance (Hint: It's not just because it's a requirement). Ran off at least one student (she quietly set her syllabus back on the stack and slipped out). Felt very overheated and shiny. Skipped office hours to come home to sulk.

Eh. This just means that Friday has to be better, right?

Dyeing: Yesterday, I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror at L&T. While I was expecting to hate what my hair was doing (stupid growing-out phase), I was horrified to discover that I had a blonde streak happening in my bangs. The placement of which I clearly did not authorize. Suddenly, I was 13 again, freaking out over how blonde my hair gets in the sun. Because it's a weird, bad-highlight-job kind of blonde, not a lovely sun-kissed kind. Just, no. So I had to come home and dye. I'm back to dark brown now (espresso, allegedly) and feel much more like myself. Plus, I look meaner. Which helps when one is flustered and overheated and shiny in front of 25 students first thing in the morning.

In which we toast

Please welcome the newest member of our household, the Toastation:


So pretty, no? And heats to searing in seconds. I forsee a lot of french-bread pizza in my future.

And, yes, this is prime procrastination fodder during this, my second-to-last day of summer vacation. What I should be doing is double-checking my syllabus, organizing notes, charging up the Shuffle, whatnot. What I'm actually doing is lazing in my pajamas, trying to finish up my first RPM sock (why am I so bad at elastic bind-offs?), and toasting things.

Somehow, we tried to pack a full summer's worth of going out into the last four days, and I am far too old for this kind of schedule. One lively bar night and two barbecues later, I'm tired. But I needed the practice at being social, I guess.

What I'm mostly dreading is all the beginning-of-the-year small-talk schmoozing. Mostly because I the contents of my "What I did on my summer vacation" essay is: video games, baseball, napping. I'm mad at myself for not finishing the chapter, but I know that self-recrimination isn't especially productive. At least I have three weeks to practice on the St. Happy folk before I have to face my department.

I which I am a victim of scheduling

Well, hell. I just discovered that my class at UofChaos has been switched from TTh to MW. Thanks so much for letting me know, guys, rather than letting me find out by looking at the timeschedule. Oh, wait, you totally didn't let me know. Bah.

So this means that I'll be teaching mornings at St. Happy, holding my office hours until noon, trekking down to Chaos, and teaching until 4:30. Not the worst schedule, since it frees up two days a week, but still, those are going to be long days.

What really sucks about this is that it's going to make it very difficult to sit in on the class offered by the Grand Ol' Gal of our department, which I was really hoping to do. She's been one of my greatest advocates in the past, and I could really use that kind of cheerleading now. I'll have to think hard about whether I can swing this.

I which I offer presents

For you! Here are the songs that won't leave my head lately:

My Morning Jacket, "Off the Record"

Kelly Hogan, "No, Bobby, Don't"

Gone!

Enjoy! I'm off to eat cake and buy crap. Because it's my biiiiiiirthdaaaaaay!

In which I consider the past

You've Changed 60% in 10 Years

You've done a good job changing with the times, but deep down, you're still the same person. You're clothes, job, and friends may have changed some - but it hasn't changed you.

How Much Have You Changed in 10 Years?

A timely quiz-thing, as I'm feeling a little past-sick. Ten years ago, I would have given anything to have the summer off from everything. I had to take a quick peek at my old resume, but in the summer of '96, I was moving from my job at a tiny media-production company (where I made my on-camera debut [and finale] as a presenter on a sad little show called Internet! [which my insane boss insisted on calling "Internet quotation mark!"] that was shown on, like, four PBS stations) to a job as a tech writer, kinda, at a credit-card processing place, where I learned to do all manner of desktop-publishing madness in Word, of all things. But at least I was out of retail hell, so I was happy with my employment situation.

I'm pretty sure that I had also just started back at Big State U. (I had dropped out after two disastrous years as a theater major. No, really.), this time as an English major. I didn't know what I was going to do with that degree (I think I had some kind of delusion of being a magazine writer), but I knew from my time at community college that school was at least something I was good at. Plus, I was turning 24, which meant that I no longer had to list parental income on my FAFSA, so I was living large on my Pell grants.

That summer, Carl and I had been living together for two years, and had just moved into our last and best place in Tucson. We were three blocks from campus, in a fairly large duplex with off-street parking, the very height of undergraduate living. It seems like from the time we moved in, there was always someone dropping by. It was fun, being the place everyone hangs out, and I wonder if that kind of place is even possible after college. I miss that incarnation of the Kitten Lounge.

As for me, I think I actually haven't changed that much. If anything, I've become more stuck in my ways and crotchety. I recall being much more anxious ten years ago, but also more impulsive. At the time, I had very little compunction about staying out to all hours at Club Congress, drinking vodka tonics like water, and making Carl call me in sick the next morning. But I also concocted an elaborate cover story when I went in to work again. I'd skip class if the weather was bad, but finally started writing my class papers well in advance of the due date.

The one way I think I've clearly changed in the past decade is that I've discovered my own ambition. One of my dad's big pieces of advice is "Don't float," but that's exactly what I was doing back then. I was happy being presently successful; I had a job, I was in school, I had a good boyfriend and a nice apartment, and that was enough. But I didn't have any plans beyond the next weekend, and it really wasn't until Carl started working on his M.F.A. that I realized that I needed to need something beyond. The plans I made at the time didn't exactly work like I thought they would, and my route to this point has been circuitous, to say the least, but at least I wanted> what I've wound up with.

My friend Andy and I used to have a half-serious joke that we firmly believed that, at some point in the near future, we would be famous. We weren't sure how this would happen, but someone, somewhere, would realize that we were awesome and make the world know about us. And I think this idea of serendipitous success* was what held me back from actually making my own luck. I finally let go of that idea a few years back (though someone should totally discover me and how awesome I am), and that's when I turned the corner on ambition.

And that's how I got here, looking down the barrel of 34. Which looks better when it sounds. I've seen on a couple of academic blogs a call for New School-Year Resolutions, and between that and my birthday (tomorrow! What did you get me?), I'm thinking along those lines. So, next up, resolutions.

*Remind me to tell you sometime about the whole theory I have about The Problem With Kids These Days and the idea of "accidental" celebrity.

In which I nerd out

Shopping today: school supplies.

Clockwise from left: paper cutter, fancy new pen, other new pen, stack of Levenger note cards, chrome binder clips, candy, mailing labels, super-shiny Swingline stapler, tiny folders for note cards, flag-and-post-it combo.

The fancy new pen is an early birthday present. It's actually a really fancy pen, but it was on sale for a regular-fancy price.

And, just for good measure, a glamour shot of the Swingline:


I still don't feel like I'm quite ready to head back to school, but having stuff makes it seem a little less daunting. Tomorrow I'll rewrite my Titus lecture notes (since I've done it three times in the past year and a half, my current notes are getting a little unwieldy) on my new cards, with my new pen, and file them in my new tiny folder.

In which I make socks and consider writing

Firstly, I'm so bored with my Broadripple socks that I can't even look at them anymore. And the Fixation yarn feels nasty in humid weather. So I started a pair of RPMs, toe-up. Behold*:This poor yarn. It's been knit and ript so very many times, through at least three different patterns. But now that I've made it through the short-row heel (which took four tries, three of which I did with the wrong number of stitches in the short row, because try as I might, I can't read a pattern right the first time round, let alone do math properly), I'm liking it. The pattern is a bit hard to see in these photos, but it's nice and subtle. And since I have li'l feets, I should be able to eke out a knee sock from each hank of yarn.

Secondly, I came across two calls for papers today for conferences that are directly up my dissertation alley**. I have about three weeks to slap together proposals, but one I can totally crib from my first chapter and the other is not a far reach from the chapter I should be working on this fall. But you know what would make this a hell of a lot easier? If ever in my academic career I had been taught how to compose a paper proposal. Or even what a successful one looks like. For all the interminable talk about "professionalization" that goes on 'round these parts, we're sorely lacking in the nuts and bolts of How to Do Things.

*Isn't it just charming how my skin glows? Like a pale, ghostly spectre of indolence and shut-in-ed-ness?
**Dissertation Alley is totally my new band name.

In which I find my people

I am not alone. Y'all are the freaks.

In which some progress is made

I managed to get up at 10, I ate breakfast, I put clothes on, I ate lunch, and... Well, I got that far, didn't I? I also changed my sheets (which included sewing tie-tabs to a new cover and a new comforter, because I'm all Martha-y like that) and put up a picture in the bathroom, because the fun never stops Chez Steph.

Perhaps it's because my to-do list is reaching record lengths. At the top (and disregarding that "Finish Chapter" entry that casts a dark, dark shadow over all else) are:

• re-read Sidney's Astrophil and Stella and select poems for my Stuff & Nothing class;
• organize my Shx lecture notes;
• re-read Titus;
  
• set up Chalk sites for both classes;
• go down to campus and check out some of the supplementary reading for S&N, to see if it's actually worthwhile to put on the syllabus;
• and a passel of crafty-stuff, like washing the fabric for my shirtdress pattern and sewing up a sock knitting bag.
  

But since I got yesterday's three issues under control, or some semblance thereof, I have hope. Maybe I'll make a sidebar to-do list.

In which we resume normal programming

This summer of living life as a 13-year-old boy has taken an unexpected turn--I am now filled with teenage malaise and ennui. Clearly, steps must be taken to remedy this, as I was a deeply unpleasant teenager (hi, Mom!).

Step one: Something happens here at the Kitten Lounge between 11 p.m. and 2 a.m. The time, she vanishes. I tend not to notice until SportsCenter starts repeating, and then I panic because It's two-'o-clock in the morning and we have to go to bed NOW! Not ok. So, tonight I set an alarm for midnight, at which point going-to-bed procedures must commence.

Step two: I can no longer feed myself like an adult. We just had a major food crisis when C. and I discovered that half of our fridge contained stuff that was just Not Right Anymore. This, despite the fact that we've somehow fallen into a schedule of one meal a day. Which, come to think of it, might have something to do with the general bad-feeling hereabouts. There will be menu-planning and grocery-shopping activities after C. gets back with slices from the place on the corner (baby steps).

Step three: Additionally, I can no longer dress myself. Perhaps if I were to get up in the morning and put actual clothes on, rather than yesterday's t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants, I would feel more like a productive member of society.

Once I get myself up, fed, and dressed, maybe I can think more about actually doing things with my day. Stay tuned for exciting highlights from Being Conscious!

In which... whatever

Thing the first: I'm immensely pleased with the speakers on the new Lappy. So loud! So lovely! I am less pleased, however, with how stupid Pandora is being today. When did I ever say Hillary Duff was allowed on my Mopey Rock station? Never, I think. And satellite radio is not currently my friend either. Seriously, XMU, what the hell? I don't want your stupid Wolfmother and Fiery Furnaces and all your other stupid noise-rock. I like pop, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. In fact, I would really appreciate it if someone, somewhere would make the Lightning Seeds available on the internets. And don't pretend like you don't know who they are. Not a one of us was as cool in 1989 as we thought we were.

Thing the second: I'm also immensely pleased with what fall is looking like, clothing-wise. Now that I've decided that abominations like this and this and good god this (see above, re: not cool in 1989) don't really exist and are a mass hallucination produced by Diet Coke with Splenda*, I'm thinking that I may not have to buy anything for fall because I already have all of these pieces (though I may need that grey skrt with pockets!).

Thing the third: I'm immensely pleased with Chicago's weather lately. Just fantastically perfect, really. Makes me feel like I should take up some kind of outdoor activity, like beach volleyball or hopscotch or something. Not that I'm going to, but I may sit on the balcony with a magazine.

*Splenda is the devil. It gave me horrible kidney cramps from just two packets in an iced coffee. Kidney cramps! That made me call my mom and ask her if she'd be a kidney donor! Because I thought I was dying!

In which there is yet another remodel

Thanks to the helpful recommendation of the brilliant and lovely Heather, there's been a bit more site redecoration. I'm quite happy with the newest new look. I can't for the life of me get the recent posts to display in the sidebar, so we'll just make do with the monthly archives for now, ok?

Oh, and I took the Shx class for Winter. Don't tell my advisor.

In which I consider some clandestine pedagogy

I got an e-mail today offering me a Winter Shakespeare class at St. Happy U. It'd be the same class I'm doing this fall, but with the added incentive that I could request my dates and times. Plus, money. Since picking up these gigs at St.H. is part of my hopeful plan to make myself very, very apealing to the English dept. there, I'm totally going to take it. But I have to keep myself from mentioning it to my diss. advisor, for I'm sure that if she finds out that I'm doing more teaching during what should be my fellowship year, she'll haul me in for deprogramming.

The thing is, I really like teaching. It's fun, and it gives me a reason to wear cute clothes. (One of my evaluations from Spring mentioned my excellent shoes.) And I feel like, now that I've mostly gotten the hang of it, I can get more done when I have a set schedule for my days. If nothing else, this summer has proved that I am not a responsible scholar when let loose into unscheduled days. In fact, I'm not even a responsible adult; today I managed to eat exactly once, and that's only because Carl made me a fantastic club sandwich.* And I've spent the evening watching baseball (and Baseball Tonight) and playing Diablo. This summer's experiment with free time has determined that I am, actually, a 13-year-old boy.

In more productive news, I got some lovely burgundy ultrasuede to recover the dining chairs. And this shirt, which is super-cute, no?

*Carl's sandwiches are, seriously, things of beauty. Today's was the Club Continental, with pepper turkey, apple-smoked bacon, swiss cheese, butter lettuce, beefsteak tomatoes, and a parmesean mayo. His plan, someday when he's gone emeritus, is to open Profe Carlos's Sammich Shack, open every day 10-7 unless he has class. And you will totally want to go there.

In which I fix the comments

They should be working properly now.

In which my arms are already tired

I just bought over $700 worth of plane tickets for the two (count 'em! Two!) weddings I will be attending in 36 hours at the end of September. One's in Tucson, one's in Las Vegas, and I'm terribly excited about both. But. It'll make my weekend look like this:

• Thursday, Sept. 28--teach class, end class early, catch bus to train, switch to O'Hare train, fly to Tucson, eat Jack In The Box, drag my sister and her boy to the Shelter, sleep.
• Friday, Sept. 29--well, I can't very well go to Tucson and not shop at the Macy's that's always been very, very good to me, can I? Also today must bring visits with the niblings, tortilla-eating, and, of course, my cousin Jill's wedding (since it's the whole point of this leg of the trip and all). All around, big family day. Then, possibly, Club Congress and sleep.
• Saturday, Sept. 30--fly to Vegas, play blackjack, begin getting my friend Wendy drunk (because she needs it), and get Nancy ready to get married. Get Nancy married. Back to drinking and blackjack. Consider sleeping.
• Sunday, Oct. 1--Die, possibly? Breakfast at the tragic Denny's across from Treasure Island where I have both witnessed a tranny-prostitute knife fight and my own wedding dinner. Late this afternoon, we fly back to Chicago. Thankfully, it's a non-stop flight.
• Monday, Oct. 2--Teach at 9:30 a.m. Seriously?

Not the most hectic weekend possible, but considering I'll be taking the rest of the week to recover from running errands today, I think it might kill me. With joy! And fun! And seeing family and friends! And cocktails!

Sadly, the detour through Vegas means I won't be able to haul home a supply of tortillas. Which means I'll just have to eat a dozen or so while I'm there.

In which I make peace with (some of) my demons

I think I'm happy now. Yes, the blogroll looks strange, huddling over on the left there as if it's afeared of the posts, and those hovering lines on the right just won't go away, no matter how many times I delete "lines.gif" from the template. But--deep breath--that's o...k...

Now to spend the day moving some old posts over. I probably won't go back very far, so if there's anything that provokes strong, possessive emotions in any of you, do speak up so I can save it.

Credit where it's due dept.: The original template was this, which is much prettier than the butchery I've done to it would suggest.

In which there is a great struggle

Still trying to spiff things up. Getting that left-hand column up has been nothing but trouble. And now that I have it sorted, things are looking goofy toward the bottom of the page. Bah.

Any suggestions of how to fix all the things that are wrong would be greatly appreciated. My HTML skillz are woefully underdeveloped. Or, conversely, suggestions on how to make peace with my delightfully flawed template would also work.

Eta: The saga continues. The magic interwebs pixies that live in FrontPage took pity on me and made the comments thing show up in the right place and took care of the bottom of the page. I continue to be troubled by the spacing (both vertical and horizontal) in the sidebars, but I'm trying to make my peace with it.

In which I audition other sites

All the cool kids have Blogger, so maybe I need it to. I'm currently auditioning replacement blog-things, so we'll see how this works.

In which I continue to slack

The heat has finally broken, allowing me to do something other than whine and play online games. Carl and I got caught in a fantastic downpour last night as we tried to scurry to the grocery store. Nothing better than getting caught in the rain when you're wearing nothing that risks ruining and you have nowhere important to be after.

We also put up curtains yesterday to try to block the last of the heat. They look nice, like they belong in a grown-up apartment. Well, except for the "Go Cubs" sign, which will eventually make its way into the office. Also, look! New dining-room table! New coffee table! (Thanks to my parents for the former, to Ikea for the latter.) I am super-geeky excited about the coffee table, as it has a leaf, as well as well-hidden storage inside. (As usual, click for bigness.)

Ok, on to the promised updates.

Re: my fingernails

Coming along. We've reached the point where the weak edges are growing out and, of course, breaking. And I'm still struggling with my pinkies. But, in addition to the lure of shiny new jewelry (yes, Heather, I'll make C. buy me something, since he has a freakishly attuned costume-jewelry sense), I'm also very much in love with the dark, wine-colored nail polishes that all my magazines are pushing for fall. So I'll be painting as soon as the last of my sad nails reach fingertip-length.

Re: socks

Jaywalkers in Lorna's Laces Shepherd's Sock Mixed Berry. Modeled by my mom, the recipient. And, yes, those are red patent Birks, because she's precisely that awesome. I still think they're a little baggy, but she said they fit fine. For my first effort using actual sock yarn, I'm fairly pleased. A fun pattern, suitable for knitting on the train or bus, which is where much of this particular pair took shape.

I'm also in the final toe decreases on my second Broadripple in a red Fixation. They're... fine, I guess. Just kind of boring. And I started a Young Lady's Evening Sock from Knitting Vintage Socks, but I think it's kind of awful at the moment. Someday, when I care enough, I'll rip 'em and start over.

Re: everything else
I made a dress, but it's ugly, so I won't show you. I have 12 pages of my revised chapter, but it's still Not Good. I placed all my course book orders for fall, and now I'm fairly terrified of my Ren. Lit. class. I suspect that I'll have no idea what I'm doing in it, and I have 24 students already enrolled.Blogger: meatcheesebun :: Create Post

I'm also rethinking why the hell I have this sad little web presence. I have yet to hit upon any kind of theme or consistent level of posting. Lately, I'm just happy to have all my Blogrolling stuff in one convenient place, but that's no reason to give Typepad money, now is it? So, I'm soliciting advice from those of you still hanging in with me. To stay or to go? To post sock photos or complain about the writing process? What to do, what to do?