This birthday has tremendous suck-potential: turning 30 = old, Wednesday, limited social circle, etc. But this birthday worked out pretty well!
For my actual birthday, I went to bed around 6, rolled out of bed at noon. Made pancakes and checked the explosion of birthday wishes on my Facebook. Skipped the Schechner in favor of sating my cleaning OCD. Also, it was impossible to sit down and read because my phone was ringing off the hook! For class, SuperK brought cheesecake in my honor. There was the awkward singing, but still nice. And instead of doing work or eating decent food, we went to In-n-Out. It was a leisurely, gluttonous day.
And yesterday was really just part 2. After a few hours of domestic chores (laundry, dishes, etc), SuperK and Mev got back from the mock-interviews with some great gossip to fuel the ride downtown to my birthday dinner. We met up with the Chef and her boyfriend at Sojourner Cafe. The vegetarian options were extensive, but the giant slices of tofu were a bit much for me. I got some fabulously snarky cards (oh Mev, I love it when you get all radical feminist!) It was fun, polite, classy birthday - a nice counterpoint to my 29th birthday at Broney's with my OU kids and lots of girly drinks.
Driving back to campus, SuperK dropped me off at ballroom practice, where I learned the technical execution of a rag-doll in salsa, and then danced (poorly) some standard with a potential dance partner. So much fun! But the cherry flats were not really the best choice for Viennese Waltz. Guess I will just have to buy new ballroom shoes! But do I get new Latin shoes to replace the dying pair I bought 10 years ago? Standard shoes for competition? Dance sneaks? And I still need a pair of flats and slouchy boots... I smell a field trip to L.A.!
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Turning Thirty
This whole milestone birthday has been rather creeping me out. Because thirty is undeniably adult. I struggle with the adult-ness. Blame my student-lifestyle, my being mistaken for a minor, and my biological clock all working their mindfuck mojo on me.
Instead of trying to ignore it or escape it, I decided to embrace it. I lay down my books, pulled on my Keens and the big sweater the Cheese Fiend made me, jumped on my periwinkle bike and went to the beach. I listened to the crashing of the waves, standing on an empty (slightly smelly), moonlit beach as I transitioned from 29 to 30. The beach just seemed appropriate. It represents something exciting and special from my childhood and it now represents my new life. The beach is something consistently pleasant and escape-y in my life. The week at Bethany Beach with the whole extended family sharing a condo was always the best week of the year. And I remember driving to Virginia Beach on a whim after our ER parties in college. Or standing on the beach in Massachusetts on the first day of spring as it snowed (I'm a sucker for irony). Or some of the best dates I've ever been on, playing in the water and basking on the sand. Add the cliche of waves/passing of time and its inherent different-ness, and it was an obvious choice.
Of course, because it was me, I was nearly late. Which meant that my heart was pounding from pedalling faster to make it to the beach by 4AM PST/7AM EST. And the waves kinda made me have to pee. And I didn't lock my bike at the stairs, which made me a bit paranoid. But totally worth it.
on Pandora: "You Got Yr Cherry Bomb" - Spoon
Instead of trying to ignore it or escape it, I decided to embrace it. I lay down my books, pulled on my Keens and the big sweater the Cheese Fiend made me, jumped on my periwinkle bike and went to the beach. I listened to the crashing of the waves, standing on an empty (slightly smelly), moonlit beach as I transitioned from 29 to 30. The beach just seemed appropriate. It represents something exciting and special from my childhood and it now represents my new life. The beach is something consistently pleasant and escape-y in my life. The week at Bethany Beach with the whole extended family sharing a condo was always the best week of the year. And I remember driving to Virginia Beach on a whim after our ER parties in college. Or standing on the beach in Massachusetts on the first day of spring as it snowed (I'm a sucker for irony). Or some of the best dates I've ever been on, playing in the water and basking on the sand. Add the cliche of waves/passing of time and its inherent different-ness, and it was an obvious choice.
Of course, because it was me, I was nearly late. Which meant that my heart was pounding from pedalling faster to make it to the beach by 4AM PST/7AM EST. And the waves kinda made me have to pee. And I didn't lock my bike at the stairs, which made me a bit paranoid. But totally worth it.
on Pandora: "You Got Yr Cherry Bomb" - Spoon
Monday, January 12, 2009
Embrace the slackitude
Perfectionism/OCD rears its ugly head.
Every week, we are assigned piles of reading to do. People have told me that it is not possible to do all of that reading, and that impossibility is part of the joke. But it is possible for me, just unpleasant. Up until the last couple of weeks of the quarter, I read every page. This quarter, the reading is even denser. After a chapter or 2, my brain is full, and I can't absorb any more information. Combine this with apathy or animosity (I don't care about things unrelated to my work, and I am annoyed that I have to do it). Now, I am trying to learn to let go. To send my response without reading every page. It makes me twitchy. Like physically twitchy. Now I trying to resist the impulse to pick up where I left off.
I have aced procrastination (designing my GauchoSpace profile with Buttercup as my avatar), love the lazy, but I still haven't figured out the slacking thing. Slacking shouldn't be this hard!
on the tube: Grey's Anatomy pilot. on the floor: me and the yoga mat
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Giant pinata
If you haven't seen it, this is what I want for my birthday party.
No, no, not the cruise (although I wouldn't turn it down). I want this giant pinata.
Can you imagine what it would kind of things you could whack it with? Being surrounded by hundreds of other people who have all turned into 5 year olds at a block party? Or better - standing under the shower of candy?
(PS. It was filmed in Philadelphia at Broad/Washington)
Now back to my regularly scheduled Schechner.
No, no, not the cruise (although I wouldn't turn it down). I want this giant pinata.
Can you imagine what it would kind of things you could whack it with? Being surrounded by hundreds of other people who have all turned into 5 year olds at a block party? Or better - standing under the shower of candy?
(PS. It was filmed in Philadelphia at Broad/Washington)
Now back to my regularly scheduled Schechner.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
UPDATED: New Works dance concert
For its size, Santa Barbara has an impressive dance calendar. This quarter in particular, there seems to be alot of modern concerts, guest artists and master classes. Today, I had tickets for the New Works event.
The concert itself was OK. There were some interesting moments (one dance piece had tango music, but modern choreography), and quite a bit of lame/amateurish. I really liked the last two pieces. The lighting designer finally found her groove, instead of just poorly blended areas and ineffective side lighting (the booms were focused too high and had pale colors), she started playing with color and movement. The last piece had alot of magenta and deliberate dark, combined with the remixed industrial music, goth-dominatrix costumes and general Furies intensity. It was high energy, balanced but not symmetrical trio, interesting shapes.
Much better than the autobiographical piece about the dancer's schizophrenic aunt. The music was live and cool, but the choreography + spoken word was annoying. I totally called her as dance therapy/yoga girl. More striking was the difference between them who can dance and them who can choreograph. I was very pleased to see an older soloist, but she is a much better dancer than choreographer. Also exciting - a guy who could do all the choreography of his female counterparts, but still look masculine. I saw my 8AM dance instructor doing his own choreography, and noticed that I only pay attention to faces when I already know them.
Now we get to the truly snarky review: I have no patience for fat dancers. Let me clarify - I love curvy girls; I like seeing actual flesh much better than sinew and bone. Candidly, I don't know how trained dancers can get fat, given how much time they spend moving, burning calories. But if you are too fat to do the moves, that's when I have a problem. There were the fat dancers who couldn't heave their asses on top of their pointes; it looked sloppy. Then again, there were the skinny girls who got away with looking like a dancer instead of actually having good technique. To be fair, I didn't like the anorexic girl in the modern amalgam any better. You need calories to move like that.
What burned me was the total scheduling chaos it wreaked on my day. First, I thought the matinee was at 11AM, for reasons unknown. Then the concert lasted alot longer than dance concerts usually do. It totally killed me at the end when they spent 20 minutes RE-presenting the annual award. It was gratuitous, and totally destroyed the pacing/energy. Instead of leaving after a really rockin' piece, talking it up, we had to sit through a ceremony and then race out to pee and catch up on our days.
Now I debate the merits of going the event next week. But I have to find another $13.
The concert itself was OK. There were some interesting moments (one dance piece had tango music, but modern choreography), and quite a bit of lame/amateurish. I really liked the last two pieces. The lighting designer finally found her groove, instead of just poorly blended areas and ineffective side lighting (the booms were focused too high and had pale colors), she started playing with color and movement. The last piece had alot of magenta and deliberate dark, combined with the remixed industrial music, goth-dominatrix costumes and general Furies intensity. It was high energy, balanced but not symmetrical trio, interesting shapes.
Much better than the autobiographical piece about the dancer's schizophrenic aunt. The music was live and cool, but the choreography + spoken word was annoying. I totally called her as dance therapy/yoga girl. More striking was the difference between them who can dance and them who can choreograph. I was very pleased to see an older soloist, but she is a much better dancer than choreographer. Also exciting - a guy who could do all the choreography of his female counterparts, but still look masculine. I saw my 8AM dance instructor doing his own choreography, and noticed that I only pay attention to faces when I already know them.
Now we get to the truly snarky review: I have no patience for fat dancers. Let me clarify - I love curvy girls; I like seeing actual flesh much better than sinew and bone. Candidly, I don't know how trained dancers can get fat, given how much time they spend moving, burning calories. But if you are too fat to do the moves, that's when I have a problem. There were the fat dancers who couldn't heave their asses on top of their pointes; it looked sloppy. Then again, there were the skinny girls who got away with looking like a dancer instead of actually having good technique. To be fair, I didn't like the anorexic girl in the modern amalgam any better. You need calories to move like that.
What burned me was the total scheduling chaos it wreaked on my day. First, I thought the matinee was at 11AM, for reasons unknown. Then the concert lasted alot longer than dance concerts usually do. It totally killed me at the end when they spent 20 minutes RE-presenting the annual award. It was gratuitous, and totally destroyed the pacing/energy. Instead of leaving after a really rockin' piece, talking it up, we had to sit through a ceremony and then race out to pee and catch up on our days.
Now I debate the merits of going the event next week. But I have to find another $13.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
8AM dance class
I'm trying to expand my dance experience and vocabulary, which is proving much harder than I expected. First, finding dance in Theater & Dance is largely impossible, since the dancers operate on an entirely different plane. Theater people don't know much about them. The dancers hide behind locked doors. I have been trying to make connections, which is tricky, since they don't seem to check email.
I found one guy who does Laban. He recommended his new somatics class at UCSB. Which is scheduled for 8AM. Ouch. In an attempt to get to know this guy, pick his brain, etc, I dragged my butt out of bed at 7.30AM. Let me tell you what I think of biking in the fog/mist (with glasses on since it's too early to pry my eyes open enough to put contacts in), with a wet bike seat. To do a movement class before my body, let alone my mind can function. Extra bitchy - the instructor was late. Then we spend all of the class lying on our back trying to be aware of our breath and body. All I was aware of was how much comfier my bed is.
When I got home, I was so sore. Fell asleep so hard I was drooling. And the interrupted vampire hours combined with movement that early tweaked my cataplexy. Nothing like feeling like your body cannot move because all muscle tissue has been replaced by lead.
I'm really not persuaded that this class has any merit. Or at least not enough merit to drag ass that early. But he might make a great resource, so it makes it harder to blow it off.
I found one guy who does Laban. He recommended his new somatics class at UCSB. Which is scheduled for 8AM. Ouch. In an attempt to get to know this guy, pick his brain, etc, I dragged my butt out of bed at 7.30AM. Let me tell you what I think of biking in the fog/mist (with glasses on since it's too early to pry my eyes open enough to put contacts in), with a wet bike seat. To do a movement class before my body, let alone my mind can function. Extra bitchy - the instructor was late. Then we spend all of the class lying on our back trying to be aware of our breath and body. All I was aware of was how much comfier my bed is.
When I got home, I was so sore. Fell asleep so hard I was drooling. And the interrupted vampire hours combined with movement that early tweaked my cataplexy. Nothing like feeling like your body cannot move because all muscle tissue has been replaced by lead.
I'm really not persuaded that this class has any merit. Or at least not enough merit to drag ass that early. But he might make a great resource, so it makes it harder to blow it off.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
My brain is full
It must be one hell of a class when you realise that the first sip of water you take is over an hour into things, and then only to take an advil to sooth the headache I have gotten trying to absorb all of this information. All those brain cells rubbing together, exploding. It was actually amazing.
This seminar is called Epistemologies of Performance. But before we could dive into our book-a-week assignments, the professor wanted to lecture on some of the precursors. To the uninitiated, this would sound very dull. In reality, it was awesome. In 2 hours, he explained, with great insight and clarity Aristotle, Hegel, Kierkegaard, Marx, Freud, Lacan, Deleuze. He even illuminated the Benjamin article we read for yesterday's class. Holy crap! I had heard of these people, who are constantly name-dropped, but I never really understood them. Suddenly dialectic, sublation, WWI, angst, and such all made sense. After 2 hours, I wanted to raise my hand and ask to be excused since my brain was full.
Both seminars are 5-8. SuperK hates it, but I love it. At first I didn't understand the choice of time slot, but now it makes sense. Pop Culture should happen at night, when you can go home and watch all the pop culture you just discussed. And the performance class will require the kind of discussion more appropriate to a later time that involves wine. Like classical symposia.
This seminar is called Epistemologies of Performance. But before we could dive into our book-a-week assignments, the professor wanted to lecture on some of the precursors. To the uninitiated, this would sound very dull. In reality, it was awesome. In 2 hours, he explained, with great insight and clarity Aristotle, Hegel, Kierkegaard, Marx, Freud, Lacan, Deleuze. He even illuminated the Benjamin article we read for yesterday's class. Holy crap! I had heard of these people, who are constantly name-dropped, but I never really understood them. Suddenly dialectic, sublation, WWI, angst, and such all made sense. After 2 hours, I wanted to raise my hand and ask to be excused since my brain was full.
Both seminars are 5-8. SuperK hates it, but I love it. At first I didn't understand the choice of time slot, but now it makes sense. Pop Culture should happen at night, when you can go home and watch all the pop culture you just discussed. And the performance class will require the kind of discussion more appropriate to a later time that involves wine. Like classical symposia.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
More grumpiness
Because I forgot:
1. My fun new GPS doesn't work in Santa Barbara.
2. In an attempt to set up a savings account to sock way the tax-money the school doesn't take out of my check, the bank is hassling me, but only during normal business hours on the east coast.
3. O'Blenness sends me mail like it was going out of style, because apparently the last 2 times I paid them just wasn't enough. see also: Insurance blows.
4. The WB just took the season of the show I was watching offline. Thanks.
I'd just eat some chocolate and go to bed, but SuperK and his Costco card have not gotten my chocolate, oh, and I should probably start reading one of the 20+ books I get to read this quarter. ARGH!
PS. California may be sunny, but warm is a joke. And sunny just isn't as much fun when your freakin sunglasses broke.
1. My fun new GPS doesn't work in Santa Barbara.
2. In an attempt to set up a savings account to sock way the tax-money the school doesn't take out of my check, the bank is hassling me, but only during normal business hours on the east coast.
3. O'Blenness sends me mail like it was going out of style, because apparently the last 2 times I paid them just wasn't enough. see also: Insurance blows.
4. The WB just took the season of the show I was watching offline. Thanks.
I'd just eat some chocolate and go to bed, but SuperK and his Costco card have not gotten my chocolate, oh, and I should probably start reading one of the 20+ books I get to read this quarter. ARGH!
PS. California may be sunny, but warm is a joke. And sunny just isn't as much fun when your freakin sunglasses broke.
First day back = Suck
Technically, the first day of winter quarter was yesterday, but I only started classes today. Impressively, it went from zero to suck even faster than last quarter. Pushing my bike back to the apartment with SuperK, I was already at my mid-quarter level of rage. It's not a good sign.
Last night, I went into mini-panic in anticipation of the suck. I got the syllabi for my classes before the break, so I knew the workload ahead of me. Attending class today added the element of humanity. I am currently taking 3 classes, all of which culminate in a 20 page paper. In each of 2 grad seminars, I will be reading a book of theory a week, then writing. And add grant proposal+syllabus+prospectus. The History of Argentina class would be great if it was actually just the standard lecture. The professor is fun, but clearly hasn't updated his syllabi in 15 years. Also sketch - required reading = the professor's books. In the same way that I don't like self-citations in articles, I don't trust teachers who only their books. It's like trying getting paid twice and doing half the work. I am one of 2 grads, the other being Dumbass, who thinks we're all chummy.
The popular culture class had potential, but it going south quickly. The professor pretends to be super-interested in all of our research, and then proceeds to dismiss people. And as the added bonus, I get to lead a discussion all by myself on one of the hardest books. Lucky me. Oh and because the professor screwed up, the book on the syllabus that we all ordered already wasn't actually the one she wanted, that is now in the bookstore. But instead of having the one person who bought the 2nd book return it to the bookstore, all the rest of us just dropped $30 on a book we aren't using and will have to buy another $30 book.
Class session themselves are fun, but then I have to deal with annoying people. Zero STILL doesn't know my name and then gets miffy when I correct him. C has adopted Zero's habit of shouting and ignoring social cues. The people I like either get blown off or don't speak at all. However, there is an added bonus that we already know each other and can sort of mock either already.
Added bonus - a flaky friend asked me to pick him up from the airport and then drive him to the ass end of town. Oh, but since he forgot to pay his phone bill, he can't call me when he arrives and just expects me to keep up on his flight status, assuming he makes all his flights. This has moved out of "favor" or even "karma banking" into imposition.
10 weeks. 2 books a week. 60-80 pages. 4 people on the shit list already.
Last night, I went into mini-panic in anticipation of the suck. I got the syllabi for my classes before the break, so I knew the workload ahead of me. Attending class today added the element of humanity. I am currently taking 3 classes, all of which culminate in a 20 page paper. In each of 2 grad seminars, I will be reading a book of theory a week, then writing. And add grant proposal+syllabus+prospectus. The History of Argentina class would be great if it was actually just the standard lecture. The professor is fun, but clearly hasn't updated his syllabi in 15 years. Also sketch - required reading = the professor's books. In the same way that I don't like self-citations in articles, I don't trust teachers who only their books. It's like trying getting paid twice and doing half the work. I am one of 2 grads, the other being Dumbass, who thinks we're all chummy.
The popular culture class had potential, but it going south quickly. The professor pretends to be super-interested in all of our research, and then proceeds to dismiss people. And as the added bonus, I get to lead a discussion all by myself on one of the hardest books. Lucky me. Oh and because the professor screwed up, the book on the syllabus that we all ordered already wasn't actually the one she wanted, that is now in the bookstore. But instead of having the one person who bought the 2nd book return it to the bookstore, all the rest of us just dropped $30 on a book we aren't using and will have to buy another $30 book.
Class session themselves are fun, but then I have to deal with annoying people. Zero STILL doesn't know my name and then gets miffy when I correct him. C has adopted Zero's habit of shouting and ignoring social cues. The people I like either get blown off or don't speak at all. However, there is an added bonus that we already know each other and can sort of mock either already.
Added bonus - a flaky friend asked me to pick him up from the airport and then drive him to the ass end of town. Oh, but since he forgot to pay his phone bill, he can't call me when he arrives and just expects me to keep up on his flight status, assuming he makes all his flights. This has moved out of "favor" or even "karma banking" into imposition.
10 weeks. 2 books a week. 60-80 pages. 4 people on the shit list already.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
Travel and spite
3.46PM, 1/3/9
In the past few weeks, I have spent many quality hours in transit. It’s a shame that it is nearly impossible to read theory on a plane. But here are some of my more ‘charming’ observations:
1. Why do I keep getting selected for the extra screening? What about me screams ‘terrorist’? Is it my pleasant demeanor, my mismatched luggage or my ability to be confused for a minor? For the kicker – if I get held up in my screening and am running late, they won’t hold the plane for me, even if I pass, and even though it was the airline’s idea in the first place. (I smell overselling seats conspiracy, but then again, I also smell boy funk right now).
4. Air travel and illness do not mix. My return trip from Argentina was like the 2nd ring of hell because I was alternately congested then all dry. I thought my ears would never pop. Also, the whole recirculated air just screams contagion. Which is why products like Airborne are so popular. But for the Airborne Guy flying from SBA-Vegas, please pack tissues just in case, because the wiping of snot and then touching things is not sanitary for the rest of us. (He is the poster child for Purell, even though I hate the stuff). Also, the alcohol in those three Bloody Mary’s you actually lowered your immunity and entirely defeated the purpose of tomato juice.
In the past few weeks, I have spent many quality hours in transit. It’s a shame that it is nearly impossible to read theory on a plane. But here are some of my more ‘charming’ observations:
1. Why do I keep getting selected for the extra screening? What about me screams ‘terrorist’? Is it my pleasant demeanor, my mismatched luggage or my ability to be confused for a minor? For the kicker – if I get held up in my screening and am running late, they won’t hold the plane for me, even if I pass, and even though it was the airline’s idea in the first place. (I smell overselling seats conspiracy, but then again, I also smell boy funk right now).
- Spite factor 1: As part of the “VIP treatment,” the guy had to swab inside every single pocket of my carry-on items. Imagine my infinite glee as he discovered that Green Bag has 9 pockets, with magnets and broken zippers.
- Spite factor 2: Next time, I will resist my OCD tendency to pack carefully using lots of Ziploc and instead make my carry-on just explode with dirty undies and loose tampons (because it’s always a guy). Swab that!
- Remorse?: In his defense, the guy was as efficient and pleasant as possible.
- Spite factor: You can carry an empty bottle through security and fill it inside the airport. I’ve gotten smirks from Homeland Security, but it is still ok. I also tend to be the one who packs snacks, but that is because I am secretly about 5.
4. Air travel and illness do not mix. My return trip from Argentina was like the 2nd ring of hell because I was alternately congested then all dry. I thought my ears would never pop. Also, the whole recirculated air just screams contagion. Which is why products like Airborne are so popular. But for the Airborne Guy flying from SBA-Vegas, please pack tissues just in case, because the wiping of snot and then touching things is not sanitary for the rest of us. (He is the poster child for Purell, even though I hate the stuff). Also, the alcohol in those three Bloody Mary’s you actually lowered your immunity and entirely defeated the purpose of tomato juice.
- Spite factor: Pull a Stark Raving Mad and gift the Purell to the freakshow instead of ever touching it again.
Friday, January 02, 2009
Pop a Squat
I first heard the term from the Fashionista, and it amused me to no end. Conceptually, I appreciate the practicality of it, as well as the mild transgressiveness of it for girls. In reality, it rather scared me. It’s the whole reason I refuse to do primitive camping. I will schlep supplies, cook over fire, scour for wood, no problems. Peeing in the woods – um, no. Because knowing my luck, I would probably end up peeing on a sleeping animal or my jeans. But tonight, I popped my first squat, and it was surprisingly liberating.
Context: It’s about 6 hours from Athens to NoVA. Unfortunately, that middle-to-late section when you inevitably have to pee, is in the boonies with exits many miles apart and nothing visible from the road. Also, my residual cold has totally thrown off my hydration, as I discovered after I finished my second 20oz bottle of water.
I had crossed into MD, and I was wondering about my kidneys of steel. But I would need gas and more water before I would get to NoVA. So when I saw a sign for gas stations AND a Dunkin Donuts, I decided to take a pit stop. (I’m a total sucker for DnD). But the DnD was NOT to be found. Apparently I went the wrong way or something, because there was nothing but me and deer in the darkness. At this point, the bumpy road combined with my realization that I had downed not one but two bottles of water made the situation go sour quickly. I am trying to navigate back to the highway and ideally the DnD/gas station, but ended up pulling over in some parking lot. I looked both ways, found a conveniently large bush, and backed myself into it. Nothing like the cold winter breeze on your bare bum as you water the plants as discreetly and quickly as possible.
I still wanted the DnD, but when I did find it, it was closed! And the 7-Eleven I filled up at didn’t have water at the fountain! ARGH! A very frustrating pit-stop, but at least mildly entertaining.
Post-script: Airplane bathrooms are possibly even worse. Probably less sanitary, more smelly and you have the added challenge of turbulence.
Context: It’s about 6 hours from Athens to NoVA. Unfortunately, that middle-to-late section when you inevitably have to pee, is in the boonies with exits many miles apart and nothing visible from the road. Also, my residual cold has totally thrown off my hydration, as I discovered after I finished my second 20oz bottle of water.
I had crossed into MD, and I was wondering about my kidneys of steel. But I would need gas and more water before I would get to NoVA. So when I saw a sign for gas stations AND a Dunkin Donuts, I decided to take a pit stop. (I’m a total sucker for DnD). But the DnD was NOT to be found. Apparently I went the wrong way or something, because there was nothing but me and deer in the darkness. At this point, the bumpy road combined with my realization that I had downed not one but two bottles of water made the situation go sour quickly. I am trying to navigate back to the highway and ideally the DnD/gas station, but ended up pulling over in some parking lot. I looked both ways, found a conveniently large bush, and backed myself into it. Nothing like the cold winter breeze on your bare bum as you water the plants as discreetly and quickly as possible.
I still wanted the DnD, but when I did find it, it was closed! And the 7-Eleven I filled up at didn’t have water at the fountain! ARGH! A very frustrating pit-stop, but at least mildly entertaining.
Post-script: Airplane bathrooms are possibly even worse. Probably less sanitary, more smelly and you have the added challenge of turbulence.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Ms. Fix-It
In theory, it's nice to be the handy one in the house. In reality, it blows. Two Christmases ago, I installed some track lighting in my parents' basement. It was a bit jerry-rigged because the wiring and ceiling was not designed for this kind of fixture. A while ago one of the two lights came down. Which means that I have to fix it. And I wouldn't mind if I actually had the proper tools for the job. But instead of a cordless power drill and vise-grip (oh, and non ancient, crumbly ceiling tiles to try to anchor on), all I have to work with is a phillips-head screwdriver and crappy pliers (non-needlenose). Now I have some new screw anchors, but no way to drill them into the base or ceiling. Oh, and the fixture weighs about 20lbs, it's awkward, and I have to do it overhead. All of this in the same house where I don't rank a bed.
Well now I know what my parents are getting for Christmas next year - decent tools!
Well now I know what my parents are getting for Christmas next year - decent tools!
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Blast from the past
A bit out of the blue, I got an email from an old friend. A shot in the dark to see if we might be in the same place at the same time long enough for a beverage. He and I worked for Virginia Shakespeare Festival in 2001, and I haven't seen him in so many years.
It was a blast to see an old friend. We talked about our respective PhD programs and sisters and such. Very holiday both in the chance to see old friends and the out-of-context-ness.
After coffee, he headed to a conference, and I made the mistake of trying to run errands at the mall. I park on the top level anyways, but clearly underestimated the insanity, to say nothing of the alien chi-chi of Tysons.
And while I still had the car (it sucks having to share), I got to see K, my mentor and local snark-partner. It's always good to catch up, especially if it is over coffee or cobbler!
on the tube: The Tudors 2.2
It was a blast to see an old friend. We talked about our respective PhD programs and sisters and such. Very holiday both in the chance to see old friends and the out-of-context-ness.
After coffee, he headed to a conference, and I made the mistake of trying to run errands at the mall. I park on the top level anyways, but clearly underestimated the insanity, to say nothing of the alien chi-chi of Tysons.
And while I still had the car (it sucks having to share), I got to see K, my mentor and local snark-partner. It's always good to catch up, especially if it is over coffee or cobbler!
on the tube: The Tudors 2.2
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
New Christmas tradition?
To celebrate the baby sister turning 21, the 5 of us went to the bar. Right now, this is perfect, since we are all hip to the bar scene, and the Dude is old enough to get into bars but not old enough to drink, giving us an automatic designated driver.
Originally, we were supposed to go out on Tuesday, the first night all 5 of us were in the same place. But it was not so organized, and we were all tired from our various projects of the day (work/baking/traveling/etc). Instead, we ended up at the bar after Christmas Eve dinner.
Fashionista found a pub a mile from home. It was surprisingly crowded. While I knew it wouldn't be empty, I didn't expect that many layers of humanity between me and the bartender. To celebrate the Fashionista's 21st, we did a bartender's choice of shot, that was impressively palatable. Then moved on to round 2. We scored 2 barstools and chatted amongst ourselves mostly, although Fashionista did have a boy buy her a drink. The same boy we asked to guess oldest/youngest. To his credit, he identified me as the oldest. I'm guessing it was my calm demeanor that gave it away. Whatever it was, I was vindicated.
I think the Dude felt a little awkward having to hang out in a bar and protect 4 women. And it's funny for us who see him as the baby in the family.
I'm not sure how I feel about it all. On one hand, it was fun to hang out like people and not siblings. On the other, there is something so wrong about piling into the minivan, on Christmas Eve, to get your drunk on. That said, it already feels like a new tradition.
Now I lounge on the couch, watch some guilty-pleasure TV with a mild buzz, grateful that Santa didn't come early.
Originally, we were supposed to go out on Tuesday, the first night all 5 of us were in the same place. But it was not so organized, and we were all tired from our various projects of the day (work/baking/traveling/etc). Instead, we ended up at the bar after Christmas Eve dinner.
Fashionista found a pub a mile from home. It was surprisingly crowded. While I knew it wouldn't be empty, I didn't expect that many layers of humanity between me and the bartender. To celebrate the Fashionista's 21st, we did a bartender's choice of shot, that was impressively palatable. Then moved on to round 2. We scored 2 barstools and chatted amongst ourselves mostly, although Fashionista did have a boy buy her a drink. The same boy we asked to guess oldest/youngest. To his credit, he identified me as the oldest. I'm guessing it was my calm demeanor that gave it away. Whatever it was, I was vindicated.
I think the Dude felt a little awkward having to hang out in a bar and protect 4 women. And it's funny for us who see him as the baby in the family.
I'm not sure how I feel about it all. On one hand, it was fun to hang out like people and not siblings. On the other, there is something so wrong about piling into the minivan, on Christmas Eve, to get your drunk on. That said, it already feels like a new tradition.
Now I lounge on the couch, watch some guilty-pleasure TV with a mild buzz, grateful that Santa didn't come early.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
My princess existence
For the past few days, I have been kickin' it princess style. I wake up at 2PM (I blame my vampire habits and my internal California clock). I loaf around the apartment until I get bored with that, and then I call NonSmokin' Fairy to pick my butt up. You see, I have no car here in Athens. And since I am squatting at Lil Sis' apartment (which she keeps toasty), I am up on a hill. It's too damn cold to walk far, especially if I have my knight in shining Prelude to schlep me around. My only objection to my princess existence is the ice. It is very un-princess-like to skid and crack your butt on the icy pavement. I have managed to stay vertical thus far.
But it's awesome! I am casually reading random books, not thinking too much about UCSB crap, just living in my happy hedonistic moment. Last night, I had pizza with a friend, and then we headed over to Rardon for Get Smart and baked goods (including super gooey-yummy caramel brownies that I helped with). The movie was appropriately silly and enhanced by the mild sugar-shock we all were in.
I guess I should think about putting on some non-jammers and be social. Oh, and find the earflap I KNOW I packed.
on Jango: Hot Chip - "I Don't Know the Half..."
But it's awesome! I am casually reading random books, not thinking too much about UCSB crap, just living in my happy hedonistic moment. Last night, I had pizza with a friend, and then we headed over to Rardon for Get Smart and baked goods (including super gooey-yummy caramel brownies that I helped with). The movie was appropriately silly and enhanced by the mild sugar-shock we all were in.
I guess I should think about putting on some non-jammers and be social. Oh, and find the earflap I KNOW I packed.
on Jango: Hot Chip - "I Don't Know the Half..."
Monday, December 15, 2008
Skippers is the new Gator
I have done more drinking, laughing, and geeky frivolity in the past couple of days than I have in weeks. (Like since the last time I was in Athens.)
NonSmokin' Fairy and I were pretty much chillin' and hating on the airlines when Riff recommended shooting some pool at Skippers. He and I got there first, chatted with the bartender and quickly became the only people in the bar. They have over a dozen beers on tap and a bartender who was willing to keep the bar open just for us theatre kids. AND he wants to re-institute Martini Night, since Gator is no longer. (There was much sadness all around, because that was our bar). Basically his logic is to support the kids who support the bar. Woot!
There was beer. And crappy pool. To the point that we had to invent a new game - Blue Ball (the 8 ball seemed magnetically attracted to the pockets). And that went downhill very fast as well all let our inner 12-year olds run loose. And between shots, we tried to gross each other out with horror stories about bugs. I will NEVER live in Texas, but I'm glad A. did, because his impression of a scorpion on his chest was priceless.
Last night, NonSmokin' Fairy and I had some lunch at BW3, only to return there later with some of the other designers for beverages. Closed that place out and rolled down to Tony's, and eventually Goodfellas. I was bummin' because O'Betty's is closed for break. But so much fun, drinking cranberry-vodkas (unlike the cranberry-rubbing alcohol I seemed to have ordered at Chocolate in SBA), gossipping about people and shows and general bullshit. Ah.
Now I am curled up under a voluminous comforter on Lil Sis' couch, watching her DVDs, eating a pumpkin spice Krispy Kreme. I should do some yoga or pushups or such, but it would kinda kil the hedonistic buzz.
NonSmokin' Fairy and I were pretty much chillin' and hating on the airlines when Riff recommended shooting some pool at Skippers. He and I got there first, chatted with the bartender and quickly became the only people in the bar. They have over a dozen beers on tap and a bartender who was willing to keep the bar open just for us theatre kids. AND he wants to re-institute Martini Night, since Gator is no longer. (There was much sadness all around, because that was our bar). Basically his logic is to support the kids who support the bar. Woot!
There was beer. And crappy pool. To the point that we had to invent a new game - Blue Ball (the 8 ball seemed magnetically attracted to the pockets). And that went downhill very fast as well all let our inner 12-year olds run loose. And between shots, we tried to gross each other out with horror stories about bugs. I will NEVER live in Texas, but I'm glad A. did, because his impression of a scorpion on his chest was priceless.
Last night, NonSmokin' Fairy and I had some lunch at BW3, only to return there later with some of the other designers for beverages. Closed that place out and rolled down to Tony's, and eventually Goodfellas. I was bummin' because O'Betty's is closed for break. But so much fun, drinking cranberry-vodkas (unlike the cranberry-rubbing alcohol I seemed to have ordered at Chocolate in SBA), gossipping about people and shows and general bullshit. Ah.
Now I am curled up under a voluminous comforter on Lil Sis' couch, watching her DVDs, eating a pumpkin spice Krispy Kreme. I should do some yoga or pushups or such, but it would kinda kil the hedonistic buzz.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Winter Break
12/13/8 7.14PM PST
It couldn’t come soon enough. And now that I am on a plane headed east, I will declare it officially winter break. If nothing else, I was running around too much yesterday to really consider it a break until now.
Wednesday, SuperK turned in our African Theater papers, because he is the social one at 8AM, and he needed to head to the building anyways. I got a couple hours sleep before meeting a professor for a meeting that might just be more flabberwhelming during/after than it even was before. When I got home from that (and returning one of the piles of books that SuperK and I had checked out for the paper), I scratched my head over the whole meeting, then proceeded to write my grading memo for Pedagogy. How do you grade yourself? Without using personal OR passive? For a self-described medieval teacher? But once that was sent off, SuperK and I could watch all the stuff on the DVR we had recorded, guilt-free as we hash over some of the final minutia of the quarter, including my meeting, the responses to the grading memos, and the impressive apathy in the apartment. And of course, some snarking about our least favorite people.
That night, another grad invited us over for dinner. She used to be a chef (frommagier to be specific); her research is food; she has pretty food art at her apartment. Needless to say her “simple,” and “just homestyle” was still some of the best stuff we had eaten in weeks. Chicken kebabs with homemade yogurt sauce, Armenian-style stuffed grape leaves, rice and salad. Yum! It was extra-special since the night before, SuperK and I were eating cold nachos as we were reading each other’s papers. It’s just fun to hang out with people, especially without the guilt or deadlines.
Today, SuperK drove me down to LAX, and my what a beautiful drive it is. Sparkling water, green mountains, palm trees. Oh and the damn 405. But SuperK is much more conscientious and punctual than I, so I got to the airport with plenty of time. I was more impressed how much stuff I managed to cram into my carry-on. What will be even more impressive – the pile of stuff I must have forgotten in order to pull that off.
Now that the quarter is over, perhaps I can try to play a little catch up with my blogging.
It couldn’t come soon enough. And now that I am on a plane headed east, I will declare it officially winter break. If nothing else, I was running around too much yesterday to really consider it a break until now.
Wednesday, SuperK turned in our African Theater papers, because he is the social one at 8AM, and he needed to head to the building anyways. I got a couple hours sleep before meeting a professor for a meeting that might just be more flabberwhelming during/after than it even was before. When I got home from that (and returning one of the piles of books that SuperK and I had checked out for the paper), I scratched my head over the whole meeting, then proceeded to write my grading memo for Pedagogy. How do you grade yourself? Without using personal OR passive? For a self-described medieval teacher? But once that was sent off, SuperK and I could watch all the stuff on the DVR we had recorded, guilt-free as we hash over some of the final minutia of the quarter, including my meeting, the responses to the grading memos, and the impressive apathy in the apartment. And of course, some snarking about our least favorite people.
That night, another grad invited us over for dinner. She used to be a chef (frommagier to be specific); her research is food; she has pretty food art at her apartment. Needless to say her “simple,” and “just homestyle” was still some of the best stuff we had eaten in weeks. Chicken kebabs with homemade yogurt sauce, Armenian-style stuffed grape leaves, rice and salad. Yum! It was extra-special since the night before, SuperK and I were eating cold nachos as we were reading each other’s papers. It’s just fun to hang out with people, especially without the guilt or deadlines.
Today, SuperK drove me down to LAX, and my what a beautiful drive it is. Sparkling water, green mountains, palm trees. Oh and the damn 405. But SuperK is much more conscientious and punctual than I, so I got to the airport with plenty of time. I was more impressed how much stuff I managed to cram into my carry-on. What will be even more impressive – the pile of stuff I must have forgotten in order to pull that off.
Now that the quarter is over, perhaps I can try to play a little catch up with my blogging.
Friday, December 12, 2008
DMV Madness
I finally decided that it was time to change my residency to California. The election has passed (I wanted to vote in Virginia); tax time is coming up; and I have to renew my VA license if I don't replace it first. To say nothing of in-state/out-of-state tuition considerations for next year.
Now that I have my brain and time back after the end of quarter, I decided to just get that done. SuperK warned me about taking the written test, so I picked up the booklet. And today, I got up damn early to spend 2.5 hours and close to $200 not really accomplishing anything. It's extremely frustrating.
In an attempt to head off some of the inevitable DMV-BS, I came prepared with my completed paperwork, passport and ready to take the test. And it started just fine, but quickly went downhill. The woman at the first window was super-pleasant and helpful, gave me my number and checked my paperwork. Second window then asked where my titling paperwork was for my car (why get a CA license if you don't have a car to drive?). I tried to explain that I wasn't ready to move my car into CA yet, since my title still has the lienholder (the Civic is all paid off, thank you very much), and I am waiting for my student loan to come through so I can fix her so she can pass the Smog test. But the chyck insisted on pre-registering the car. Which translates to me giving her lots of money with nothing but a 60-day sticker and promise to come back to the DMV. Grr. She also charged me fees for not registering the car in CA within 20 days of crossing state lines, even though technically, I was not a resident until today (no lease, no job, etc).
Fine. It's not like I needed that cash or anything. To say nothing of the lovely fact I get to come back AGAIN!
At Window #3 I had another personable woman who was nice right up until she refused to believe that I was born in 1979. Like she checked both my VA license and my passport, then made her supervisor check. *sigh* While I appreciate looking young, I don't appreciate getting hassled by people about it (DMV, carded for EVERYTHING, including the occasional Rated-R movie). Extra burn - I was wearing my grown-up clothes that day. In the end, they accepted it, mostly because I was just about growling.
Next, they slide me over to take my picture. I briefly thought I had escaped the written test, but no such luck. That said, I totally aced it (even if people looked at me funny as I used my hands to visualize which direction to turn your wheels on an incline without a curb).
The ultimate insult came next. I had jumped through hoops, passed tests, paid money. But instead of a shiny new California license, I get a wad of half-sheets to carry around until my REAL license arrives in 2-8 weeks. WHAT?! And those papers that now take up half my wallet are my legal license. And to make that point, they punched a freakin' hole in my VA license!! Thanks guys. In case I don't have enough trouble convincing people it's not a fake because a) it's out of state and b) I apparently look 12, now I have to explain why I have a hole in my license. Ugh.
I hate that after all of that, nothing really got done. And after that experience, I probably have a really surly license pic.
Now that I have my brain and time back after the end of quarter, I decided to just get that done. SuperK warned me about taking the written test, so I picked up the booklet. And today, I got up damn early to spend 2.5 hours and close to $200 not really accomplishing anything. It's extremely frustrating.
In an attempt to head off some of the inevitable DMV-BS, I came prepared with my completed paperwork, passport and ready to take the test. And it started just fine, but quickly went downhill. The woman at the first window was super-pleasant and helpful, gave me my number and checked my paperwork. Second window then asked where my titling paperwork was for my car (why get a CA license if you don't have a car to drive?). I tried to explain that I wasn't ready to move my car into CA yet, since my title still has the lienholder (the Civic is all paid off, thank you very much), and I am waiting for my student loan to come through so I can fix her so she can pass the Smog test. But the chyck insisted on pre-registering the car. Which translates to me giving her lots of money with nothing but a 60-day sticker and promise to come back to the DMV. Grr. She also charged me fees for not registering the car in CA within 20 days of crossing state lines, even though technically, I was not a resident until today (no lease, no job, etc).
Fine. It's not like I needed that cash or anything. To say nothing of the lovely fact I get to come back AGAIN!
At Window #3 I had another personable woman who was nice right up until she refused to believe that I was born in 1979. Like she checked both my VA license and my passport, then made her supervisor check. *sigh* While I appreciate looking young, I don't appreciate getting hassled by people about it (DMV, carded for EVERYTHING, including the occasional Rated-R movie). Extra burn - I was wearing my grown-up clothes that day. In the end, they accepted it, mostly because I was just about growling.
Next, they slide me over to take my picture. I briefly thought I had escaped the written test, but no such luck. That said, I totally aced it (even if people looked at me funny as I used my hands to visualize which direction to turn your wheels on an incline without a curb).
The ultimate insult came next. I had jumped through hoops, passed tests, paid money. But instead of a shiny new California license, I get a wad of half-sheets to carry around until my REAL license arrives in 2-8 weeks. WHAT?! And those papers that now take up half my wallet are my legal license. And to make that point, they punched a freakin' hole in my VA license!! Thanks guys. In case I don't have enough trouble convincing people it's not a fake because a) it's out of state and b) I apparently look 12, now I have to explain why I have a hole in my license. Ugh.
I hate that after all of that, nothing really got done. And after that experience, I probably have a really surly license pic.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Bad Blogger
Not that this page is ever really thrill a minute, but I feel bad for becoming such a slacker. I keep starting entries, but I never have the time or attention span to finish them. But my plan is that once I am done with this quarter, I can play a bit of catch-up.
In the meantime, check out Lolcats - which is entirely responsible for any shred of sanity I have left. (to get the full effect, you should play ABBA in the background)
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Girl culture
In the past week, I have seen some really odd, if entertaining girl behavior. But this is what you get when you visit an all-women's college and I.V. any weekend-night.
The CORD conference last week was hosted by Hollins University, which is a lovely, if tiny space in the hills of Roanoke. A great size for the conference, as it was scenic, but manageable, without the sterility of a hotel. (The building with the dance studio looks like it is wearing a hat.) And I had nearly forgotten that at least at the undergraduate level, it is all-women.
Nothing like walking out of the Parlour with my coffee at 8.30AM to see a girl in the middle of the quad, dressed like GRAPES, dancing and handing out brownies. Later that day, there was a girl singing "Barbie Girl" loudly and acapella on the steps of Cocke Hall. Like all schools, Hollins has its own set of unique traditions, which were only explained to me after the fact. Apparently, this is the annual Ring Night, where the senior girls give class rings to junior girls, but only after a dose of hazing.
Last night, on my way to the Co-op, I saw the ultimate sight. It was a girl with her hair in loose, but nonetheless "done" curls, a sparkly strapless dress, and (mercifully) matching flipflops, pushing a keg on a dolly down the bike lane. I tried to take a picture, but I was so busy laughing my ass off and trying not to fall off my bike or hit her, that I was not able. I mean, I admire her total blase ownership of the absurdity and willingness to move the keg herself instead of getting some meathead to do it, but still funny. It made the gaggle of girls in short black dresses and silver pumps just pale in comparison.
I'm not sure which was more disturbing/funny, but I sure don't want Jeannette to punch me in the uterus for not attending the Hollins game.
(apparently Odes and Top 10 Lists are big at Hollins)
on Hold: BN.com customer service
The CORD conference last week was hosted by Hollins University, which is a lovely, if tiny space in the hills of Roanoke. A great size for the conference, as it was scenic, but manageable, without the sterility of a hotel. (The building with the dance studio looks like it is wearing a hat.) And I had nearly forgotten that at least at the undergraduate level, it is all-women.
Nothing like walking out of the Parlour with my coffee at 8.30AM to see a girl in the middle of the quad, dressed like GRAPES, dancing and handing out brownies. Later that day, there was a girl singing "Barbie Girl" loudly and acapella on the steps of Cocke Hall. Like all schools, Hollins has its own set of unique traditions, which were only explained to me after the fact. Apparently, this is the annual Ring Night, where the senior girls give class rings to junior girls, but only after a dose of hazing.
Last night, on my way to the Co-op, I saw the ultimate sight. It was a girl with her hair in loose, but nonetheless "done" curls, a sparkly strapless dress, and (mercifully) matching flipflops, pushing a keg on a dolly down the bike lane. I tried to take a picture, but I was so busy laughing my ass off and trying not to fall off my bike or hit her, that I was not able. I mean, I admire her total blase ownership of the absurdity and willingness to move the keg herself instead of getting some meathead to do it, but still funny. It made the gaggle of girls in short black dresses and silver pumps just pale in comparison.
I'm not sure which was more disturbing/funny, but I sure don't want Jeannette to punch me in the uterus for not attending the Hollins game.
(apparently Odes and Top 10 Lists are big at Hollins)on Hold: BN.com customer service
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