Today I gave blood for the third time and despite the knowledge that my pint of plasma and platelets could save three lives, I don't think I'll ever get used to the idea that a part of me might soon be coursing through someone else's veins. Maybe "I" will be part of a truck driver from Nebraska or a six-year-old in Georgia, even if only until my red blood cells die and are replaced. That's a beautiful and terrifying thing.
As I walked into the room, "Don't Fear the Reaper" was playing on the radio—creepy or reassuring coincidence? (At least I didn't develop a fever for more cowbell as I watched my life force flow into a plastic bag.)
(Strange Confession of the Day: I don't mind having needles stuck in me. Sometimes it even makes me giggle.)
Monday, January 11, 2010
Sunday, January 10, 2010
"I'll Be Back"
I watched "The Terminator" for the first time last night, and besides thinking "What a terribly written movie" (true) and "Sarah Connor's terror will give me nightmares" (also true), I couldn't help but wonder how the selection to send someone back to 1984 went down...
INT. HUMANS' CAVE IN 2029 - NIGHT
JOHN CONNOR stands on a trash heap, his feet planted firmly in the pile of CPU's and dead rats. The meager population of Homo sapiens surround him, listening intently to their nominal leader. All are dirty, exhausted, and emaciated. Many look worried, but some look ready to undertake his direction.JOHN CONNOR
(Gazing at the assembled with the intensity of Caesar) My people! HIS PEOPLE
(Mustering the strength of their collective voices) All hail!JOHN CONNOR
The time has come...SOME SMART-ASS
(Sniggering to his buddy) The walrus said...JOHN CONNOR
Shut up. The time has come for us to make a stand. No longer must we be subjugated by machines! (Clapping from the crowd) No longer will we live underground like vermin! (Cheers and fist pumps) No longer shall we walk this world in fear of termination! (A chorus of "Amen") I have a plan for us, my people, that will lead us out of darkness and into our promised sun!HIS PEOPLE
What is it, John Connor? Tell us, John Connor!JOHN CONNOR
Fear not, my comrades, for I will tell you when the time is ripe. For the moment, know only this: if we are to reclaim our rightful throne, we must ensure our existence. My existence. (Pauses, looking as deep into the eyes of the assembled as the feeble light of cave fires will allow) Now. Which one of you brave men will travel back in time to impregnate my mom?HIS PEOPLE
What the fuck?
About the Author
Here's my problem: for the past five years or so, I seem to have been (is that a split infinitive or merely the strange construction of the present perfect progressive?) making my higher education choices based on what I want my biographical blurb to look like in my first book. Obviously there are multiple things wrong with this way of thinking (not the least of which is "If you plan to deserve a biographical blurb, you had better start compiling the preceding pages"), but recently I have fretted less about the educational information ("She graduated from This College in This Year with a degree in This and This"*) and more about the place of habitation that will end the paragraph ("She lives in This Place with her Loving Husband, Two or Three Children, and a Cat Who Used to Be a Vivacious Kitten But Is Now a Yawning Lump").
What, exactly, will "This Place" be? The city is too crowded, the country is too sparse, so it will have to be suburbia, that meeting point of culture and landscape forever tinged (and rightly so) with the odor of materialism and artificiality. How specific? New England is too general, a town is too specific, so it will have to be a state, providing the hope of tracking me down but without enough clues to do so. Why? So my work is given a sliver of context, a peek into the composer's life? But shouldn't that be evident in the work itself?
Maybe I should simply ask the editor for permission to cut it, standing simply as "She lives."
*However, this still continues (is that redundant?) to be a pressing matter, which may suggest that I am plagued by enough neuroses to be a poet after all.
What, exactly, will "This Place" be? The city is too crowded, the country is too sparse, so it will have to be suburbia, that meeting point of culture and landscape forever tinged (and rightly so) with the odor of materialism and artificiality. How specific? New England is too general, a town is too specific, so it will have to be a state, providing the hope of tracking me down but without enough clues to do so. Why? So my work is given a sliver of context, a peek into the composer's life? But shouldn't that be evident in the work itself?
Maybe I should simply ask the editor for permission to cut it, standing simply as "She lives."
*However, this still continues (is that redundant?) to be a pressing matter, which may suggest that I am plagued by enough neuroses to be a poet after all.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Sister to Sister
Peering at their letters kept behind glass at the special exhibit at the Morgan, I couldn't help but marvel at the Austen sisters' precise penmanship. So straight, so lacking in errors! To conserve paper, they even often continued their thoughts by turning a finished page and writing horizontally across their own words. And what devotion there was between them, recorded and tangible forever in a way that I doubt emails and text messages will be.
What struck me most, though, was this sentence from the letter Cassandra wrote to her niece Fanny about Jane's death, for it sounds so much like what I feel for my own beloved confidante:
"I have lost a treasure, such a sister, such a friend as never can have been surpassed. She was the sun of my life, the gilder of every pleasure, the soother of every sorrow; I had not a thought concealed from her, and it is as if I had lost a part of myself."
What struck me most, though, was this sentence from the letter Cassandra wrote to her niece Fanny about Jane's death, for it sounds so much like what I feel for my own beloved confidante:
"I have lost a treasure, such a sister, such a friend as never can have been surpassed. She was the sun of my life, the gilder of every pleasure, the soother of every sorrow; I had not a thought concealed from her, and it is as if I had lost a part of myself."
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Captcha and Release
I just had to type "doorstep City" in order to stick a link on Facebook. That sounds like the title of a poem I should write.
Though I will never prefer reading on a screen to thumbing through the care-worn pages of a book, I do love the searchability of online texts... and the ease with which I can peruse New York magazine's "Strictly Personals" from the '80s thanks to Google Books. ("Breathes There A Man—of worthy vintage who's willing to be a friend first and see where that leads?" "If you're amply shaped, let's talk." "One of New York's most eligible bachelors is tired of running and ready to be caught. Can you cure what ails me?") So the fact that I am helping digitize newspapers and novels by decoding images and typing letters makes me think I am contributing to the preservation and dissemination of knowledge even while I'm posting lolcats on my friends' pages.
Here's to you, reCAPTCHA. I'll gladly do your work for free.
(SWF seeks similarly nerdy and bibliophilic M, 18 to 23. Bad puns, writing skills, and Monty Python knowledge a plus.)
Though I will never prefer reading on a screen to thumbing through the care-worn pages of a book, I do love the searchability of online texts... and the ease with which I can peruse New York magazine's "Strictly Personals" from the '80s thanks to Google Books. ("Breathes There A Man—of worthy vintage who's willing to be a friend first and see where that leads?" "If you're amply shaped, let's talk." "One of New York's most eligible bachelors is tired of running and ready to be caught. Can you cure what ails me?") So the fact that I am helping digitize newspapers and novels by decoding images and typing letters makes me think I am contributing to the preservation and dissemination of knowledge even while I'm posting lolcats on my friends' pages.
Here's to you, reCAPTCHA. I'll gladly do your work for free.
(SWF seeks similarly nerdy and bibliophilic M, 18 to 23. Bad puns, writing skills, and Monty Python knowledge a plus.)
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
What a Tease
One of the Starbucks "Pick of the Week" iTunes song redemption cards that my aunt gave me... had no download code. Now I will never know what "Se Fue" by the frighteningly angular-faced Bebe sounds like. What a shame.
Also, Dan Brown still can't write for shit... so I removed the jacket cover when I took my brother's (Christmas present) copy of The Lost Symbol to Panera today. Still, I will concede a high-five for his mad research skillz.
Also also, Panera's macaroni and cheese is definitely not worth five bucks.
Also, Dan Brown still can't write for shit... so I removed the jacket cover when I took my brother's (Christmas present) copy of The Lost Symbol to Panera today. Still, I will concede a high-five for his mad research skillz.
Also also, Panera's macaroni and cheese is definitely not worth five bucks.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Things I Don't Understand About "Party in the USA"
- Have you ever seen Miley Cyrus wear a cardigan?
- If Miley is, as she claims, in a taxi cab, can she really be "movin' her hips like yeah"? The last time I checked, doing so requires a standing position.
- I'm pretty sure you've been working in LA for long enough to know that it is indeed not Nashville, Ms. Cyrus.
- Since when is a Hollywood club representative of the entirety of America?
- If "USA" is really defined by Jay-Z and Britney instead of Springsteen and Aretha... I think I'll move to Europe.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Funny as Grammar
One of my history books describes a British soldier in India as "agile as a verb."
Does this mean someone can be... steadfast as a noun? eloquent as an adjective? guiding as a preposition?
Does this mean someone can be... steadfast as a noun? eloquent as an adjective? guiding as a preposition?
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Some Less-Than-Profound Things
I watched "Memento" last night. MIND = BLOWN.
I realized that I spend about a day each week (usually Sunday—this very post is, in fact, procrastination) in a computer lab just writing essays. This is not a fruitful way to spend my life, especially when the essay topics don't whip me up into a frenzy of academic awe. And, because I hate starting papers, I dither around doing nothing even remotely productive until an idea comes to me... then I agonize over word choices. So what takes a less diligent but more alive person maybe three hours ends up taking me ten.
When I get lost on Wikipedia, I really get lost. Hyperlinking and trivia will be the death of me yet. There is so much interesting stuff to know about the world... but most of the time I just want to read about it rather than have to analyze it for a grade on my transcript.
I heard Mika's "We Are Golden" for the first time on Friday and it just made me sad that the fun parts of teenagerdom are all too fleeting and all too few.
Remember when I wanted to be Harriet the Spy? (Yes, I do.) Remember when I knew a guy like Sport? (No, I don't.)
In other words: I need to stop taking myself (and my schoolwork) so seriously. I'll never get back the weeks I've already lost to self-consciousness and over-achieving.
I realized that I spend about a day each week (usually Sunday—this very post is, in fact, procrastination) in a computer lab just writing essays. This is not a fruitful way to spend my life, especially when the essay topics don't whip me up into a frenzy of academic awe. And, because I hate starting papers, I dither around doing nothing even remotely productive until an idea comes to me... then I agonize over word choices. So what takes a less diligent but more alive person maybe three hours ends up taking me ten.
When I get lost on Wikipedia, I really get lost. Hyperlinking and trivia will be the death of me yet. There is so much interesting stuff to know about the world... but most of the time I just want to read about it rather than have to analyze it for a grade on my transcript.
I heard Mika's "We Are Golden" for the first time on Friday and it just made me sad that the fun parts of teenagerdom are all too fleeting and all too few.
Remember when I wanted to be Harriet the Spy? (Yes, I do.) Remember when I knew a guy like Sport? (No, I don't.)
In other words: I need to stop taking myself (and my schoolwork) so seriously. I'll never get back the weeks I've already lost to self-consciousness and over-achieving.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
"Working on My Night Cheese"
I can't decide whether I'd want to be or marry Tina Fey.
(And how perfect is her last name?! Jealous.)
(And how perfect is her last name?! Jealous.)
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Why I'm Sometimes Silent in Class
It's not that I don't care about the book—it's that I care too much. That it feels blasphemous to discuss it before I've finished reading it. That some books shouldn't be subjected the inane questions and answers of barely-awake teenagers. That to try to analyze this particular novel would be relegating it to a homework list when it belongs to something so much better.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
The Perfect Man?
Heart and personality of Marshall Eriksen, brain and looks of Ted Mosby, humor and, uh, vitality of Barney Stinson.
I think yes.
I think yes.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Verbose Volumes
This semester, I go from 821-page David Copperfield in Class #1 to 560-page Midnight's Children Class #2 to 682-page Jane Eyre in Class #2... and then 560-page Midnight's Children in Class #1. I must also trudge through most chapters of a 656-page history book.
If I make it through, I think I might deserve a medal.
If I make it through, I think I might deserve a medal.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Self vs. Others vs. Self
Funny how all my classes this semester have me examining other people's identities, when the one I need to be focusing on at the moment is my own.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
More Like "Wept-ember"!*
The crisp beauty of September is always ruined by the swamp of work. Couldn't you once let us enjoy the fading days of summer so well complemented by the coloring of the leaves, o gods of higher education?
*This is a terrible title. I don't apologize.
*This is a terrible title. I don't apologize.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Misheard Lyrics
For the longest time, I thought Santana's version of "Black Magic Woman" used the lyrics "Blacken my diploma."
True story.
True story.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
How I Spent (Thirty Minutes of) My Summer
Talking about dual-flush toilets.
(Which are actually one of the most ingenious ideas I've ever heard. I can't believe I've never thought of the concept before.)
(Which are actually one of the most ingenious ideas I've ever heard. I can't believe I've never thought of the concept before.)
I've Got a New Drug
Speed Scrabble is the crack cocaine of word games.
This is irrefutable.
(Apparently it's the poor man's Bananagrams. This gal's only got room for one fruit-based lark in her repertoire, and that's Apples to Apples.)
This is irrefutable.
(Apparently it's the poor man's Bananagrams. This gal's only got room for one fruit-based lark in her repertoire, and that's Apples to Apples.)
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
The Seven Stages of Man Could Well Be Shortened to Six
I'm certainly not of the "live fast, die young" variety, but I don't think I want to be the owner of the Costco cart filled with extra-large Depends, either.
