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.