This is not what I wanted to see: http://www.salon.com/books/feature/2008/12/23/publishing/

on my way

Tomorrow I'm flying back to what seems less and less like home but somehow always will be. I'd be excited even if this did not include meeting a certain yellow Labrador for the first time. It will be so nice to have a real break again -- last year did not count at all.

I love the smell of winter when it first arrives. There's a thin veil of snow on the lawns and rooftops, with a foot more expected Friday. I would not be surprised if my plane were delayed. Boo. I will be pissed if I miss the caroling party Saturday night because of the storm.

I got Matt to watch Death Note with me, and now he's kind of addicted. It's been two years since I watched that show and I forgot how much I love it. Hee! Matt and I are going to the airport together tomorrow, which kind of makes me forget he's not coming to L.A. with me. My friends and I are going to exchange gifts when we get back, since many people have been wrapped up in papers and unable to shop as much as I have. All of us will be together for New Years, which is going to be a nice change.

I need to find a second job for the spring, since Mary will be at Stanford for the term and Barbara can't employ me full time. I've been in contact with Lindamood-Bell, and though nothing real has come of it yet, if I'm here this summer I'd like to do that again.

All my thoughts are disjointed. I'm going to make more coffee.

finally~

courtesy of toothpastefordinner.com

waiting for snow

So I'm nursing a nascent cold, three pesky manuscripts, and a self-inflicted haircut (though I must say I am very pleased with the latter, as it now stands). Our Christmas tree has not arrived yet, and I am getting antsy. We're all going to Mauricio and Albert's housewarming party tonight. It took a really long time for them to get their stuff together, I guess. How strange that we might have all been living there together. Faux-granite kitchen or no, I'd much rather be here, especially considering where I ended up working.

Yay for pterosaurs!

Also, based on recent hearsay, I'm pretty sure that the G-clock doesn't stop, and if I went back to school next year I'd be a g3 already, with only one semester's worth of credit under my belt. I would have to teach while taking a full load of required courses and preparing for generals. If that doesn't seal the deal I don't know what does.

I finally figured out where to find attractive layouts for this thing.

whoot

Thanksgiving, et cetera

Well, I'm not going shopping today, except for a little Christmas tree from eBay. The last of the leaves have finally fled, and the whole world is gray outside. Matt, on the other hand, is hitting the malls, since he's much better than I at braving crowds in the name of savings.

Thankgiving was very nice, and quiet, since there were only five of us around: Matt, Atanu, Philip, and I, along with Choo Choo, the adorable, incredibly polite shelter mutt whom Atanu is dog-sitting for someone in his department. Having Choo Choo around really made Marion Street feel like a home, which is sad because they're not allowed to have pets. The turkey came out well, and the stuffing even better. I think we all have a lot to be thankful for this year.

Speaking of thankful, here is a video of a very thankful penguin:



I have definitely felt that way before.

nostalgia, or the opposite?

Why does looking at old photographs make me so sad?

Ahahaha

Ha ha ha.

worst line of NaNo yet

In her head, Maddey thought of myriad possibilities that seemed to branch out like branches from a tree.

I...I can't believe that came from my brain...Gah I hate my novel. ><;

Girls just want to be lovesick?

Note: If I've been posting a lot lately, it's mostly to avoid working on my disaster of a novel.

If you've been in a bookstore lately, you've surely seen the glossy cardboard ad-stands in black, red, and white. A cursory glance will tell you three things about the Twilight series, by Stephanie Meyer. It's dark fantasy, it's being made into a movie, and it's massively popular. Basically it is about a high school girl who falls in love with a vampire, and it is a huge phenomenon that arose completely unbeknownst to me, which makes me feel somewhat out of touch. Girls are reading it by the millions. But I have never read any of these books, and I don't plan on it. Many critics compare the appeal of Twilight to "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," and suggest its popularity could grow to Potter proportions. However, having read the above article, it disappoints me that something like this could be the next Harry Potter. Why? Because it represents a huge step backward for girls' search for fantastical role models.

As a fantasy fan who has often had to latch onto male protagonists to get my fix of inner conflict and peril, I like the idea of girls having a main character (who is not a princess) that they can roleplay without gender bending. As we speak, I am trying to write an ordinary young heroine who captures the same kind of je ne sais quoi that attracts me to young male leads. Unfortunately, Twilight's Bella Swan is really a lame heroine. LAME, I say. Here's why.
The whole premise of the book is based on Bella's obsessive love for Edward the vampire, who, despite being immortal, gorgeous, and brilliant with two Harvard degrees, is posing as a student at her high school. Worse, Bella is, as we fiction writers say, a Mary Sue -- devoid of personality, she was designed for reader self-insertion, a pair of empty shoes. The effect of this is that every reader, and the writer as well, places themselves in the position of an adoring girl swooning over this perfect (if undead) man. It seems profoundly anti-feminist in a way that even those fantasy sagas with few female characters are not. Eowyn and Galadriel, the only strong women in Tolkien's LotR (Arwen's heroism being largely a movie creation), would scoff at the LAME.

Compare Bella to Buffy. From what I've seen of Buffy, she, not the vampires she battled after school, was the main attraction. She was awesome. Yes, she fell in love with a vampire too, but the point was that she was a born slayer with inherent powers that set her up for internal conflict as well as just being kickass. However vapid the series could become at times, none would argue with the fact that Buffy exemplified a strong heroine girls could -- and did -- want to be.

Girls want to be Bella Swan, too. But why? I'm not saying Bella has to have magic powers or something to be worthwhile. But I have a feeling that if I read Twilight, even as a goth-leaning fifteen-year old, I would not be able to relate to Bella. Ironically, even though her void character is deliberately written to be a stand-in, I don't think I could do it. So maybe it's just me -- can I somehow not relate to an ordinary girl? It's not as though there have not been female characters whom I identify with. In Harry Potter, though Harry's story arc naturally resonated the most with me, I personally was able to identify equally with Hermione Granger, who impressed me by being a nerdy know-it-all who was nevertheless primarily defined by her daring rather than her smarts. This is no small feat. And Lyra Belacqua, an ordinary girl at the start of Phillip Pullman's Golden Compass is wonderful and drew me in immediately. There were the American Girls. And don't forget Disney's Belle, who originally was motivated not by desire for a man, but by longing for adventure and escape, as well as devotion to her father.

But from what I've seen of Twilight, Bella is no Belle, and she's certainly no Hermione. Yet apparently, most teen girls want to be her, which really just means they want to be loved and protected by the creepily perfect Edward. Does anyone else find this disturbing? Twilight at its core is neither fantasy nor horror, but romance. It bothers me that millions of teen and pre-teen girls are obsessing over romance novels, especially ones that seem so devoid of original interpretations of gender roles. I'm starting to sound like a militant feminist now, which is hilarious. That's how annoying these books are to me.

Nothing against romantic love, of course. We know how I feel about this subject, don't we? For that matter, I don't have anything against romance-centric fiction; I've even written some of it myself over the years, featuring characters who are by no means mine to feature in such a manner (my sincerest apologies to their creators). I would have no issue with these books if it weren't for the tremendous hype around them. Many romances, I'm sure, are much worse. It's just that the minds of girls are being led into a fantasy world in which their primary existence for being is to love this unrealistic male ideal. As an alternative to Hannah Montana and High School Musical, Twilight seems aesthetically appealing. But is it any more empowering? The message of Twilight's mass popularity seems to be that the ultimate thing a typical girl wants is the perfect man. Not saving the world. Being adored by Mr. Popularity.

Ew.

I really dislike my new novel this year. It is hard to explain why. For one, it is a story that has been ripening in my head for over four years now, ever since my first dig. Although this makes the plot easier to get down on the page, it definitely feels stale. I'm not obsessed with it, and the characters do not live in my mind the way I had hoped they would. Constantly I am hit by flashes of other stories I could be writing that speak to the aesthetics that currently inspire me. This work is not a work of my soul. It feels, far more than the last, like schoolwork. Not the least because it concerns archaeology, and because it dredges up a time in my life in which I was unhappy. Even though the story is light and intended for young readers, which was refreshing at first, it does weigh me down, and I find it lacks the sense of whimsy and wonder necessary in children's literature. I am still a day behind, grasping blindly towards the 25,000 word mark. This is supposed to be the hardest part of the month for everyone, so hopefully once I pass 30k things will have become easier again. It was very easy at the beginning of the month. But that does not mean it was any good. I fear I might simply have waited too long to write the thing. I'm determined to finish, though, because if I can't do this now when I could do it last year, then I'm completely useless.

Also, the California fires make me very sad. California has done nothing but disappoint me lately.

It's going to be winter soon. Thoughts of Christmas keep me warm.

Cabinet of curiosities

Would John Kerry or Hillary Clinton make a better Secretary of State? I think Kerry is more qualified, I guess. Both of them deserve something for all the work they did to pave the way for Obama. We won't miss either of them in the Senate, since Massachusetts and New York are only gong to put up more Democratic candidates.

And what is this I hear about bailing out the auto industry? Um...no. When an industry ignores the public good for so long, as American cars have done with their disregard for mileage standards, it's their own fault if they get left in the dust. Notice Toyota is doing fine. Finance is a special case, but why is it the government's job to make sure GM stays afloat? I guess to save jobs, which I can support, but still. Am I and my paltry understanding of economics wrong about this?

Whatever, news. I'm going running.

Things I need to do

1. Sleep at night, write in the morning (not vice versa!)
2. Eat less sugar
3. Stop watching cat video

heeeeee

November November

I just got back from a NaNo write-in at our local ABP, where I saw some familiar faces over pumpkin soup in a bread bowl. Good times. I finally crossed the threshold of 20,000 words, and the more important one of hating my novel and moving forward anyway. It's hard for a language-driven, introspective soul like me to write a plot-driven story. Luckily, when I ran out of ideas my characters pulled some unexpected tricks and got the narrative ball rolling again. I've basically been exactly one day ahead this whole time, consistently.

I still don't know what I am going to do with my life, but I know that being in love is the most amazing thing.

Further insight into Prop 8

This doesn't change my position about the issue by any means, but it is an interesting perspective I had never even considered. Basically, a black lesbian argues that for most blacks, gay and straight, the marriage issue is largely a white issue; that as a black, one is faced with inequality on so many more urgent fronts that marriage simply seems borderline irrelevant. Rich white gays don't see that because marriage is the only freedom they are being denied.

I don't buy it: just because there are other problems to address regarding racism is no reason to vote to ban gay marriage. By which I mean to take away basic human rights. Gay marriage should be a non-issue by now, and if only we could just accept it and let it go, then activists could direct their attentions toward the other socioeconomic inequalities that plague the state and nation. Ugh. But still, it's interesting.

Obama and the Dawn of the Fourth Age

I knew I was noticing something oddly familiar as I read this article on "The Fourth American Republic". I kept wanting to call it The Fourth Age.

Obviously I am being silly. But not really that silly. It is the beginning of a new era. Obama has probbaly done more for America's international reputation by getting elected than Bush has done in eight years.

But as we all know, Obama will have no time to rest on his laurels. He has inherited a broken world. And closer to home, literally, is the sobering fact that Proposition 8 won. We have work to do.

On a side note, listening to John McCain's concession speech was almost moving. You could see a trace of the old McCain, the one who winced visibly at his supporters' booing when he congratulated Obama. You could tell he knew that when he sold out to the Bush brigade, he let them turn him into something unrecognizable from the man who ran eight years ago. He carries the blame, not Palin, for the train wreck of his campaign. But in that speech I saw him as a tragic figure, fully aware that he has brought upon his own downfall by compromising his integrity. Too bad, John. But in another sense, McCain never stood a chance in the first place. It is Obama's time.

Thank you, America

All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.

Alright, nation, let's do this.

Looking back and forward

I started this blog (on its original server) four years ago, in the heat of the 2004 presidential contest. In fact, my very first post of any substance covered the Democratic National Convention. I went back to look at some of my old posts from that period. What surprised me the most was how genuinely excited and optimistic I was. I really thought Kerry would win. We all did. It was absolute heartbreak. That's why so many Democrats are afraid to hope this year. We can't be afraid to hope -- that's exactly what Obama's trying to tell us. Fear is what McCain is peddling. There's the potential here to create a big enough gap that they won't be able to fudge the margins and steal the election. A lot has changed since then. I remember crying my eyes out on the phone that night, in total shock and disbelief. I had to tell myself then that the story would end happily, we just weren't at the part of the story we thought we were. We felt like we had come to the end, but we had no idea then what still lay ahead. The war was only a year old, and issues like torture and wiretapping and FEMA and Fannie and Freddie had yet to surface. Now we have one more chance. Compared to last time, this looks so much more climactic and promising. It's only when you arrive at the true summit that the false one looks so unimposing. We have nine days.

I don't remember breaking out the winter coats this early last year, but I can easily say it's the most beautiful fall I've witnessed since my very first season in New Haven. There are so many more maples here, with their translucent vermillion leaves. Every time I look out any window it's like a picture postcard of New England. The air smells like tannins and woodsmoke, and you can even smell the impending cold.

Artificial Christmas trees are more expensive than I'd expected. I'd love to decorate our apartment this year. A residence is not a home until it has a Christmas tree. Speaking of which, I need to remind myself to ask Barbara and Mary about winter vacation. I want to meet my family's new dog.

My next mission is to find out why my paycheck is so much smaller than I expected. I suspect it's timetable-related, but I'd like to understand it.

Instant Karma

Let me tell you about something that happened to me today.

At 8:00 I went to the Extension School commons, where I told my students I'd be holding office hours. The room was empty except for a worker moving tables and white boards away from the center of the room.

"Hi," he said to me very directly. I usually don't like it when strangers greet me, especially when I'm alone at night. I returned the greeting and kept working on the email I was writing to my museum group. I saw him eyeing my laptop, and a few minutes later, he said, "Hey, for a computer like that, where can you buy just the power supplies?" From his accent I guessed that he was Dominican.

"I'm sure you can get it online, or at the Apple Store," I replied. End conversation, please.

"Oh because we just got a computer like that down in the science center, but it's just by itself, and the battery's gonna go dead." As he spoke, he came uncomfortably close to my laptop, examining the power outlet. "But yours is different. Newer I guess."

"Oh...you have the old round power cord?"

"Yeah, that's the one. The G4. I thought it was the same as yours."

"Oh, I don't know if they make that kind anymore at Apple...but I'm sure you could check the internet." I really wanted him to leave. It wasn't that I didn't trust him; as part of the cleaning staff he would have plenty of opportunities to steal. But he was annoying me; I wanted to finish my email and hopefully get around to some noveling.

The man explained how he had seen the cord sold online but only with the laptop, not individually. He said he had been talking to several people trying to get ahold of one. "I was hoping you might have an extra," he said. "But it's not the same as yours. Too bad."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. But keep looking, I'm sure you'll find one."

I returned to my work, hoping he wouldn't bother me anymore. He kept on pushing tables around and showed no sign of going. But after a few minutes of this, something else began to bother me. It couldn't be that hard to get an old power cord, could it? Instinctively I went to eBay, searched for "mac power cord," and there it was, the object of his quest, for $13.

"I found one," I said.

He couldn't believe it. I brought over my laptop to show him.

"Just search eBay - " I explained.

"How do I get there?"

I wrote down the url and the search info for him. He was so happy and didn't seem the least bit embarrassed to not have been familiar with eBay.

"Are you a student here?"

"Actually I'm a teaching fellow."

"Aw, no wonder you're so good with people! You're so nice with people!" He beamed. "But you're a young teacher!"

I smiled and told him I looked younger than I felt.

"Well listen, if you ever need anything you let me know. I'll be here eight to nine every night. You just let me know."

"Thank you."

"Thank you! I can't believe it!"

I felt warm inside from the man's smile. Such a simple thing. I could have just let it go. It wouldn't have been wrong. Someone else would have told him eventually. But that's not what happened.

After he finished his shift, I stretched my legs around the room and noticed a shelf marked "Book Exchange." There, among the magazines, mysteries, and academic tomes, was a mint condition copy of The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. I couldn't believe it. It was one of those books I'd been meaning to read for ages but had never gotten around to.
Someone else could have taken it at any time, and I'd have left the commons empty handed. But that's not what happened.

Not one student came for help the whole hour I sat in that lounge. But I'll be going back there someday soon -- to put my own book in the Book Exchange. With any luck, Robert will be there to tell me he finally got his power cord.

I know that, had I not helped the stranger, the book still would have been there. I might still have seen it, and I might still have taken it home with me. But that's not what happened. And that's why it doesn't matter whether my kindness caused the book to appear, whether there is karma, or fate, or God. Rather, it's our actions that tie our experiences together and give these things meaning. The book was not the reward for my good deed; my happiness was, and if the book hadn't been there, then I in my happiness would have made the same connection with whatever bit of good luck happened to come my way. Now, whenever I look at that book, I'll remember.

Why does this happen to me

So, through a rapid chain of decisions which I don't entirely understand, I've become in charge of the creation of the altars for the Peabody's Dia de los Muertos celebration.

In fact there are seven of us students making the altars, but since I'm the paid assistant and they're full time students, I'm the leader. Is this terrifying? Yes. But I do think it's about the most perfect thing I could get signed up for. In fact, the epilogue of Bodies in Flight features a Dia de los Muertos altar. What better way to get inspired? I have some confidence this will go well, especially since the Museum has tons of materials and we're enlisting the aid of the Harvard University Mexican Association. But my goodness, the phrase "break up into small groups" sends shivers down my spine.

Again, basically I'm being paid to string up a room with candles, skeletons, and colorful paper. Pretty good deal. I would love, love, love to be helping this. Not necessarily leading it. Eep. O_O

Colin Powell redeems himself and other stories

So Colin Powell endorsed Obama. I'm not surprised. In fact I'm surprised that anyone is still endorsing McCain. Seriously, even David Brooks is disgusted by Sarah Palin. I can't stomach too much election talk at once, but Obama's lead right now actually makes me nervous. It's his race to lose, and if overconfident, complacent liberal kids don't get out and vote because they think he's got it in the bag, we might be in trouble. The sentiments Palin's strring up at her rallies are reprehensible and terrifying. McCain should be ashamed of himself. I wonder what he would have thought if he could have looked into the future in 2000 and seen what he would become.

The power's out at my place, which I guess means I should go outside and enjoy the fresh fall air. It's windy and chilly. I love work, and I'm thinking I want to work in museum conservation, though actually I'd be happy to be an office assistant here forever. It's such a pleasant thing: all the pretty pictures, none of the scholarly responsibility. Matt and Lindsey are drowning in work; the possibilty of enjoying a Saturday just isn't there for them. I'm never going back to that life.

NaNoWriMo is fast approaching, and I'm just now pulling some of the threads of Bodies in Flight together. It's going to be completely different to write this year's book. The thought of having two going at once is kind of dauting, and I can't just put BiF on the shelf because the characters and landscapes are inside me all the time.

I'm going out to get some fall air, trap it in a jar, and keep it on my shelf until the middle of February when I need to remember how to breathe.

Interactive Christmas List 2008

There will be a moratorium on CLOTHES. I have tons of clothes. Too many for my room. I like all of them, and I have at least one of everything I need. I don't even go to thrift stores anymore (my favorite thing ever) because I simply have no room for the clothes I might purchase. Exception: Victoria's Secret giftcard. Don't laugh. I need more simple cotton undies.

UPDATE: Oh, but I LOVE this.

BOOKS:

Comic Book Tattoo - This is perhaps the book I want the most.
Midnight's Children
Blankets
The Graveyard Book
Consider the Lobster, Infinite Jest, or anything else by David Foster Wallace
Crime and Punishment
Beauty and Sadness
Dictionary of Maya Heiroglyphs
Gods and Symbols of Ancient Mexico... - I think I'd rather have this one than the one above it.
A Sourcebook of Nasca Ceramic Iconography

DVD
The Complete Indiana Jones
The Dark Knight

MUSIC:

Rainer Maria: Look Now Again
Bayside Acoustic


There will be more. This list is just the product of one morning surfing Amazon/my brain.

It's colddddd at night

I really like fall. Now that the rain has stopped, I can enjoy the breaking out of coats and sweaters, the varigated trees, the smell of California Christmas. My brain still confuses the two. I was craving candy corn massively yesterday, which reminded me that I need to get my Halloween costume in order. I'm going as an antisocial butterfly, complete with goth getup, earphones, and a book. I have some good filler material for wings, but I need to get wire.

Work in the Peabody has been great so far. I've been photocopying and scanning and organizing photographs of Maya monuments. So far my TAship has been relaxed, but the students (I can't call them kids) have their first assignment due tomorrow, so I'll be a workhorse for a couple of days before my parents come to visit(!).

Everyone else here is suffering under the tremendous workload, which makes me wonder about my recent leanings towards continuing next year. But grad school isn't supposed to be fun, it's about forging a path for yourself so that you can ultimately study what you like the most. As long as I keep that in mind, I should be okay.

Is it too early to start a Christmas list? I really just want books, music, and money. I definitely have too many clothes of all kinds.

Notes from above a laundromat

It's been raining for almost four days straight. But the trees are changing early, and it's beautiful. Our housewarming party Saturday night went quite well, though someone told me I looked like Sarah Palin with my glasses and my hair up. Egad.

It seems like a full-time job is not in the cards right now, but with my current engagements I should get by through January. I made $64 tutoring a BU sophomore yesterday. My museum class is meeting at the MFA on Wednesday, I start work in the Meso Lab on Thursday. The English teacher I grade for has informed me I need to grade faster if he's going to continue employing my services. Okay then.

Sadly, I'm going to have to wait on the cat, because I didn't realize Emma hasn't been going in for her allergy shots. I also didn't realize she would need to go in twice a week, and that we don't know yet if her insurance covers them. I think it seems unreasonable to expect her to shell out the money for shots so I can get a cat, though she still says she wants one eventually, so if they're covered we'll go ahead.

And the Thousand Words Award goes to...

Thanks to Yglesias.

Yesterday was fairly miserable, thanks to my stomach's latest failure to function. On the plus side, I read a bunch of David Foster Wallace. RIP. I feel much better today, which is good, because tomorrow I start working -- back at Harvard. Sometimes the thing you were running from turns out to be what you wanted all along.

Even someone with no understanding of economics (say, myself) can tell that Paulson's bailout plan is stupid. Obama needs to say something to convince people he can deal with this kind of thing. If he doesn't win this election, I won't know what to think. The GOP has done everything in their power to demonstrate their incompetence. But because they lie mercilessly, and half the country watches FOX news, there's nothing Democrats can do to level the playing field short of playing their dirty tricks. It's tough being the good guy and having standards.

WANT.

WANT.

WANT.

WANT.

WANT.

WANT.

WFNX Disorientation (with Flogging Molly et al.)

I no longer have a large enough workload to require enough procrastination to write massive and thorough concert reviews. But I should at least make note of them, especially when they're as awesome as last Saturday night was. I was very happy Matt enjoyed himself, because I honestly didn't know if he would. Together we critiqued fashion, mocked drunkenness, and enjoyed some very fine music under one roof.

The first act, annoyingly-named Does It Offend You, Yeah?, failed to impress. I think they hurt Matt's eardrums with their screechy, effect-laden electro-rock, and the tent acoustics didn't help them much. Most of the crowd seemed to agree, using the first hour to buy overpriced hamburgers, snap photos of the skyline over the harbor, and get properly sloshed for the big acts. Next up were Anberlin, filling in for Rogue Wave who were absent due to injury. The sound was not especially friendly to Anberlin either, but it was clear that for all the band's musical blandness, the singer is talented on a level above many of their emoternative peers. Subsequent research informed me they sprang originally from the Christian scene. Who knew. I'd still probably rather have seen Rogue Wave in the end, but it was pleasant.

After a break, the real show got started. The sun had begun to set, the seats had begun to fill, and the BAC had begunto skyrocket: it was time for Alkaline Trio. I was probably as excited to see them as I was to see headliners Flogging Molly. The decade-old trio is (are?) one of the best of their kind, and their early '00s stuff rarely leaves my CD player. I'm not a huge fan of their newest album, which, though listenable, just lacks punch, and thankfully they played about 50% older material, including some among my very favorites "Emma," "This Could Be Love," "Private Eye," and the moving finale "Radio." They also gave a live fire to the newer songs. Matt Skiba talked a lot to us and got an anti-McCain jab in when introducing "Warbrain." They made a lot of tight noise for three guys, and did not let up their pace for a minute . Even though they were technically openers, the show did not shortchange them on set time.

The Kooks, nearly overnight Britpop sensations, were next up, and the shift in fanbase was obvious. The Trio fans had been enthusiastic but serious, containing a large number of twentysomething men. When the Kooks hit the stage, a battle cry rose from the crowd: the unmistakable screams of teen girls. Hoo boy. But fangirls do not always reflect poorly on a band's talent (see Exhibit A: The Beatles), and the Kooks put on a great show. Although it was impossible to understand what the singer was saying in his chatty interludes, his singing was adept and versatile even as he bounded around the stage. In his manner and style he recalled a young Mick Jagger, and the music likewise sent out tendrils of nostalgia for an earlier time in rock. Matt liked the Kooks best of any band that evening, which doesn't surprise me.

Finally, finally, Flogging Molly took the stage. The famous six-piece slice of Celtic pride was a real powerhouse live, as expected, and both their punky raucousness and their virtuostic musicianship were even more apparent. Singer Dave King waxed foul-mouthed and adorable. "I'm not wearing this red tie so as to look like a Republican," he assured us. "I'm wearing it for your f***ing Boston Red Sox!" His love for his wife, who plays the fiddle and the flute in the band, was palpable from the stage, as was his fondness for Boston, cesspool of recovering Irish Catholics. Mixing older songs like "Black Friday Rule" and "Selfish Man" with tracks like "Paddy's Lament" and "Requiem for a Dying Song" off their new disk Float, recorded in Ireland, the band showcased its awesome consistency across the decade. The title track was a highlight, as were the strong selections from Drunken Lullabies (my favorite): "Rebels of the Sacred Heart," "What's Left of the Flag," and "If I Ever Leave This World Alive." The crowd, more physically imposing than the typical audience at one of my shows, was having a grand old time. The ushers tried in vain to preven drunken middle-aged men from dancing in the aisles like hobbits at an eleventy-first birthday party. It was pretty awesome. I felt Irish.

I want a cat so badly.

Oh Microsoft...

Google search for "how do you get rid of those lines in word" returned the following result:

I wish someone had told me before I spent hours and hours on it this summer kthx.

on and on and on

Yesterday, after I closed out the storage unit, we went to IKEA.  From my standpoint the trip went well; I got everything I needed, and nobody fought.  Poor Philip, who can't catch a break, found that the mattress he'd wanted was out of stock.  When we got home, the grudge resurfaced, and it was nasty.

I will not go into the details of Emma's quarrel with Philip.  Suffice it to say that she threatened to move out.  I have faith that this will blow over, as all these things do, but none of us want to be caught in the throes of this stormy personality conflict for five more years.

Assuming we can rebuild some kind of unity, today we're going to Target to get appliances.  This time we're on our own for transport, but Target is fairly close.  Also, the electrician is supposed to be coming.  Out Ikea items are arriving tomorrow, and by Monday the place should resemble a home.  So it goes.

The Fellowship of the Stuff

I knew today was going to be interesting when Matt and I arrived at the lot where we were slated to pick up our Zipcar pickup truck, which appeared to be completely blocked  in from the road by a swath of newly-laid roadwork.  I'm not sure if we got it out of there legitimately, but we made it out whole, which is ultimately more important.  We had the Ziptruck until five, and made good use of it.  We emptied out our storage unit in four trips, though I still have to sweep it and sign it out tomorrow morning (before IKEA). That all went smoothly.  The tricky parts came when we pursued our sundry Craigslist finds. We went to pick up a beautiful kitchen table in Brookline, which was more inconvenient than we had expected due to weird traffic patterns.  It took forever.  Then there was my antique dresser, which was a grunt to transport but looks lovely now.  While we were out, Emma and Philip had been fighting, which is never pretty.  I almost forgot to eat lunch, which is never good.  And at the last minute before Matt had to return the truck, Philip wanted to get this huge desk, which we successfully got in time, and then had no idea how to move upstairs.  It was too heavy and too long.  We spent two hours trying to move it. While Matt returned the truck and Philip tended to the toenail which was spurting blood, Atanu and I stood with the desk on the sidewalk trying to take it apart.  Fail.  Once we got the thing inside the building with the help of our friends, we tried to take it apart again.  Fail.  So we decided to just get it up the stairs in one piece.  Painful, hilarious fail.  There were Philip (toe intact), Lindsey, Matt, Manizeh, Atanu, and I all struggling with this behemoth for two hours (Emma wanted no part of this). We tried taking it apart again, and things began to break off.  Hm.  "Sorry I got a stupid desk," said Philip.  We left it next to the stairwell where we'll attempt to sell it to someone else.  At least he got a chair out of the deal.  A $75 chair.

Oh, and the cleaning company who was supposed to do our place?  They bailed.  Two guys from the management had to come in instead, and they did okay, but the shower room basically has to be completely redone because of the mildew situation, including an electrician installing a fan.  As for the guys coming to paint, they said, better not wait on them to start moving.

Progress was made, though.  All my stuff is in my room, which I've started cleaning myself with supplies purchased by Lindsey and Manizeh.  The dresser looks beautiful, and the only real furniture I will need to buy at IKEA is a bookshelf.  The IKEA trip is the next leg of the journey, and I anticipate to have to keep Emma and Philip separated by several showrooms.

So yes, long day.  It became apparent along the way that Matt is an awesome driver, Manizeh is an expert spatial puzzle solver, and I can't lift a can of beans.  I'm growing antsy to set everything up for real now.

Cambridge for good

The apartment is ours.  All my stuff arrived today as planned.  The bed looks great.  We're still waiting on the cleaning folks the landlord promised, since the place needs it pretty badly.  I'm getting antsy to set stuff up but want to wait in case the painters come, which could happen this week.  Tomorrow we're getting a Zipcar to get stuff from storage as well as a beautiful old dresser I found on Craigslist, and Thursday is the Ikea pilgrimage.  I'm going for minimal Ikea, maybe a bookshelf, a wall shelf, and some cushions for the awesome free loveseat thingy the previous tenants left me.  Things won't be put together until the weekend because we're waiting on the cleanup job, but it's exciting.  I'm keeping my eyes on the job market and have sent out a few more apps.  Still nil. It's not as hot and miserable here as it could be, and it's great living out of Matt's apartment while we get things squared away at our place.  We still have to deal with cable and utilities.  The world is complicated for grown-ups.

Lately I've been joking about taking up vigilante editing. whiting out such travesties as those obnoxious apostrophes on the name placards in front of houses.  Well, it looks like someone already took the job -- and paid for it.  Ouch.

I think Obama has a good running mate in Biden.  I still wish he had chosen Clark, but it could have been worse, and Joe should knock a few of Obama's "weaknesses" off the table.  I'm kind of glad Matt and I will be camping during the Democratic Convention, as I've already got election fatigue.  Which reminds me, I need to find a way to get my hands on some snorkels for the Channel Islands.  Wheeeeee.

Congrats to all the Olympians, medalists or not.  Until proofreading becomes an Olympic sport, I'll never be among them, but I can really relate to their stories.  

In which I get off my bum and admit I love the Olympics

I have to say, I really didn't care at all about the Olympics this year until the day before the opening ceremony, but now I'm kind of into it.  Watching the women's marathon inspired me to go running today, which was really hard.  Both Olympic track and Emma's cross-country bike feat are making me want to get back in shape again and go running every day.  As it is, it's kind of embarrassing to stagger home after two miles.  The marathon was cool, with its scenic tour of Tiannamen Square, and NBC aired the whole thing during prime time.

Obviously, Michael Phelps is awesome to watch. Dara Torres is inspirational.  Shawn Johnson is, hands down, the cutest thing I've ever seen in my life, and Jamaica's Usain Bolt is just phenomenal.  Even though ball sports aren't my thing, I'm surprised at how much I've enjoyed beach volleyball, especially the American teams of May-Walsh and Rogers-Dalhausser (the latter of whom looks like both Jim Carville and Billy Corgan).  The Chinese synchronized diving was the most scarily beautiful thing I've seen in awhile.  I got to check out some trampoline and badminton last night, both of which were also surprisingly captivating. Having reminded myself how to knit, I've been working on a scarf during my hours of Olympic watching.  If I'm going to watch sports, I have to be doing something else concurrently -- preferably something as nerdy as possible, like knitting, or sudoku, to cancel out the concession to patriotic jock worship I feel compromises my character. Of course I'm being slightly  facetious here, but the multitasking is a great way to create the illusion that I'm not wasting time at all. 

I think I should start a running blog or something, not that I'm going to keep up with it religiously, but because it's more economical than a paper log and I'd really like to get back into a routine.  I've essentially been sick for a year and am staring at square one, but I can accept that.  If Emma can bike across the USA, I can run across town for sure.

State of the world

Congrats to my recently engaged high school friends, Kristin and Lauren!  (No, they're not engaged to each other. Ew, what's wrong with you.)  Seriously, YAAAAAAY!

Another high school friend of mine posted a note comparing Obama to Fidel Castro.  Really? This in the same week the Wall Street Journal prints a pro-Obama editorial.  Go figure.

Everyone is talking about the Edwards affair.  It's too bad, and it makes me lose a lot of respect for him.  I agree with Cenk Uygur on HuffPo that, based on historical precedent, it's ridiculous to say that Edwards' career must be over because he cheated. As he points out, Clinton, Kennedy, and Alexander the Great cheated, and by definition lied about it.  So did John McCain, and I don't think he should be getting a free pass on this.  I hope the silver lining of the Edwards scandal is that this important point about McCain comes to focus.  However, when Uygur asks how Edwards' affair is different from John McCain's, I have an answer.  Edwards was having his affair while dedicated volunteers were campaigning for him.  While college kids and housewives were going door to door, Edwards and his family were guarding this secret, instead projecting an image of the devoted husband.  It was a gamble.  Let's say Edwards had won the nomination.  McCain would now have November in the bag.  Edwards -- and his wife, who knew about this in 2006 -- were banking on not being caught. He would put our country at risk for the sake of sex and personal ambition.  Say what you will about McCain's affair; it did not occur while he was running for President.  That's the difference.  

Russia and Georgia gear up for battle as Beijing kicks off the Summer Olympics. Body count and medal count should dominate the headlines for awhile.  One of the things that has bothered me about the Olympics ever since I was old enough to know better is its nationalist spirit.  The more games are likened to war, the more war is likened to games.  I might sound like a party pooper, but watching the USA duke it out with China for most medals and listening to chants of "USA Number One" makes me uneasy in the Bush era.  Whoever said we had to root for American athletes?  Me, I root for the attractive ones.

RIP, Bernie Mac.

On the weekend agenda:  pick up new glasses, get haircut, re-dye hair.

Everything Must Belong Somewhere

Interesting review of Conor Oberst's work, past and present.  I personally disagree with the author, who finds herself less than taken by the folksy stylings of Bright Eyes' latest efforts; in particular, she does not give enough credit to his better lyrics.  But it's an interesting point: his earlier work, which first caught my attention back in high school (wow), was so raw and youthful. Now he's pretending to be old.  

But is he really?  Yes, his vocals have borrowed more from Cash than Carrabba these days, and nothing on 2007's Cassadaga is as emotive as "Something Vague."  But take a look at these lyrics from the recent release:

When panic grips your body and your heart's a humming bird

Raven thoughts blacken your mind til you're breathing in reverse

And all your friends and sedatives mean well but make it worse

And every reassurance just magnifies the doubt

Better find yourself a place to level out.

or this:

I keep floating down the river but the ocean never comes

And since the operation I heard you're breathing just for once

Now everything is imaginary, especially what you love

You left another message, said it's done

It's done.

No, it's not teen angst, but it's not aging cowboy angst either.  It's twentysomething angst.  It's the music that sounds mature; the lyrics are still lost and unripe.  The rhymes are tighter and the language more contrived, but there's sophistication in that too.  It's not Dylan, but it beats high school poetry.

As for me, there's a time for vintage Bright Eyes and a time for the new stuff.  The former becomes most powerful when sitting in your room, alone and miserable and desperate for solace.  The latter is best when driving down an empty summer highway.  Take your pick.

There are a lot of things I never thought I'd say.  For example, "Why yes, we should nuke Iran" and "I really think I've had enough cheese."  I really never thought I'd see the day when I could solemnly swear, "Paris Hilton is a little bit awesome."

I really need to update more.  The trouble is, I don't have much to tell besides stories about my students, and that would be breaking some sort of confidentiality rule.  You have no idea how hard it is not to rant and rave about them to the world.  They're darling and exasperating and brilliant and innocent.  Like all children.

Um what else.  The Dark Knight is fantastic.  I might write a review if (a) I weren't lazy and (b) there were anybody left on earth who hadn't seen it yet.  Besides my father and my boyfriend, who are allergic to the cinema.

I still can't believe I gained respect for Paris Hilton.  

this is so true.

From www.xkcd.com.  Click to enlarge.

no use for a title

Currently I'm reorganizing my bookshelf and deciding what to bring to Cambridge.  I'm getting excited about the move, mostly because having my own place is such a big step forward for me. The initial euphoria of my job is wearing off a bit, but I still like work about as much as I liked high school.  Which is to say, I'd rather be at home, but I don't dread going, the people there make me happy, and I'm learning a lot.  It's actually better than high school because there are no tests, no homework, I'm helping people, and I'm getting paid.  I really hope I can get hired in the fall at the Boston center, but if not, I'll at least make the contact with them and hope for an opening next summer.  It's a place I think I'd be happy working at for awhile.

This morning I bought tickets to the WFNX Disorientation show in September, featuring Flogging Molly, Alkaline Trio, the Kooks, Rogue Wave, and another band I don't know. I'm not a huge fan of the new Alk3 album, but I'm counting on them playing some older stuff.  If they play anything from Infirmary or Good Mourning I'll be satisfied. And Flogging Molly is just so much fun.  I'm pretty psyched about it, and now that I have some money I feel like I can afford it.  I'll see if Philip or Matt want my second ticket.  I'll bring Matt if he shows any interest and then Philip can get his own.  ^_^

The novel is coming along sloooooowly.  Changing everything to first person present is a drag.  But it is moving.  I've got some new scenes and some new insights from the fiction technique books I've been perusing.

Matt's coming to visit again a month from tomorrow (I miss him SO much!), and we're flying back to Boston together.  By then my summer work will be over and I will (hopefully) have met up with Emma at the conclusion of her cross-country bike odyssey.  I'm a little nervous about next year, finding work, settling in with roommates, and dealing with the depressing weather, but I'm alsos pretty optimistic.  I just have to keep my mind open and not get bogged down in mental sewage.  I told Bill Fash I'd stop by his lab to check out some Maya sculpture in September, and I'd like to make good on that and not lose touch with my department during my hiatus.

Well that's about it.  We're celebrating my brother's 20th today in Orange County with the Grans.  Anything that involves a free lunch and proximity to South Coast Plaza is good for me.  Next post will have politics in it, I promise.  And bear with my constant layout changes.  I'm trying to find a basic template that satisfies me and makes me want to write.

Food (in a cup?) for thought

I loved Wall-E. Like many viewers, I adored the Chaplinesque first third with its melancholy charm. The shots of the lone robot building skyscrapers out of cubes of compounded trash set a dark backdrop for the poignant revelation of the lonely android's home. For Wall-E is a collector, and his abode -- an abandoned transport unit -- is lined with junk he has salvaged from the global landfill. These curiosities: strings of Christmas lights, a Rubix cube, the enigmatic spork, and a tape of Hello Dolly, which he totes around with him while he works. This insight into Wall-E's world is touching not only because it reveals the robot's acquired human sentimentality, but also because, in a way, it softens the film's stark eco-disaster pitch. The discarded trinkets Wall-E gleans from the garbage are reborn as objects of fascination, something worth preserving. It adds a touch of empathy for the waste-ruined humans: if Wall-E can fall prey to the fruitless accumulation of 'stuff', who can blame us? But it also reminds us of why we collect in the first place. 'Stuff' has meaning. From artifice comes art, and culture. Cue Strauss here.

But I digress. This isn't really a review of the film. As we emerged into the theater lobby, the four-foot ads for popcorn and Coke popped out at us in garish moving colors. My mom commented, "It looks like the spaceship!" Indeed it did resemble an eerily accurate foreshadowing of the Axiom, the ginormous space colony where the escaping human population has been devolving for the past seven centuries. Sponsored by Buy N' Large (whose empire is so pervasive that the U.S. President serves as their Global C.E.O.), the Axiom is a floating dystopian resort where obese, bone-deficient people move about exclusively in flying individual easy chairs, equipped with holographic screens and cup holders for all their supersized liquid meals. In order for these cartoon people to return to Earth, which has once again become inhabitable, they must regain their bipedalism and their determination to live rather than merely survive. Yadda ya.

Not everyone was as wowed by the film as the most effusive reviewers, but I never expected the futuristic fable to offend anyone, except perhaps the most avid anti-environmentalist. However, this Slate piece by David Engber brings up an interesting point.

Wall-E is an innovative and visually stunning film, but the "satire" it drawsis simple-minded. It plays off the easy analogy between obesity and ecological catastrophe, pushing the notion that Western culture has sickened both our bodies and our planet with the same disease of affluence. According to this lazy logic, a fat body stands in for a distended culture: We gain weight and the Earth suffers. If only society could get off its big, fat ass and go on a diet!

But the metaphor only works if you believe familiar myths about the overweight: They're weak-willed, indolent, and stupid. Sure enough, that's how Pixar depicts the future of humanity. The people in Wall-E drink "cupcakes-in-a-cup," they never exercise, and if they happen to fall off their hovering chairs, they thrash around like babies until a robot helps them up. They watch TV all day long and can barely read.

The article continues to point out that obesity has far more to do with genetics than with actual eating and exercise behavior (though I find the degree of assertion dubious). Engber goes on to cite other examples in which the growing obesity epidemic has been linked to the growing environmental crisis. He reminds us that this connection is not so simple. Fat people may weigh down planes and increase fuel use, but the people doing the most flying are the trim business class, not the demographic raised on Big Mac. Finally, Engber suggests a political overtone to the discussion, framing urban "eco-liberals" as fretting over their less enlightened brethren in Red State U.S.A.

It is Engber's last citation that really got my attention. We get the sense that this was the piece that prompted the Slate writer to action in the first place. In a heartbreaking viewer reaction, a presumably obese woman writes a letter to Pixar denouncing the portrayal of the overweight in Wall-E. She left the theater crying.

It is horrible when you see the only bodies shaped like you as things to laugh at, as living examples of as a culture, how shoddily we treat the earth. There’s no complexity, no understanding, just an easy punchline. Why is it instantly funny to see people fall and struggle and be hurt? Worst yet, I sat there watching trying to be hopeful because at least the fat couple touched hands and smiled at each other. Unlike Wall-e and Eve, they never got to dance...

I support environmentalism. I am hurt by the same issues in consumer culture. I don’t even drive and have lived car-free for my whole adult life. I guess if you look at me that doesn’t matter.

As someone who has been weight-sensitive my entire life, I can empathize with this woman. At the same time, I cant help but feel like a perpetrator. After all, who demonstrates more prejudice against the overweight than a normal-weight girl on a diet? After finishing a double scoop instead of a single, I would fear the slightest weight gain and chastize myself as "greedy" in the same breath. In that theater, I laughed along at the bumbling, doughy cartoon bodies. Did I fail to notice the prejudice because I myself have the same deeply rooted bias?

Let's look at this anthropologically.

First let's look at Engber's argument that genetics, not lifestyle, controls obesity. This is only partially true. For example, as a demographic, Native Americans today have one of the highest rates of obesity in the country. Obviously, in addition to high poverty rates, there is some genetic factor at work here. But in the 1700s, obesity as we know it was nonexistent in Native Americans. The difference, of course, is that back then then the Indians -- like most of the world -- were living in a much more sustainable way. Fast food was a buffalo, and you had to ride like hell to catch it. Whatever genetic component it has, the truth remains, obesity is not healthy and it is not natural. Yes, we all have a set point; most of us are never going to look like Kiera Knightley. But no one's set point is 300 pounds.

Engber is right that the poorest, fattest demographics are not the ones most directly harming the planet. However, it's no coincidence that the age of obesity is the age of global warming. Obesity and pollution are each symptoms of a broader problem: over-consumption. Whether it's 99-cent cheeseburgers or $5.00 gas for the Hummer, Americans today over-consume to a degree that was never possible before. We all eat, drink, drive, fly, watch, produce, buy, discard, and use too much.

I will defend Wall-E by pointing out that in the film, the environmental crisis precedes the waistline crisis. The planet did not have to evacuate Earth because they were fat; in fact, the film makes clear that the rotund human form at the time of the story is the direct result of the 700-year stay aboard the Axiom . In other words, fat people did not kill the Earth; they were fat because their environment was restricted. The truth is, in the robot-controlled conditions in which Wall-E's people live, we would all become floating doughboys or close to it. Like animals in captivity, they changed, and though some spiritual or intellectual failings seem to accompany the physical degradation (primarily ignorance), the humans do redeem themselves. They take action. If super-fat people who can't even walk can turn around to save the world, certainly the film isn't arguing that fat people today are ruining it. Nothing in the movie blames obese people for the waste that Wall-E is cleaning up on the abandoned planet. It does suggest, however, that we are ultimately responsible for our own obesity problem, which for some may be an inconvenient truth that's hard to swallow, even in a cartoon cup.

I am so glad Fafblog is fully operational again.  

Why are there no Rainer Maria torrents for download on Mininova?

There are many petty things I really dislike in the world, and I've kept a list in my head for about a year now.  Pretty much every time I add something, I forget what all the previous items were.  So I'm trying for a minute to collect them here, and then post individual rants on each one.  

Mezzanines

Crocs

To be continued.

Summer rolls along.  I've got a solid draft of the first fifty pages of Bodies in Flight, parent approved, though the rest will be slower to edit.  I've been downloading bunches of music, both old and new, reaching back into the classic punk catalogue and the newest indie delights. Work is going very well these days.  There's a whole new crop of trained coworkers who are equally fun as the previous two.  I've bonded with several of my students and will definitely miss them in the fall.  However, I'm getting pretty excited about moving into my new place in Cambridge. Matt's already planning another visit in August, with Channel Islands camping and possibly Vegas included.

Here are some of the things that have amused me lately.

Credit Scores with Natalie

John McCain continues to be a ridiculous embarrassment

Kristol is my favorite of these

...and the living's easy

Matt spent ten days here in the thick of a glorious heat wave.  He arrived Friday night, and we spend Saturday hanging out on the patio with Sandy Owen, walking the RHE trails, and dipping our toes in the night-shrouded Pacific.  After Father's Day brunch at home on Sunday, we drove to Balboa Island for salt-water taffy and frozen bananas.  It was a brilliant blue day.  During the week, I was lucky enough to have two-hour lunches at work, of which we took full advantage.  The long summer evenings were sweet: sunset at the PV cliffs, dinner at the Red Onion, drinks and appetizers in Long Beach with Mel, and watching old Beatles episodes of the Ed Sullivan Show.  It felt so great to not have homework to do.  The last weekend, we took Highway 1 up to the Getty Villa, spent some time bumming around the cliffs past Malibu, and slept in Ventura.  The next morning we continued north to Santa Barbara, where we stopped by the Mission, the long promenade of State Street shops, and Stearns Wharf.  He left on Monday, so we're in for another long dry spell of Skype and Scrabulous.

After two weeks of actual teaching, I can say I love my job.  It's tough, but genuinely rewarding and often very fun.  I can't believe that only three months ago I was convinced I would never be able to find a job I didn't hate, and on my very first try I've scored a jackpot.  Seriously, April feels like a full nine months ago.  The life I'm living now is so much richer and more complete, and so many radical changes have unfolded since then, that the reality of the time frame seems impossible. How life's pendulum can swing from despair to ecstatic satisfaction!  Once I let go of my graduate career, and acknowledged my underlying unhappiness, I began to recover my appreciation for life.  But it wasn't until I began working that true joy began to bloom within me again in a rush of gratitude and excitement.  The blank white page of the future no longer terrifies me; it is freedom.  Life is short, and there are things to do.

Ten Things I Like About Life Right Now

1. My boyfriend is coming to visit next Friday! I'm the luckiest girl in the world.

2. Indiana Jones 4 is quite a lot of fun.  Harrison Ford just owns, period. 

3. OBAMA!  YAY!

4. My job, though tiring, is rewarding and fulfilling.  I would like to continue when I go back east.

5. I'm kind of on an LotR kick again.  It's a more hopeful fantasyland than the one I was living in before.

6.  I am no longer terrified of freeways.

7. I'm starting to lose the motivation/need to dress up every day.  I think I feel more real and whole than I did, so I don't always need to build up an existence out of makeup and accessories.

8. Coconut is delicious and good for you.

9.  The fog has lifted from my eyes, and I can see beauty again.  PV is beautiful.

10. Did I mention my boyfriend is coming? ^_^

Siva Noir

I had the pleasure of attending college with the talented and beautiful Lexi Newman.  A lover of literature and rock, the crown jewel of her Yale career was the staging of The Tempest interjected with live David Bowie songs.  She's currently the singer in an alternative outfit called Siva Noir, whose dark glam-ternative alto sound evokes Souxie and the Banshees, Concrete Blonde, and (though she would kill me if she read this) a much more talented Evanescence.  Their MySpace  features a few songs from their upcoming album, although my favorite ones, including "The Rapture," aren't available there.    It's good stuff, and Lexi is deeply cool.  On Friday, I saw Siva Noir with Cleveland's Mr. Gnome and Montreal's Bad Flirt at The Knitting Factory's Alternate Lounge.   Siva kicked serious butt, and the other bands rocked too, particularly Bad Flirt with their not-too-cutesy, punky, fuzzy girlpop. Yum.  It was only Siva Noir's third show, and you never would guess it from their polish and energy. Lexi, you are an inspiration to all of us who dream of pursuing our creative loves.  Rock on.

Matthew M: Erica, I want to congratulate you on having done so well in this prim--scrabble game.

Matthew M: We have both worked long and hard at winning the vot--points of each of the tiles, by playing them on the board.

Matthew M: I will graciously therefore accept your concession in this game, and look forward to joining forces with you against John McCain

Matthew M: You see, I have played more tiles this game, than any other candidate. I have the support of more letters of the alphabet than any other player in History!!!

Matthew M: It is UNFAIR to count letters like Z as 10, when no Democrat has won these tiles in the past 30 years, whereas I have played a majority of the "E"s that our party will depend on for victory in November

Matthew M: The point scoring system is inherently UNdemocratic, and I ask you to help me rectify this by dropping out.

Matthew M: You have run an awesome campa--game this time around, but I think you'll see that when we discount the words you played on triple word score spots (undemocratic again) and reapportion Zs and Ks to 1, that I have won

Matthew M: Thank you and GOD BLESS AMERICA!!!

I'm employed!

I got a job on my first try!  I'm working at Lindamood-Bell, right in town, helping struggling students learn to read, comprehend, and verbalize better.  Largely third-grade boys, I'm told.  Yesterday's screening went really well, and I think I'm going to like it.  I start Monday.  The biggest negatives are the rigid schedule and the dress code, but I guess the former is what we're getting paid for and the latter is to be expected.

I have to get my TB test and fingerprinting done tomorrow.  Whoot.

I still squee when I see archaeological cartoons show up in my regular comics.

Sappy post

I realized how great it is that I'm still in touch with my high school friends.  I'd like to give a shout out to my girls.

Jenny:  Our bond is unbreakable.  Tried, tested, and true.  And you taught me the most important lesson of all. Invincibilities.  We Are In.

Melissa:  Jenny said this first, not me, but it's so awesome how you love making friends with others who are different from you.  Who'd have ever thought that this blonde bombshell would be buds with an emo geek like me?  Rock on.

Alison: Every time I see you, it's like nothing's changed.  You're one of the most refreshingly alive people I know and a constant reminder of the importance of exploration.  

Kristin: You're like a big sister to me.  You continue to inspire and motivate me to this very day, just by being the amazing person you are.

~

Wherever my crazy travels take me, I take you with me.  I've never appreciated what I have more than I do now.  Better late than never.  So thanks.

How is 315-313 a draw?

Someday, someday I will beat my boyfriend in Scrabulous.  Every game I come closer, and watch in agony as victory is snatched from my fingers.

Apparently my tattoo figures prominently in the new Indy movie, which I still haven't seen.  I'm going with my family next weekend, if we can get Dad off his bum.  Gone are the days of "What is that supposed to be?"  From now on, people will say "Oh cool, an Indiana Jones tattoo!" and I will have to explain that, well, I actually got this before the movie came out, and I used to be a real archaeologist.  Mixed blessings, I suppose.

Why hello there.

There's not much point in apologizing to an invisible audience about my lack of blogging through April and May.  A lot happened during those weeks that I won't bother discussing here, and a few things that I will.  I like the idea of doing lots of little posts more often so that this process doesn't seem so daunting. 

The basic deal:  I'm in California, with my parents, looking for tutoring jobs.  Moving back to Cambridge in September, for more of the working life.  Got a nice little apartment with three of my pals and not so far from the rest of them (and my boyfriend).  It's nice to have a respite.

One of my favorite pastimes while not doing academic research has been pleasure reading.  Here is a list of all the books I have finished since March:

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius

H.M.S. Surprise

The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat

I Am America (And So Can You)

The Female Brain

Girl, Interrupted

The Ground Beneath Her Feet

Plunder of the Sun

Water For Elephants

Look Homeward, Angel

Paint It Black

The Inheritance of Loss

I'm going to do a little 3-sentence review of each book, I think.  Later.

Where is spring?

My my, I am a lazy blogger.

Spring break came and went with little. I went to see The Honorary Title open for Mae last Friday, which was absolutely beautiful, but I'm too lazy to write a review. Also too lazy to write about politics, but I am very tired of them and I wish Hillary would throw in the towel already. She's kind of like this:



Also, I laughed at this until I realized it was not a joke.

10,000 B.S.

Folks, THIS is why archaeology is important. Unfortunately, it is also why archaeology will never make a difference. The public does not give a flying monkey about what actually happened in prehistory. The fact that this so-called film, 10,000 B.C., includes pyramids and (obligatorily evil) empires in the same temporal space as mammoths would not even be justifiable if the film itself weren't abysmal, but apparently it is. It is an even more egregious collapse of time than Mel Gibson's Apocalypto, which had Spanish ships poised to invade the Classic Maya civilization. By comparison, one might argu that this is so wrong it's not even trying to be right. It's fantasy. It's Lord of the Rings. Oh, EXCEPT SHITTY.

SIX PERCENT. Even the worst Star Wars prequels got 60%. SIX PERCENT. And ironically, my department got free passes to a special preview screening of this movie. Too bad it conflicted with our Wednesday night theory class. And by "too bad," I mean THANK GOD. Great ad for a movie: Not Quite As Good As Three Hours Of Arguing About Post-Processualism. Why do we even bother learning about the past if this is what people are going to do with it? Waste of time.

PHILIP! AAAAAAAHHHHHH!

WHOOT.

Saturday, my friends and I threw a surprise birthday party for Philip. In England, they have caterpillar cakes, and on pimpthatsnack.com, which transforms ordinary desserts into giant centerpieces, we found a giant caterpillar cake. This was obviously what we had to make for Philip. We also had to make it vegan, for Lindsey.

So Friday was an epic day of ingredients-acquisition, and Saturday was an epic day of baking, baking, and baking.






We made two test cakes with the vegan recipe. The first one came out too much like banana bread and nothing like cake. After asking Emma's kitchen wizard mom for advice, our second test cake was AMAZING. We knew we had hit the mark. (See photo, above: we ate it during the baking)

Lindsey approved:


Now we had to make ten of them.





The frosting was my ninja skills.

Once we had the ten cakes, it was time for the jelly filling:



And the stacking:


We cut a piece off to make a flat bottom and flipped the stack over:


Then we iced it. This is what we call the turd stage:


Then we added the features!



THE FINAL PRODUCT:


Unfortunately, since we had promised Philip we would also bake pizza that night (unrelated, he presumed, to his birthday), he came upstairs to find us in search of pizza, and saw the back end of the cake, whereupon Emma smacked him very, very hard and yelled him out of the room. Poor guy. I don't think he saw much, but he certainly knew something was up.

Then we got all piled into the kitchen to wait for Lindsey to bring Philip in. This was the result:








You can see me flitting around with the bright red and black armwarmers,going up to hug Philip after he hugged Emma. I look like the dork that I am. And that's Atanu behind the camera, with his great line about the knife.

Random blathering:







And then the cake cutting:







'Twas a grand time.

The Bravery at the Paradise Rock Club, 2/18

It had been over a month since I'd been to a show, and yeah, I missed it. So we went to the loveably grungy Paradise Rock Club to see The Bravery -- me, Philip, and his friend Duncan, also British. Flanked by British lads, I was in good spirits.

We arrived a tad late and missed about half of the opening set by Your Vegas, but from what we heard they had potential. However, they were overshadowed by the rocking Switches. This British quintet had a great sound -- a kind of classic rock throwback thing, with four-part harmony, loud guitars, infectious energy, and awesome hair. Unfortunately, their lyrics were,in Philip's words, "insipid." Their formula for a song seems to be choose a two- or three-word phrase for the title ("No Hero," "Every Second Counts," "Lovin' It"), and then repeat it as many times as possible within the chorus. Once the crowd had figured out this formula, it got old quickly. They were clearly talented musicians with skills and commanding stage presence, however, so I think they could be quite big if they learned how to diversify their song structure. They've only got a couple of EPs out so far, so they've got time. Good stuff.

Waiting for The Bravery was the usual trial of patience, and we fell back into our pattern of making hypocritically snide remarks about the crowd. In this case, it was the most "mainstream" looking crowd I'd been in for some time. (To counterbalance the general lack of self-conscious hipness, I suppose, we had to encounter the single ugliest couple I have ever seen in my life. I shall not even describe the horror, lest it be read by said couple. This is the internet after all. We actually didn't see them until midway through the set, when they pushed their way from the bar up to the front for "An Honest Mistake." Goodness, I've said too much.) At an ideal Bravery concert, people would jump around. Their new-wave influenced, synthesizer-infused pop-rock about as close to dance music as legit guitar rock gets. And some of the people filling the Paradise that night were unhip enough, or tipsy enough, to do that.

The Bravery came onstage with "Split Me Wide Open," which, though a great song, was somewhat disappointing live. Perhaps it was a poor choice of starters. Singer Sam Endicott sounded strained, sounding like a pale echo of a young Robert Smith, to whom he is sometimes compared. However, he sounded much more confident on "No Brakes," and that confidence lasted through the solid set, which was more or less split between 2005's self-titled debut and this year's The Sun and the Moon. Before playing "This Is Not the End," he announced they would soon release a new album, entitled The Moon, made of of alternate versions of all the songs from The Sun and the Moon. I'd still rather have an album of new compositions, but the "Moon" versions of familiar tracks they performed were interesting, especially the sped-up takes of Sun's two slow songs. "Tragedy Bound," the sparsest, bleakest song The Bravery has recorded, benefited from an injection of tempo, while "The Ocean," which is beautifully wistful and dreamy on record, became a more generic Bravery filer track when backed up by a disco drumbeat. It was decidedly refreshing to hear the variation, which, after all, is part of why we go to shows.

Sam Endicott has a long face that makes him look a bit like a cross between a more outgoing Conor Oberst and a less intimidating Trent Reznor. He's passionate and dynamic on stage, all angular motion. Emo-haired guitarist Michael Zakarin also loved the crowd, pacing the edge of the barrier and bringing out the fangirls in all of us. The shy guy and unsung hero was clearly keyboardist John Conway, who, with bassist Mike Hindert, contributed backing vocals in places I hadn't realized existed. The band made it clear that they were rockers, relying only minimally on synth power and more on the charisma and musical muscle of the Endicott-Zakarin combo. Drummer Anthony Burulchich's killer solo almost consciously spat in the face of drum machines everywhere.

The poppy "Public Service Announcement" was a highlight, as were the three biggest hits: "Believe," "Time Won't Let Me Go," and "An Honest Mistake." The last, saved til late in the evening, was the crowd's obvious sentimental favorite and brought the place as close to a dance floor as it could get. They also played an old song called "The Dandy Rock," which Ellicott assured us had never been recorded. Featuring Zakarin on vocals, who was hard to hear, it was forgettable but a welcome surprise.

When they left the stage, I was hoping for "Fearless" and "Bad Sun" as encores. While I didn't get the latter, I did get the former, as well as the single "Unconditional," for which Endicott pulled out all the stops. "I just want I just want love," he wailed, and we shook our heads because it was so obvious that we loved him.

Setlist (well out of order):

Split Me Wide Open
No Brakes
This is Not the End (Moon version)
Public Service Anouncement
Tyrant
The Dandy Rock
Believe
Every Word From Your Mouth Is a Knife in My Ear
Time Won't Let Me Go
An Honest Mistake
Tragedy Bound (Moon version)
Swollen Summer

Encore:
Fearless
The Ocean (Moon version)
Unconditional

LOLPROFS

There are problems in this paper with organization, word choice, and referencing. What you are trying to do in this paper is not adequately presented in the introduction, points are not well made nor evaluated adequately in the body, and use of evidence is not critical. this is very much an undergraduate level paper and lacks the acuity expected in a graduate student effort. B+

Oh, Richard Meadow. But I thought the undergrads were smarter than the grad students. So, aren't you...sort of... complimenting me?