November 2006


I’m already there.

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I can’t focus on schoolwork. Today I planned to go to the library to do my Teaching Composition reading — my biggest pain in the ass each weekend — so I could do the rest of my classwork and have some earned personal time on Sunday. I’ve done half of that reading, and it’s almost 6. I have a couple hours before I go out, but I thought that if I wrote out what I did during the day, I’d feel stupid for wasting so much time and get back to work.

9:30 — wake up
9:30, 11 — breakfast, get kelly’d up, watch an episode of “Firefly”
11:30 — leave for the library
12 — The library has all graphic novels secured in special collections, which has the same working hours that I do. I search what’s available (I want another Marjane Satrapi book) and the only thing that’s not a Lil Abner collection is from Drawn & Quarterly called “Pyongyang” by Guy Delisle. He’s from L’Association, which I know about from “Epileptic” by David B., which I read last month. Everything’s coming together! It’s about supervising animation production in North Korea, and I now know 400% more about N. Korea than I did seven hours ago. That’s something!
12, 2 — I read two essays, not as thoroughly as planned, and read some of “Pyongyang.” I debate getting lunch in the area, and force myself to read some more. Once I get the idea to go I can’t sit still. I walk around campus for a few minutes, and decide to go home. I know I’ll struggle to get any reading done, but I am already in my car.
2:30 — Eat pizza, watch “Firefly.” I’m confused — according to “Serenity,” River is a total badass, but on the TV show she’s meek and greasy. I can’t wait until she turns into a fighting machine.
3:30 — I turn on the computer and check email. I think, “If I go back and do my reading now I’ll be done by 5, then I can watch more ‘Firefly.'”
4 — Seriously, I have NO IDEA how this happened, but I’m at Big Lots. I keep getting into awkward spaces, and have to crawl underneath the cart of a fat family that practices sitting on recliners. I want to be festive this year and thought maybe something at Big Lots would strike my holiday fancy. I have no holiday fancy. It’s so crowded that I feel weird, like I’ve been poisoned.
4:30, current — more dicking around online, make some tea, read an old essay that I want to keep working on, read two pages of class reading (actually written by my professor, and I like it, but zzz, composition theory). It’s nearly six. Why can’t I get my work done? I have a lot more to do, but it’s more active than reading.

Suddenly I really want to see the new Bond movie. I’ve never cared about the franchise before. But Ol’ Blue Trunks has caught my attention. If I get my homework done by 8 I can go out tonight and if I get my work done early enough tomorrow I can see the Bond movie, and so on.

Last week during my Trader Joe’s experience to stock up on New Year’s Eve beverages, I bought a Luna bar. I haven’t had one I’ve liked, but I like to support food made especially for women (I love that we get our own oatmeal). The next day I ate the Luna bar (“Nuts Over Chocolate,” although I couldn’t tell from the wrapper what sort of nuts) before class and nearly spit it out because it tasted like fish food — or, rather, what I assumed fish food tasted like, since the taste matched the smell of the fish food we used back when I was in elementary school and we had a giant aquarium. It was disgusting. The worse part is that I finished it. What’s wrong with me? It was only $1.

It’s always crummy weather when I go to D.C. This weekend Christophile and I went to the American Art Museum/National Portrait Gallery. I learned many things, including:

– Walt Whitman was gay
– Pocahontas’s real name was Matoaka. Pocahontas is just a nickname. Also, she didn’t really exist.
– In the 1600’s I volunteered to make maps of the world because I wanted to practice drawing sea serpents.
I really enjoyed the museum, especially the diorama of a museum, complete with sets of bones and little portraits. CK and I were both impressed with it. I made a Museum of Friendship for her from a shoe box and some dead camel crickets, but after seeing how gorgeous this mini museum was, I may have to spray paint the box with glitter.

I stopped at her house before heading home, and her mom gave me ice cream cake (I don’t remember the occasion — oh right, because her mom is awesome and gives people ice cream cake). I watched about ten minutes of “Home Alone” with them. I don’t think I’ve seen that movie in 15 years, but I queued it up, either because I recognized that it really is a good film, or I liked that her mom laughed at every joke.

Other notable weekend experiences: I had late nights both Friday and Saturday, and I had the TV on while trying to sleep Friday night. “Fresh Prince of Bel Air” was on, and apparently as some point in the series FP was shot and made disabled, and Hilary kept called her dead fiance “Travis” instead of Trevor.

We gathered ’round to watch Alec Baldwin on “Saturday Night Live.” He’s the best host. His shows are guaranteed to be funny. I especially liked the car pool skit. My sister and I have a game called “Baldwin.” The rules of the game are: when you’re watching TV and a Baldwin brother appears, whoever shouts “Baldwin” first wins. And really, if a Baldwin magically appears and you don’t shout it first, everyone still wins. Because hey, Baldwins!

I’m pretty sure I’m winning, though. I have a sense about these things.

I was planning to coast til ’07 on the fumes of this year, but whatevs. I’m going to make pear cheesecake for Thanksgiving dinner, and see if I can live off pita chips and ginger ale for a few weeks.

Here is a picture of our living room. My big plan was to take a picture of every room in the house and hang a different room in a different room. It’s too mind blowing to actually get together.

Driving home last night I got really excited about Oasis (it goes like this: “there’s a tree, there’s a car, there’s Laxmi Singh, there’s a toll booth — HOORAY OASIS!”). I listened to Be Here Now all week at work. They get me pumped up. I could talk about them for hours. I’ve been listening to them nonstop. Grad school takes a back seat to Noel Gallagher, obviously.

I will say that Wilco is my favorite band, but I would throw Jeff Tweedy into a group of orphans if he was standing between me and Noel Gallagher.

Be Here Now is one of those albums that I will skip through when I listen to it at home or in the car, but for some reason is an excellent soundtrack for loan processing. Same with Justin Timberlake’s Futuresex/Lovesounds. He and NG have similar songwriting styles, in that they are incoherent but rhyme, but whereas I shrug off Noel’s lyrics as “oh, he’s dyslexic” (which he is), I always assume JT’s talking about anal sex. And I figured out what “brains” means. Thanks, Internet.