Steve, doing something silly with my keys: It’s an alligator!
Sarah-my-flatmate: Oh, we call them crocodiles here.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Sunday, October 29, 2006
It grieves me to say this
But England practices a bastard form of Catholicism. It’s true. I went to Mass again today, and today there was a script, so I have proof positive.
Now, I wasn’t going to quibble over the fact that, like insane people, the English stand up before saying the “our good and the good of all his church” line. I mean, I was actually, but now it’s not an isolated instance of English Catholic insanity. They stand up before the priest says the sacrifice acceptable part, when any sensible person knows that they’re supposed to wait until AFTER “good of all his church”, and then stand up. Get it right, people!
And here’s another thing that you’ve totally screwed up: The Nicene creed. For some reason the English think that they’re supposed to say that Jesus “became incarnate from the Virgin Mary and was made man”. What’s that about? Is something wrong with the True Version (”he was born of the Virgin Mary and became man”)? Is this some bizarre leftover thing about how the Virgin Mary’s hymen stayed literally intact her whole life and Jesus just sort of wafted through it, in which case he wasn’t so much “born” as “made incarnate”? That teaching is over, folks. Move on with your lives. And try to remember that it’s not “in accordance with the Scriptures” but “in fulfilment of the Scriptures”. It didn’t just happen to coincide with what the Scriptures said; it proved the prophets right! This matters!
Oh, yeah, and don’t try to say that Jesus “suffered death and was buried”. He suffered, died, and was buried. Do not diminish the suffering! There were thorns and blood and a cat o’ nine tails! You try having that done to you and then try to act like you just “suffered death”! Jack the Ripper “suffered death”! Jesus SUFFERED. His suffering deserves its VERY OWN CLAUSE, and it is NOT a transitive verb. Not the way Jesus did it!
Because, as one of my great idols said, If there’s one thing Jesus Christ cared about, it’s semantics.
(I’m joking, obviously. But for real, when I was saying the Nicene Creed and everybody else was saying it WRONG, I got really cranky and if that chaplaincy had been any bigger (i.e., if there had been any chance my actions would have gone more or less unnoticed), I would have taken out a pen and corrected it on Steve’s little script.)
Now, I wasn’t going to quibble over the fact that, like insane people, the English stand up before saying the “our good and the good of all his church” line. I mean, I was actually, but now it’s not an isolated instance of English Catholic insanity. They stand up before the priest says the sacrifice acceptable part, when any sensible person knows that they’re supposed to wait until AFTER “good of all his church”, and then stand up. Get it right, people!
And here’s another thing that you’ve totally screwed up: The Nicene creed. For some reason the English think that they’re supposed to say that Jesus “became incarnate from the Virgin Mary and was made man”. What’s that about? Is something wrong with the True Version (”he was born of the Virgin Mary and became man”)? Is this some bizarre leftover thing about how the Virgin Mary’s hymen stayed literally intact her whole life and Jesus just sort of wafted through it, in which case he wasn’t so much “born” as “made incarnate”? That teaching is over, folks. Move on with your lives. And try to remember that it’s not “in accordance with the Scriptures” but “in fulfilment of the Scriptures”. It didn’t just happen to coincide with what the Scriptures said; it proved the prophets right! This matters!
Oh, yeah, and don’t try to say that Jesus “suffered death and was buried”. He suffered, died, and was buried. Do not diminish the suffering! There were thorns and blood and a cat o’ nine tails! You try having that done to you and then try to act like you just “suffered death”! Jack the Ripper “suffered death”! Jesus SUFFERED. His suffering deserves its VERY OWN CLAUSE, and it is NOT a transitive verb. Not the way Jesus did it!
Because, as one of my great idols said, If there’s one thing Jesus Christ cared about, it’s semantics.
(I’m joking, obviously. But for real, when I was saying the Nicene Creed and everybody else was saying it WRONG, I got really cranky and if that chaplaincy had been any bigger (i.e., if there had been any chance my actions would have gone more or less unnoticed), I would have taken out a pen and corrected it on Steve’s little script.)
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Don’t even try to tell me I can’t get in touch with Merlin Holland if I feel like it
Because I CAN. I have his fax number. That’s RIGHT. I have Merlin Holland’s fax number. Don’t mess with me because I can just fax Merlin Holland whenever I want to.
Although I acquired it on a public website, I feel empowered now that I’ve got it, like now that I have this public-access fax number I totally have an in with Merlin Holland and I can just fax him whenever and be all, Hey, dude, what’s going on? Not much here, just doing some research on your grandfather’s reputation and whatnot. Hope the book’s going well!
But seriously. Don’t let me near a fax machine. I am not confident in my ability to refrain from faxing Merlin Holland like a big Oscar Wilde groupie and telling him I wanna be friends.
Although I acquired it on a public website, I feel empowered now that I’ve got it, like now that I have this public-access fax number I totally have an in with Merlin Holland and I can just fax him whenever and be all, Hey, dude, what’s going on? Not much here, just doing some research on your grandfather’s reputation and whatnot. Hope the book’s going well!
But seriously. Don’t let me near a fax machine. I am not confident in my ability to refrain from faxing Merlin Holland like a big Oscar Wilde groupie and telling him I wanna be friends.
Friday, October 27, 2006
One of my quiet obsessions
I love movie reviews. But most especially I love movie reviews written by Religious People. I would wash dishes on a night that wasn’t my night to wash dishes if someone promised me an endless supply of movie reviews written by Religious People. But now I have discovered Plugged In Online, and my dear dear father has sent me a link to the Catholic movie reviews page, so I will not have to wash dishes on a night that wasn’t my night.
Okay. So being also Rent-obsessed, I very sensibly looked up reviews of it, and in this case the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops is cooler than Focus on Family because the Catholics say this:
Yeah, that’s right. You heard them. Fel-low-ship. (I hate that word actually.) I’ve left out the part that comes after it because really why bother? I will just say that it mentions that there is “suggestive dancing and movement”. Suggestive movement. Watch out for the movement! It’s suggestive!
Focus on Family, however, does not beat around the bush. (Teehee.) They say:
(I like their parenthetical asides the best.)
Actually I like their sum-up the best. Ready for it?
Ultimately in hopelessness. Focus on Family does not love the gays. You can read the review in full (and many more!) at Plugged In Online (here) or the Catholic one (here). Hurrah! Movie reviews are glorious!
Okay. So being also Rent-obsessed, I very sensibly looked up reviews of it, and in this case the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops is cooler than Focus on Family because the Catholics say this:
Director Chris Columbus has remained largely faithful to the original — and many of the original cast members reprise their roles here — while the dissolute lifestyles of some of the characters take second place to the overriding themes of love, connection and fellowship.
Yeah, that’s right. You heard them. Fel-low-ship. (I hate that word actually.) I’ve left out the part that comes after it because really why bother? I will just say that it mentions that there is “suggestive dancing and movement”. Suggestive movement. Watch out for the movement! It’s suggestive!
Focus on Family, however, does not beat around the bush. (Teehee.) They say:
Mimi performs an extremely suggestive dance in a skimpy leather bikini. She rubs her crotch [are they allowed to say crotch?] when a patron offers her a tip. (Similarly dressed women dance in the background.) During the musical number “Light My Candle” she makes a sexual come-on to Roger. (The song is full of sexual double entendres.)
(I like their parenthetical asides the best.)
Actually I like their sum-up the best. Ready for it?
There's no doubt that Larson (who died unexpectedly shortly before Rent premiered Off Broadway in 1996) was a skilled writer, and the music of Rent is particularly good. The lyrics, on the other hand, are often questionable, and Larson sneaks a degenerate worldview past undiscerning viewers by means of that great songwriting. Whether moviegoers are aware of it or not, they're being preached at. And this sermon contains a romanticized glorification of a lifestyle -- be if homosexuality or what should now be called neobohemianism -- that despite the movie's upbeat conclusions ends ultimately in hopelessness.
Ultimately in hopelessness. Focus on Family does not love the gays. You can read the review in full (and many more!) at Plugged In Online (here) or the Catholic one (here). Hurrah! Movie reviews are glorious!
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Not sure what the deal is
Is it possible to pass out from taking too long a hot shower? Because I was taking a shower of unusual longness (though not unusual heat), and after a while I was like, Whoa, when did this shower start to suck? and my eyes were like, Hey, look at the black sparklies dude! and I was like, Huh. Nifty. I’m turning off this water now, and my eyes were like, Looooook at the black sparklies, and I was like, Hey, no! No, no, what’s going on? OMG, the black sparklies, they are taking over my whole vision! BACK YOU DEVILS! and then I sat down and put my head between my legs only I couldn’t keep doing that because my hair would get on the floor of the bathroom (ew), and then I thought that everything would be way much better if I ate up some cornflakes and water, but I discovered that I was incapable of putting back on my pajamas, so I wrapped myself all up in my towel and went into the kitchen on a Cornflake Mission, but my eyes were still alllllll about the black sparklies, and then I realized that actually I didn’t need cornflakes, just to lie down, so I abandoned my Cornflake Mission and went staggering down the hall on a Lying Down Mission.
The thing is, my brain got a tiny bit confused about which thing was my bed and which thing was the floor in the hall. Very easy mistake. One I’ve often made. So I lay on the floor in the hall for a while and thought grateful thoughts about it being earlyish in the morning and none of my flatmates being up because I was only wearing a towel and the towel had not remained perfectly wrapped around me when I lay down suddenly (though really it was less of a catastrophic towel event than you might think). After a while I decided that it wouldn’t be early forever, so I got up and, after some initial confusion in my brain over how the lock on my door worked (insert key; turn), fell over onto my bed.
And now I’m eating cornflakes. And then I will drink a whole lot of water. And then I will go back to my shower and put conditioner in my hair so it will smell nice and be untangly. And then I will eat cheese on crackers and maybe a turkey sandwich with cheese.
The thing is, my brain got a tiny bit confused about which thing was my bed and which thing was the floor in the hall. Very easy mistake. One I’ve often made. So I lay on the floor in the hall for a while and thought grateful thoughts about it being earlyish in the morning and none of my flatmates being up because I was only wearing a towel and the towel had not remained perfectly wrapped around me when I lay down suddenly (though really it was less of a catastrophic towel event than you might think). After a while I decided that it wouldn’t be early forever, so I got up and, after some initial confusion in my brain over how the lock on my door worked (insert key; turn), fell over onto my bed.
And now I’m eating cornflakes. And then I will drink a whole lot of water. And then I will go back to my shower and put conditioner in my hair so it will smell nice and be untangly. And then I will eat cheese on crackers and maybe a turkey sandwich with cheese.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
My history professor’s index finger, and Kate
Here is why I love going to my research methods in history class (apart from the fact that it’s dead useful and I’m learning loads of stuff): My history professor does air quotes all the time. But we’re in Britain! So he only uses his index fingers! Oh, it’s so funny! Every time I see him do it I laugh and laugh (quietly, inside my brain) because I know all along that really it’s done with two fingers. And he’s probably not even thinking “air quotes” when he does it. He’s probably thinking “air inverted commas”.
Furthermore, today he showed us an advert asking for sciencey assistance, to make the point that if you don’t know the jargon in a certain field you’re going to be totally mystified, and when he read it out to us, and when he got to the word “neurofuzzy” he started laughing and couldn’t go on.
Which leads me to a mostly unrelated story about my younger sister’s best friend Kate. Kate is like one of my favorite people in all the world, and whenever she comes over or I remember she exists, I get very excited because I love her so much. I love her so, so much that I’m going to include a picture here. Here is Kate. Aren’t you glad that I reminded you about her?
Well, anyway, there was this one time when lil Kate was in English class reading aloud part of Washington Irving’s humorous History of New York, and Washington Irving was humorously comparing Dutch ships to Dutch women, and Kate was cruising along reading (extremely well, I am sure), and then she reached the part that said, “…with a pair of enormous catheads, a copper bottom, and withal a most prodigious poop”, and it proved her undoing. For she managed to make it to “prodigious” and then it was all just way too humorous, and she burst out laughing.
(Which Robyn saw coming.)
So valiant Kate, she tried again, and yet it was just too funny and she could not restrain her giggles which escaped in spite of her most earnest attempts to control them, and in the end her English teacher gave her up as a hopeless case (and she was).
But “prodigious poop” is just objectively funny. Say it out loud to yourself. Prodigious poop. Prodigious poop. Tee-hee.
Furthermore, today he showed us an advert asking for sciencey assistance, to make the point that if you don’t know the jargon in a certain field you’re going to be totally mystified, and when he read it out to us, and when he got to the word “neurofuzzy” he started laughing and couldn’t go on.
Which leads me to a mostly unrelated story about my younger sister’s best friend Kate. Kate is like one of my favorite people in all the world, and whenever she comes over or I remember she exists, I get very excited because I love her so much. I love her so, so much that I’m going to include a picture here. Here is Kate. Aren’t you glad that I reminded you about her?
Well, anyway, there was this one time when lil Kate was in English class reading aloud part of Washington Irving’s humorous History of New York, and Washington Irving was humorously comparing Dutch ships to Dutch women, and Kate was cruising along reading (extremely well, I am sure), and then she reached the part that said, “…with a pair of enormous catheads, a copper bottom, and withal a most prodigious poop”, and it proved her undoing. For she managed to make it to “prodigious” and then it was all just way too humorous, and she burst out laughing.
(Which Robyn saw coming.)
So valiant Kate, she tried again, and yet it was just too funny and she could not restrain her giggles which escaped in spite of her most earnest attempts to control them, and in the end her English teacher gave her up as a hopeless case (and she was).
But “prodigious poop” is just objectively funny. Say it out loud to yourself. Prodigious poop. Prodigious poop. Tee-hee.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Okay, English professors, I’m calling you out
Here’s the thing. I know you think that Moby Dick is a seminal work of American literature that’s influenced everything that has come after it with a mighty influential power, but, see, it’s actually not. You know why? Because nobody wants to read it. You know why? Because it’s so ungodly boring. It may be the epitome of American romanticism, but that doesn’t speak very well of American romanticism, now does it? Why don’t you do this: Get rid of Moby Dick, because nobody will read it and the people who do read it won’t love it and then they won’t love you, and put in Emily Dickinson instead. Think how much friendlier that will be. Emily Dickinson is a major poet that you have unreasonably left off the syllabus, and she is from the same time period as Herman Melville, and she is much more quintessential, so actually you wouldn’t lose anything because she is better in every way.
Moby Dick may be a great novel on epic themes (it is, obviously), but that doesn’t make it okay. You know why? Because Melville was careless and he combined his great novel on epic themes with his definitive treatise on whaling, and it didn’t really come out all that well. You can pretend that this was just part of his genius, but I think actually it was more like a literary experiment gone horribly, horribly awry. Herman Melville was a good writer. He’s just not as genius brilliant as you think he is. And you should delete Moby Dick from your syllabus posthaste, or at least tell the students which parts to steer clear of so they won’t end up bashing their heads against the wall as they try to wade through four hundred pages of whaling information.
And while I’m on the subject, can I ask you a question? Why are we reading Ernest Hemingway when he’s total rubbish? You know you only like him because of the bullfighting and manliness. Well, I’ve had enough manliness and I am ready for something about a woman, so can we please hit up Kate Chopin instead? I know you mean well, but every single thing that we are reading from now until December is about white men and I am not a man and I would have a lot more fun if we hit up, you know, ANYTHING ELSE IN THE WHOLE WORLD.
And speaking of Southern novels, I am grateful that you added Zora Neale Hurston, but can we please please please eighty-six Faulkner and insert Harper Lee? And can we get rid of dreadful Toni Morrison and replace her with Alice Walker who is lovely? And if you really really want to spoil me, you might consider deleting Richard Wright and inserting Langston Hughes or Ralph Ellison (by the way, do you have any explanation for Langston Hughes’ exclusion from our syllabus? What about Emily Dickinson?).
Thank you for adding Ezra Pound and Sylvia Plath and E. E. Cummings (but I’m not going to spell it the retarded way because it’s retarded) and Eugene O’Neill. I am grateful for all of these things. But can I just say that if you’re not going to put T.S. Eliot on our syllabus because you’ve included him on your British lit syllabus, then it is only fair to admit that Nabokov is an American writer and give us the gorgeous treat of Lolita or Pale Fire. We do not try to pretend that Salman Rushdie is an Indian writer. I do not even try to pretend that T.S. Eliot is an American writer (although I would like to).
No more Moby Dick. Remember that. Here is a mantra for you: Moby Dick is bad and Emily Dickinson is good.
(You can alter this in lots of different ways. See above for suggestions.)
This is my syllabus by weeks, and it is the amazingly vastly improved version although it still does not have any of my favorite American authors on it:
Moby Horrible Dick
Wallace Stevens poems
Walden
Death of an Extremely Depressing Salesman, which you all read in high school already and I don’t like as much as The Crucible so let’s read The Crucible because it is a much cooler play and also then you would have an opportunity to hate on Joseph McCarthy, which is an opportunity never to be wasted
The Grapes of Wrath
Robert Frost poems
A Streetcar Named Desire (just to let you know, if you wanted to do something with someone not straight, Alice Walker is bisexual. And female! And black! Don’t you SEE the POSSIBILITIES?)
The Sun Also Rises (yes, yes, the guy has a malfunctioning willy, and it’s ruining his life. Please do not make me read this again.)
William Carlos Williams poems
and then in the spring:
The Member of the Wedding (looking forward to reading this!)
Ezra Pound poems
Their Eyes Were Watching God (yay!)
E.E. Cummings (you really aren’t going to brainwash me into spelling it the retarded way. IT IS JUST DUMB) poems
Beloved (Please can we have The Color Purple instead? Pretty please? I will give you ten pounds if we can have The Color Purple instead)
Marianne Moore poems
Native Son (nooooooo)
Sylvia Plath poems (to cheer us up!)
Light in August (Faulkner is No Good. Let’s read To Kill a Mockingbird instead. Or Ernest Gaines? Or oh! if you really want to have mercy on us, what about gorgeous gorgeous Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil? Or Flannery O’Connor, or Robert Penn Warren if you must have a white dude! Or, hell, I’d even rather read Confederacy of Dunces, and please appreciate how much I really don’t like that book.)
Long Day’s Journey Into Night
I should really invent my own syllabus and offer it to the American literature people as a favor. Then they would not have to torture their students but instead would give them a lovely syllabus. My syllabus would be more like this:
Emily Dickinson
Huckleberry Finn
one or two O. Henry stories, for joy
Civil Disobedience and, because I do not hate you, The Night Thoreau Spent in Jail
The Great Gatsby
The Awakening
Ezra Pound
Their Eyes Were Watching God
Langston Hughes
Long Day’s Journey Into Night
Dorothy Parker (pomes and reviews because her reviews kicked ass)
E.E. Cummings
The Crucible
Catch-22
The Color Purple
To Kill a Mockingbird and/or Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil
Lolita
The Poisonwood Bible
Angels in America
The Time Traveler’s Wife
My syllabus makes me much happier than your rubbish syllabus. I might toss in some H.L. Mencken as well, and Chaim Potok (because lucky everyone who gets to read The Chosen). They should put me in charge of inventing the canon. I would get rid of everything that sucked and only include things that were cool. You may notice that this syllabus consists of everything I like, and that is quite true, but since my taste is obviously perfect, there is no point in complaining, and anyway I have not chosen things at random but given some thought to my selection. Imagine what a delightful paper could be written on oppression in The Color Purple and Lolita.
If you are an teacher of American lit, feel free to steal this syllabus and inflict it on your students. They will grumble at having to read lots of novels but ultimately they will appreciate it.
Now I must stop procrastinating and do actual work.
Moby Dick may be a great novel on epic themes (it is, obviously), but that doesn’t make it okay. You know why? Because Melville was careless and he combined his great novel on epic themes with his definitive treatise on whaling, and it didn’t really come out all that well. You can pretend that this was just part of his genius, but I think actually it was more like a literary experiment gone horribly, horribly awry. Herman Melville was a good writer. He’s just not as genius brilliant as you think he is. And you should delete Moby Dick from your syllabus posthaste, or at least tell the students which parts to steer clear of so they won’t end up bashing their heads against the wall as they try to wade through four hundred pages of whaling information.
And while I’m on the subject, can I ask you a question? Why are we reading Ernest Hemingway when he’s total rubbish? You know you only like him because of the bullfighting and manliness. Well, I’ve had enough manliness and I am ready for something about a woman, so can we please hit up Kate Chopin instead? I know you mean well, but every single thing that we are reading from now until December is about white men and I am not a man and I would have a lot more fun if we hit up, you know, ANYTHING ELSE IN THE WHOLE WORLD.
And speaking of Southern novels, I am grateful that you added Zora Neale Hurston, but can we please please please eighty-six Faulkner and insert Harper Lee? And can we get rid of dreadful Toni Morrison and replace her with Alice Walker who is lovely? And if you really really want to spoil me, you might consider deleting Richard Wright and inserting Langston Hughes or Ralph Ellison (by the way, do you have any explanation for Langston Hughes’ exclusion from our syllabus? What about Emily Dickinson?).
Thank you for adding Ezra Pound and Sylvia Plath and E. E. Cummings (but I’m not going to spell it the retarded way because it’s retarded) and Eugene O’Neill. I am grateful for all of these things. But can I just say that if you’re not going to put T.S. Eliot on our syllabus because you’ve included him on your British lit syllabus, then it is only fair to admit that Nabokov is an American writer and give us the gorgeous treat of Lolita or Pale Fire. We do not try to pretend that Salman Rushdie is an Indian writer. I do not even try to pretend that T.S. Eliot is an American writer (although I would like to).
No more Moby Dick. Remember that. Here is a mantra for you: Moby Dick is bad and Emily Dickinson is good.
(You can alter this in lots of different ways. See above for suggestions.)
This is my syllabus by weeks, and it is the amazingly vastly improved version although it still does not have any of my favorite American authors on it:
Moby Horrible Dick
Wallace Stevens poems
Walden
Death of an Extremely Depressing Salesman, which you all read in high school already and I don’t like as much as The Crucible so let’s read The Crucible because it is a much cooler play and also then you would have an opportunity to hate on Joseph McCarthy, which is an opportunity never to be wasted
The Grapes of Wrath
Robert Frost poems
A Streetcar Named Desire (just to let you know, if you wanted to do something with someone not straight, Alice Walker is bisexual. And female! And black! Don’t you SEE the POSSIBILITIES?)
The Sun Also Rises (yes, yes, the guy has a malfunctioning willy, and it’s ruining his life. Please do not make me read this again.)
William Carlos Williams poems
and then in the spring:
The Member of the Wedding (looking forward to reading this!)
Ezra Pound poems
Their Eyes Were Watching God (yay!)
E.E. Cummings (you really aren’t going to brainwash me into spelling it the retarded way. IT IS JUST DUMB) poems
Beloved (Please can we have The Color Purple instead? Pretty please? I will give you ten pounds if we can have The Color Purple instead)
Marianne Moore poems
Native Son (nooooooo)
Sylvia Plath poems (to cheer us up!)
Light in August (Faulkner is No Good. Let’s read To Kill a Mockingbird instead. Or Ernest Gaines? Or oh! if you really want to have mercy on us, what about gorgeous gorgeous Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil? Or Flannery O’Connor, or Robert Penn Warren if you must have a white dude! Or, hell, I’d even rather read Confederacy of Dunces, and please appreciate how much I really don’t like that book.)
Long Day’s Journey Into Night
I should really invent my own syllabus and offer it to the American literature people as a favor. Then they would not have to torture their students but instead would give them a lovely syllabus. My syllabus would be more like this:
Emily Dickinson
Huckleberry Finn
one or two O. Henry stories, for joy
Civil Disobedience and, because I do not hate you, The Night Thoreau Spent in Jail
The Great Gatsby
The Awakening
Ezra Pound
Their Eyes Were Watching God
Langston Hughes
Long Day’s Journey Into Night
Dorothy Parker (pomes and reviews because her reviews kicked ass)
E.E. Cummings
The Crucible
Catch-22
The Color Purple
To Kill a Mockingbird and/or Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil
Lolita
The Poisonwood Bible
Angels in America
The Time Traveler’s Wife
My syllabus makes me much happier than your rubbish syllabus. I might toss in some H.L. Mencken as well, and Chaim Potok (because lucky everyone who gets to read The Chosen). They should put me in charge of inventing the canon. I would get rid of everything that sucked and only include things that were cool. You may notice that this syllabus consists of everything I like, and that is quite true, but since my taste is obviously perfect, there is no point in complaining, and anyway I have not chosen things at random but given some thought to my selection. Imagine what a delightful paper could be written on oppression in The Color Purple and Lolita.
If you are an teacher of American lit, feel free to steal this syllabus and inflict it on your students. They will grumble at having to read lots of novels but ultimately they will appreciate it.
Now I must stop procrastinating and do actual work.
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Mm-mm-mm, Tresemme, oo-la-la
Because I get that little TRESemme (I’m doing the capitals correctly not because I care but because I can’t figure out how to make an e with an accent over it) jingle stuck in my head all the time, I couldn’t stop myself from buying TRESemme shampoo and conditioner when I was first grocery shopping here in England, and also they were two for one and I knew they wouldn’t do anything horrendous like make my hair fall out in clumps or turn it purple. So the day before yesterday I finally used the last of the shampoo and conditioner I had brought from home, and I started using the TRESemme (yeah, that’s annoying me. I’m stopping) stuff instead.
And my hair! It smells so good! Smelling my hair is my crack cocaine now! It just smells so yummy! I just can’t stop myself! I’m constantly trying to think of activities that will provide a suitable cover for what is actually me smelling my hair in public. When I go outside, I pretend like I’m keeping my hair wrapped around my hand over my shoulder because it’s windy and I’m trying to prevent my hair from flying everywhere. But in fact I am only doing it so that I can bury my nose in my hair and inhale.
This is how much I like it, and please appreciate that this is the same girl who budgeted ten extra pounds just in case she forgot something and then berated herself for overspending this week. When I run out (not soon since I have almost a liter of each), I may actually pay full price for more shampoo and conditioner. Which would be like seven pounds. So like fourteen dollars. I would spend fourteen dollars of my good money, money that could be used to buy a nice new DVD, or a lovely book, or to pay for photocopies of Oscar Wilde manuscripts and documents, on hair-care products.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go waste some of my valuable time snorting hair.
(That sounds really gross. I am not really snorting it. If I did that it would go inside of my nose, and from what I can tell, my nose is not a pretty place to be right now. My nose–well, never mind.)
And my hair! It smells so good! Smelling my hair is my crack cocaine now! It just smells so yummy! I just can’t stop myself! I’m constantly trying to think of activities that will provide a suitable cover for what is actually me smelling my hair in public. When I go outside, I pretend like I’m keeping my hair wrapped around my hand over my shoulder because it’s windy and I’m trying to prevent my hair from flying everywhere. But in fact I am only doing it so that I can bury my nose in my hair and inhale.
This is how much I like it, and please appreciate that this is the same girl who budgeted ten extra pounds just in case she forgot something and then berated herself for overspending this week. When I run out (not soon since I have almost a liter of each), I may actually pay full price for more shampoo and conditioner. Which would be like seven pounds. So like fourteen dollars. I would spend fourteen dollars of my good money, money that could be used to buy a nice new DVD, or a lovely book, or to pay for photocopies of Oscar Wilde manuscripts and documents, on hair-care products.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go waste some of my valuable time snorting hair.
(That sounds really gross. I am not really snorting it. If I did that it would go inside of my nose, and from what I can tell, my nose is not a pretty place to be right now. My nose–well, never mind.)
Friday, October 20, 2006
Hahahahahahahaha
Abort Playdate! Abort Playdate!
Little girl #1: Guess what my mom told me that your mom told her the other day when we were playing? She had another baby before you and it died!
Little girl #2: No, my mom said that I’m the oldest.
Little girl #1: You are now ’cause the other one died. She died before she was even born!
Little girl #2: That’s impossible! You can’t die before you are born!
Little girl #1: Yes you can. You can die before you are born, while you are born, or after. You can die at any time and you don’t even have to do anything bad.
Little girl #2: I don’t want to play with you anymore.
–Manhattan bound F train
Little girl #1: Guess what my mom told me that your mom told her the other day when we were playing? She had another baby before you and it died!
Little girl #2: No, my mom said that I’m the oldest.
Little girl #1: You are now ’cause the other one died. She died before she was even born!
Little girl #2: That’s impossible! You can’t die before you are born!
Little girl #1: Yes you can. You can die before you are born, while you are born, or after. You can die at any time and you don’t even have to do anything bad.
Little girl #2: I don’t want to play with you anymore.
–Manhattan bound F train
I don’t know whose idea this was
but whoever came up with this plan for wearing miniskirts and those boots (while we’re on the subject, who came up with Ugg boots at all?), whoever came up with that plan, they should have their noses pulled off. With pliers. Nobody wins when that ensemble happens. Nobody. And don’t even get me started on the subject of adding leggings. I have a very short list of things that are never okay, and one of those things is leggings.
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