Fucking arboreal rodents ripped a scone-sized hole in our kitchen screen this morning and stole one of my crispety glazed pastries. This now marks the second intra-apartment squirrel incident, one of too many here on Haverford's campus. Those little fuckers, along wtih the multitude of rabbits out back, have no shame, no healthy fear of humans, and apparently nothing better to do than to break into our second story windows. We throw things at them to try and establish the *true* order of the foodchain, but to no avail. We're omnivores, dammit! Doesn't that count for anything anymore? The world has gone mad.
I baked up a storm today, pretending that I don't have work to do, and that my Spanish thesis is going to materialize out of nowhere, that I'll be able to snatch a topic out of the mists of formlessness and indecision. The grand plan is to leave the biscotti for the interview and my caramel-ginger cookies all laid out in a row, with the windows cracked juuuuust enough for the bushy-tailed bastards to smell them, but not get in. When I get back from photo tomorow morning, I want to look up from the path and see a row of buck teeth chattering in drooling mouths, just wishing they could eat my baked goods.
Mmmmwwaaahahahahahahha. [evil laugh]
Maybe I just didn't get enough sleep last night.
If, on a winter's night a traveler outside the town of Malbork, leaning from a steep slope without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down into the gathering shadow...on the carpet of leaves illuminated by the moon around an empty grave, what story there awaits its end? -italo calvino
Monday, September 29, 2003
Sunday, September 28, 2003
Sunday Morning Scones
An astute observer present in the apartment this morning remarked "who the hell just gets up in the morning and says 'I'm going to bake something'?" Well, to that I'd say, um, me.
It was just one of those mornings when I needed to breakfast on something warm and crispy, but soft and steamy inside. The smell of toasting oats early-ish (10:30...not bad) is something that inherently deactivates whatever sort of negativity might surface on Sunday, the consummate "work" day of the college student. Last week at the Italian market, I'd treated myself to last month's issue of Cooks' Illustrated magazine. Their recipe for Toasted Oat Scones looked delectable, so I thought I'd better try it.
Waking up and not having the entire day mapped out in hour or half-hour blocks is liberating, a small pleasure that I realized on Saturday afternoon, when I returned home from my weekly trip to the farmers' market with the best fresh mozzarella that I've had in ages, and a whole monkfish fillet. Warm afternoon sunlight streamed lazily in through the kitchen window on my happily photosynthesizing basil plant, also illuminating the sink full of last week's dirty dishes. As many people know, I've never been one to keep an orderly household; my room tends towards entropy, and endlessly vacillates between various degrees of disorder. Doing the dishes has NEVER been my strong point, although it's one of the things that I've been working to change (over the past several years, hee hee). So I thought to myself, I'm going to clean the kitchen.
It was in need of a serious cleansing. My knives need to be sharpened, which, incidentally is a most diverting activity; how many girls do you know that can properly use a sharpening steel? I put my receipts away, washed all of the dishes, and wiped down the sink before I even started on dinner. It felt so good to have a clean counter to work on, these little activities that I take for granted usually. Hell, I even did the dishes from dinner before we started the movie! I was a maniac.
Lately I haven't even had the time to cook dinner, let alone clean up after it, so the luxury of having free time (even if I did use it to do the dishes) made me happy. That, and opening up the refrigerator to see shelves stacked with green asparagus, papery-thin prosciutto cut by surly deli workers, new cheeses in their butcher paper wrapping, and a chilly bottle of Pellegrino instead of 2 eggs, a stick of margerine, and 3 tortillas (the contents of the fridge on Thursday) had an ameliorating effect on my psyche. Our freezer is still mysteriously dripping water at inopportune times, flooding the bottom of the fridge and ruining its contents, but at least there's stuff in there to get soaked, right? The floor is kind of gross, and there's the mystery stuff from past occupants stuck behind the stove, but I'd say we're doing okay at the moment.
I was tired this weekend, tired of running around purposelessly. If occupying myself with bread crumb-covered plates and lemon dishwashing liquid for an hour is enough to make me feel as though I've actually accomplished something tangible amidst the all too academic existence that I lead during the week, then that counts as a good thing for me. That said, I still hate the dishpan hands.
It was just one of those mornings when I needed to breakfast on something warm and crispy, but soft and steamy inside. The smell of toasting oats early-ish (10:30...not bad) is something that inherently deactivates whatever sort of negativity might surface on Sunday, the consummate "work" day of the college student. Last week at the Italian market, I'd treated myself to last month's issue of Cooks' Illustrated magazine. Their recipe for Toasted Oat Scones looked delectable, so I thought I'd better try it.
Waking up and not having the entire day mapped out in hour or half-hour blocks is liberating, a small pleasure that I realized on Saturday afternoon, when I returned home from my weekly trip to the farmers' market with the best fresh mozzarella that I've had in ages, and a whole monkfish fillet. Warm afternoon sunlight streamed lazily in through the kitchen window on my happily photosynthesizing basil plant, also illuminating the sink full of last week's dirty dishes. As many people know, I've never been one to keep an orderly household; my room tends towards entropy, and endlessly vacillates between various degrees of disorder. Doing the dishes has NEVER been my strong point, although it's one of the things that I've been working to change (over the past several years, hee hee). So I thought to myself, I'm going to clean the kitchen.
It was in need of a serious cleansing. My knives need to be sharpened, which, incidentally is a most diverting activity; how many girls do you know that can properly use a sharpening steel? I put my receipts away, washed all of the dishes, and wiped down the sink before I even started on dinner. It felt so good to have a clean counter to work on, these little activities that I take for granted usually. Hell, I even did the dishes from dinner before we started the movie! I was a maniac.
Lately I haven't even had the time to cook dinner, let alone clean up after it, so the luxury of having free time (even if I did use it to do the dishes) made me happy. That, and opening up the refrigerator to see shelves stacked with green asparagus, papery-thin prosciutto cut by surly deli workers, new cheeses in their butcher paper wrapping, and a chilly bottle of Pellegrino instead of 2 eggs, a stick of margerine, and 3 tortillas (the contents of the fridge on Thursday) had an ameliorating effect on my psyche. Our freezer is still mysteriously dripping water at inopportune times, flooding the bottom of the fridge and ruining its contents, but at least there's stuff in there to get soaked, right? The floor is kind of gross, and there's the mystery stuff from past occupants stuck behind the stove, but I'd say we're doing okay at the moment.
I was tired this weekend, tired of running around purposelessly. If occupying myself with bread crumb-covered plates and lemon dishwashing liquid for an hour is enough to make me feel as though I've actually accomplished something tangible amidst the all too academic existence that I lead during the week, then that counts as a good thing for me. That said, I still hate the dishpan hands.
Saturday, September 27, 2003
Guilty Pleasures
It's been a while since I've posted, mainly due to to me actually having things to *do* at work, and therefore not being left alone to screw around on the internet. I've finally started to get caught up on my work that I blew off to finish the Watson, and now that it's turned in, I'm left with a bit of a loss. Not that I have loads of free time or anything crazy like that, but it's just a very different "no-impending-deadlines-hanging-over-one's-head" feeling.
Also, it means that (yes, I know this leads to trouble) I've had more time to just sit and think about things. It has come to my attention that I do not feel guilty about several things that I thought I might, and the things about which I do feel slightly culpable were unexpected.
Things that are NOT weighing heavily on my mind
1. the fact that I'm not playing soccer anymore (at least not for Haverford). yep, that's right, not missing it a bit. i feel like i should be more overwraught about this.
2. last night, in a fit of girly-ness, Klu and I watched "The Princess Diaries" on dvd. Including all the special features. It's good....I swear!
3. Haverford's social scene blows; I mean is really abysmal, and I just haven't had the energy/time to try and convince people to go off campus with me. At the moment, I'm to worried about reading literary theory to give a shit, but it's going to come back to haunt me later.
3a. caveat: I do feel bad that I haven't yet been to even ONE of the super cool bars in Old City, but it's kind of hard to go bar-hopping alone, and I don't have a 'wingman,' as they say.
So that's about it. Life moves on slowly, and my computer printouts of readings are piling up around my bed, couch, and desk, so I think that it's about time I do something to remedy the veritable forest of looseleaf papers fluttering about. It's finally the weekend, and time to work.
It's been a while since I've posted, mainly due to to me actually having things to *do* at work, and therefore not being left alone to screw around on the internet. I've finally started to get caught up on my work that I blew off to finish the Watson, and now that it's turned in, I'm left with a bit of a loss. Not that I have loads of free time or anything crazy like that, but it's just a very different "no-impending-deadlines-hanging-over-one's-head" feeling.
Also, it means that (yes, I know this leads to trouble) I've had more time to just sit and think about things. It has come to my attention that I do not feel guilty about several things that I thought I might, and the things about which I do feel slightly culpable were unexpected.
Things that are NOT weighing heavily on my mind
1. the fact that I'm not playing soccer anymore (at least not for Haverford). yep, that's right, not missing it a bit. i feel like i should be more overwraught about this.
2. last night, in a fit of girly-ness, Klu and I watched "The Princess Diaries" on dvd. Including all the special features. It's good....I swear!
3. Haverford's social scene blows; I mean is really abysmal, and I just haven't had the energy/time to try and convince people to go off campus with me. At the moment, I'm to worried about reading literary theory to give a shit, but it's going to come back to haunt me later.
3a. caveat: I do feel bad that I haven't yet been to even ONE of the super cool bars in Old City, but it's kind of hard to go bar-hopping alone, and I don't have a 'wingman,' as they say.
So that's about it. Life moves on slowly, and my computer printouts of readings are piling up around my bed, couch, and desk, so I think that it's about time I do something to remedy the veritable forest of looseleaf papers fluttering about. It's finally the weekend, and time to work.
Tuesday, September 23, 2003
Not with a bang, but a whimper
Lots of whining going on lately from apartment 14. The sinus infection continues to kick advil's ass, which makes me sad, but hopefully my T-cells are going to get into gear. I'm loading up on vitamin C in the meantime. The "three day birthday extravaganza" didn't turn out in exactly the way that we expected it, but as far as birthdays go, it was one of the better ones that I've had. And hey--the nice thing about taking it easy on Saturday night was that I was all set to work on the Watson Sunday morning. I *would* have liked to have been hit on for my birthday, but come on now people, this is Haverford.
One last whine, and then I'm done, I swear. The whole two theses thing is pissing me off, but I meekly submit to those wiser than I (aka, Heads of Departments, the college demigods) and shall indeed write both of them. The roommate helped me brainstorm last night, which was invaluable, so hopefully by the time class rolls around tomorrow night, i'll be able to have a coherent idea to present
Now for more uplifting commentary: there were parts of this weekend that were fantastic. Really exemplary.
Part the first: had really great Indian food on Friday night with some of the girls, followed by movie night (Matchstick Men) at the old theater. Sure, I was ready to fall asleep standing up at 9:30, but we had fun.
Secondly: finally made it to the Italian Market, 9th St., South Philly. Splurged on cooking supplies, skipped the first half of the lame ass Study Abroad conference at U-Penn, and hung out with decent Haverfordians. Good times.
Thing Number 3: I played soccer for the first time in about 10 months, on a real grass field, 11 v. 11.
I can't even fully describe how good it felt, along with a few butterflies, to carry my cleats up to Featherbed field, stop by my friends' softball game to cheer them on for a while, and then stroll through the late summer afternoon sun to the soccer pitch.
Laced up the muddied, slightly crusty boots, knotted the laces twice, and shook out my stiff legs a bit while I shot the shit with my new intramural teammates. Then, as the kangaroo leather made contact with that slightly vinyl-coated bubble of air and synthetic fibers, crushing down the soft green grass beneath, everything rollling as one movement, I knew what I missed. Someone asked me if I missed soccer. "Haverford soccer, Not a bit. But this? This I've missed so much." Being out on the field, scraping my knee trying to get a cross off, and having enough adrenaline to want to sprint somewhere, that's euphoric.
Plus, several underclassmen (yes, I do mean underclassmen, as in boys) were sufficiently awestruck by my soccer skills, and the fact that they'd never noticed who the hell I was before. I tend to go unnoticed, so when they're all like "what year are you?!?" It's fun to tell them I'm a senior.
Lastly: I love the Sunday paper. The New York Times in particular, but in general, the concept of taking an hour or two on a Sunay afternoon (say, after a trip to the yuppie grocery store for expensive cheese and a sourdough boule) to just sit and read about what's going on in the world, whilst sipping on freshly brewed coffee. That's a good thing too.
...and before I go, life is a little more settled. Watson got in to Haverford, so that's out of my hands now. I felt a little nauseous turning in the damn thing, since I've been working on it for so long, but I can only hope for the best now. School presses on, and hopefully I'll get my first paycheck soon so that I can go out on the town. Whenever I'm through obsessing about not having theses topics, that is.
One last whine, and then I'm done, I swear. The whole two theses thing is pissing me off, but I meekly submit to those wiser than I (aka, Heads of Departments, the college demigods) and shall indeed write both of them. The roommate helped me brainstorm last night, which was invaluable, so hopefully by the time class rolls around tomorrow night, i'll be able to have a coherent idea to present
Now for more uplifting commentary: there were parts of this weekend that were fantastic. Really exemplary.
Part the first: had really great Indian food on Friday night with some of the girls, followed by movie night (Matchstick Men) at the old theater. Sure, I was ready to fall asleep standing up at 9:30, but we had fun.
Secondly: finally made it to the Italian Market, 9th St., South Philly. Splurged on cooking supplies, skipped the first half of the lame ass Study Abroad conference at U-Penn, and hung out with decent Haverfordians. Good times.
Thing Number 3: I played soccer for the first time in about 10 months, on a real grass field, 11 v. 11.
I can't even fully describe how good it felt, along with a few butterflies, to carry my cleats up to Featherbed field, stop by my friends' softball game to cheer them on for a while, and then stroll through the late summer afternoon sun to the soccer pitch.
Laced up the muddied, slightly crusty boots, knotted the laces twice, and shook out my stiff legs a bit while I shot the shit with my new intramural teammates. Then, as the kangaroo leather made contact with that slightly vinyl-coated bubble of air and synthetic fibers, crushing down the soft green grass beneath, everything rollling as one movement, I knew what I missed. Someone asked me if I missed soccer. "Haverford soccer, Not a bit. But this? This I've missed so much." Being out on the field, scraping my knee trying to get a cross off, and having enough adrenaline to want to sprint somewhere, that's euphoric.
Plus, several underclassmen (yes, I do mean underclassmen, as in boys) were sufficiently awestruck by my soccer skills, and the fact that they'd never noticed who the hell I was before. I tend to go unnoticed, so when they're all like "what year are you?!?" It's fun to tell them I'm a senior.
Lastly: I love the Sunday paper. The New York Times in particular, but in general, the concept of taking an hour or two on a Sunay afternoon (say, after a trip to the yuppie grocery store for expensive cheese and a sourdough boule) to just sit and read about what's going on in the world, whilst sipping on freshly brewed coffee. That's a good thing too.
...and before I go, life is a little more settled. Watson got in to Haverford, so that's out of my hands now. I felt a little nauseous turning in the damn thing, since I've been working on it for so long, but I can only hope for the best now. School presses on, and hopefully I'll get my first paycheck soon so that I can go out on the town. Whenever I'm through obsessing about not having theses topics, that is.
Thursday, September 18, 2003
Isabel is a Bitch
So apparently MSNBC is on "the Strip" reporting live through the hurricane, Waterside is under water, and I wouldn't doubt that Norfolk is a veritable miasma. Talked to the padres last night, and my dad bought a brand new flashlight/lantern/am-fm radio thingie in preparation. Personally, I think that hurricane season is just an excuse to buy gadgets and have a run on bottled water in the grocery store. Except this year, for the first time in about a decade (at least as long as I've been living in Va Beach), it's for real.
It's odd to see the big hurricane force wind swaths cover Cape Henry and the Tidewater area on the NOAA website (and very very cool, in my opinion, although I have been informed ["Nerd alert! Nerd alert!" according to Mandi] that it is quite dorky to harbor such sentiments), and to hear my dad tell me that he and our neighbors had parked all the cars in the middle of the cul-de-sac yesterday so that they wouldn't get blown over by trees.
Personally, I don't mind all that much having Isabel steal the thunder (ha, unintentional meteorological puns!) from my big b-day; the photo critique didn't go all so horribly, and while having the tutorial group read Borges on a Thursday afternoon looked to be more painful than drawing blood, it's been a relatively calm, uneventful day. This makes me happy, because the people that I care about sent greetings my way, and a few of them pleasantly surprising to boot. My ever-industrious and solicitous roommate has been an ass-kicking party planner this week, and despite her hesitancy to immerse herself in the Haver-social world again, is (i dare say) enjoying it.
My parents even found time amidst disaster planning to send out a package to me containing several amusing gifts, all of which remind me why I love my weird, random family. One of said objects is a ceramic cat that is hollow, with a hole in its head, and magnet affixed to the back. Said chotchke of ambiguous functionality made me laugh, because it exemplifies every care package I've ever got from my well-meaning mother. Kaitlyn, in a fit of genius, discovered by reading the bottom that its ostensible purpose is that of a "flower holder." I swear, I NEVER would have figured that out.
The other gift in the box, this one from my dad, is a bottle opener. Now, this wouldn't ordinarily be so funny, but my sister and I have for literally years mocked my father for the non-functionality of said corkscrew, which he keeps around solely based on the fact that he bought it in France in the 1960's during his tour of duty in Europe. When I opened the Fed-Ex box, I busted out laughing and might have actually said out loud "that bastard." Fortunately, after conversing telephonically with male parental unit, he informed me that not only is the gaudily bright blue and purple metal object designed slighty differently than the one that we have at home, but engraved on the side (as I noted earlier) is "made in Italy," which is cute, because Dad knows how I have an irrational fondness for imported culinary products. I'll probably refuse to throw it out when my (hypothetical) children mock me for its outdatedness.
I [heart] my family.
It's odd to see the big hurricane force wind swaths cover Cape Henry and the Tidewater area on the NOAA website (and very very cool, in my opinion, although I have been informed ["Nerd alert! Nerd alert!" according to Mandi] that it is quite dorky to harbor such sentiments), and to hear my dad tell me that he and our neighbors had parked all the cars in the middle of the cul-de-sac yesterday so that they wouldn't get blown over by trees.
Personally, I don't mind all that much having Isabel steal the thunder (ha, unintentional meteorological puns!) from my big b-day; the photo critique didn't go all so horribly, and while having the tutorial group read Borges on a Thursday afternoon looked to be more painful than drawing blood, it's been a relatively calm, uneventful day. This makes me happy, because the people that I care about sent greetings my way, and a few of them pleasantly surprising to boot. My ever-industrious and solicitous roommate has been an ass-kicking party planner this week, and despite her hesitancy to immerse herself in the Haver-social world again, is (i dare say) enjoying it.
My parents even found time amidst disaster planning to send out a package to me containing several amusing gifts, all of which remind me why I love my weird, random family. One of said objects is a ceramic cat that is hollow, with a hole in its head, and magnet affixed to the back. Said chotchke of ambiguous functionality made me laugh, because it exemplifies every care package I've ever got from my well-meaning mother. Kaitlyn, in a fit of genius, discovered by reading the bottom that its ostensible purpose is that of a "flower holder." I swear, I NEVER would have figured that out.
The other gift in the box, this one from my dad, is a bottle opener. Now, this wouldn't ordinarily be so funny, but my sister and I have for literally years mocked my father for the non-functionality of said corkscrew, which he keeps around solely based on the fact that he bought it in France in the 1960's during his tour of duty in Europe. When I opened the Fed-Ex box, I busted out laughing and might have actually said out loud "that bastard." Fortunately, after conversing telephonically with male parental unit, he informed me that not only is the gaudily bright blue and purple metal object designed slighty differently than the one that we have at home, but engraved on the side (as I noted earlier) is "made in Italy," which is cute, because Dad knows how I have an irrational fondness for imported culinary products. I'll probably refuse to throw it out when my (hypothetical) children mock me for its outdatedness.
I [heart] my family.
El Cumple
Well, I've decided that it's true; the world is indeed conspiring against me. The brainless non-functional idiots in my photo class were clogging up the darkroom for 6 hours this evening, so immediately AFTER I was informed that I will be writing not one, but TWO (yes, that's 2, dos, due, two) theses this year by my CompLit advisor, I had to wait another 3 before I could finish my prints that are due in, oh, 7 hours. Let's just say that there was a brief period of freak out-age.
Now that I've gotten that out of the way, it's finally Thursday, and I'm no longer 'not yet one and twenty.' Had a chat with my dad tonight just to make sure that they don't get blown to bits by Isabel, but you know how these things go; it's probaly going to head back out to sea and not bother anyone. I also, after spending a good 2.5 hours inhaling D-76 developer (most likely happily feeding the strep-throat bacteria I'm currently cultivating around my tonsils), received several *unexpected* happy birthday IM's, which was pleasant. I was hoping that someone would send me some sort of electronic shout-out to counter my current irritation with anything resembling academic life, and hearing from one person in particular turned the corners of mouth slightly upward. It's nice when old friends remember that sort of crap sometimes.
So it's now 1:11 am, on September 18th, and it's way past my bedtime from September 17th. I choose not to think about all the shit that I've got to do this weekend, not to worry about the dreaded fellowship committee, and how my thesis advisor thinks I'm an incompetent idiot. None of it can be that important, right?
Well, I've decided that it's true; the world is indeed conspiring against me. The brainless non-functional idiots in my photo class were clogging up the darkroom for 6 hours this evening, so immediately AFTER I was informed that I will be writing not one, but TWO (yes, that's 2, dos, due, two) theses this year by my CompLit advisor, I had to wait another 3 before I could finish my prints that are due in, oh, 7 hours. Let's just say that there was a brief period of freak out-age.
Now that I've gotten that out of the way, it's finally Thursday, and I'm no longer 'not yet one and twenty.' Had a chat with my dad tonight just to make sure that they don't get blown to bits by Isabel, but you know how these things go; it's probaly going to head back out to sea and not bother anyone. I also, after spending a good 2.5 hours inhaling D-76 developer (most likely happily feeding the strep-throat bacteria I'm currently cultivating around my tonsils), received several *unexpected* happy birthday IM's, which was pleasant. I was hoping that someone would send me some sort of electronic shout-out to counter my current irritation with anything resembling academic life, and hearing from one person in particular turned the corners of mouth slightly upward. It's nice when old friends remember that sort of crap sometimes.
So it's now 1:11 am, on September 18th, and it's way past my bedtime from September 17th. I choose not to think about all the shit that I've got to do this weekend, not to worry about the dreaded fellowship committee, and how my thesis advisor thinks I'm an incompetent idiot. None of it can be that important, right?
Tuesday, September 16, 2003
Dates and Deadlines
Yay for posting at work, eh?
It's a beautiful day today, finally. Rain and more rain in store for the East Coast; I went to the NOAA website to check up on Isabella, and yesterday it was headed straight for Va Beach. Luckily it's starting to turn a little south, so Tidewater might miss out on the brunt of the storm. I wish I were at home for hurricane season...it's always interesting.
In the meantime, life goes on here, rather quickly. A little too quickly as far as I'm concerned, because all sorts of important dates are getting nearer. My lovely roommate and assorted friends are organizing a 3 day long 'Thea turns 21 extravaganza' starting on the 18th, which confounds me a little. No shit, I really didn't realize that I had that many acquaintances and random friends at Haverford; it's nice to be reminded that there are some people out in the world who care about your presence. I forget that at times, especially during the dehumanizing process of fellowship application and all that bullshit. Taking into account my 3-4 year string of shitty birthdays (me always ending up in pajamas and tears by about 8:00 or 9:00 pm for one silly reason or another), I don't want to get my hopes up with expectations of good times, but I can't help but be a little bit excited about it. If I get my photo assignment done, the Watson polished, and my work for next week started [aka perform the impossible task of staying dilligent] it should be a kick ass weekend (as those kids are known to say).
Haven't had any graded work yet, so of course academically speaking I'm in a good mood, and my internship in Philly starts up again after a 9 month hiatus. It will be fun to be back in Old City on Friday afternoons; gives me a bit of stability, even if it does take a huge chunk of time out of my schedule.
Well, I probably shouldn't be wasting any more time writing here, when there's so much more writing to be done for other things...back to the grind =)
It's a beautiful day today, finally. Rain and more rain in store for the East Coast; I went to the NOAA website to check up on Isabella, and yesterday it was headed straight for Va Beach. Luckily it's starting to turn a little south, so Tidewater might miss out on the brunt of the storm. I wish I were at home for hurricane season...it's always interesting.
In the meantime, life goes on here, rather quickly. A little too quickly as far as I'm concerned, because all sorts of important dates are getting nearer. My lovely roommate and assorted friends are organizing a 3 day long 'Thea turns 21 extravaganza' starting on the 18th, which confounds me a little. No shit, I really didn't realize that I had that many acquaintances and random friends at Haverford; it's nice to be reminded that there are some people out in the world who care about your presence. I forget that at times, especially during the dehumanizing process of fellowship application and all that bullshit. Taking into account my 3-4 year string of shitty birthdays (me always ending up in pajamas and tears by about 8:00 or 9:00 pm for one silly reason or another), I don't want to get my hopes up with expectations of good times, but I can't help but be a little bit excited about it. If I get my photo assignment done, the Watson polished, and my work for next week started [aka perform the impossible task of staying dilligent] it should be a kick ass weekend (as those kids are known to say).
Haven't had any graded work yet, so of course academically speaking I'm in a good mood, and my internship in Philly starts up again after a 9 month hiatus. It will be fun to be back in Old City on Friday afternoons; gives me a bit of stability, even if it does take a huge chunk of time out of my schedule.
Well, I probably shouldn't be wasting any more time writing here, when there's so much more writing to be done for other things...back to the grind =)
Saturday, September 13, 2003
Lemon-ey Fresh
It's the weekend, at last. I needed that.
The briskness of fall has arrived in Pennsylvania as of today; I needed a cardigan to wear to class this morning, and the light breeze was just enough to jolt me awake upon exiting quite possibly the most excruciatingly boring class I've ever sat through. An hour can seem incredibly long when a middle aged, nondescript, soft voiced woman who dresses similarly to my mother is explaining how to convert degrees Fahrenheit to degrees Celsius. Are you kidding me? Did we not cover that in like, oh, Middle School?.
Luckily the Ardmore farmers' market was open today, so I was able to get a head start on tomorrow night's dinner. I absolutely love the weekday afternoon bustle of that place, the fact that it's filled with members of the community (yes, too wealthy Philadelphia suburbanites talking on headsets, soccer moms, and trophy wives. But hey--that's our community), fully functional and reasonably priced to boot! I can, after a miraculously short 20 minute walk, find smoked mozzarella, ricotta salata, amish organic cornish game hens, and fresh flowers. The plum and lavender carnations, while beautiful (and I don't even like carnations), were a bit too much of an extravagance for my budget, after I splurged on good coffee. That's a shame, because we could use a little color in our lives around 2C. Our sad looking refrigerator was almost empty by the end of this week, as we've both been far too busy to run off to the store for silly things like milk or fresh fruit, luxuries for the weekday overinvolved college senior. It's funny that on a day like today I can get excited about both imported cheese and condensed water vapor dripping down a glass of cold, plain, skim milk.
I had a nice sushi dinner with a friend from up campus (in other words, who I never see on a normal shedule), bitched about the spectre of evil in literary criticism aka Harold Bloom, talked about feminist Romantic poetry, and then went grocery shopping again at the supermarket to pick up the stuff that I couldn't find at the farmers' market earlier. By 9:30 pm, I was in my pajamas (red sweats, of course: athletic issued 00-107) and up to my wrists in soap suds, doing the last three days' accumulated dishes. A short while later, a gleaming kitchen in front of me, the lemon juice scrubbed copper bowl that I'd just untarnished rocking lazily on the drying rack, Kaitlyn said "it smells kind of good in here."
It did. The new basil plant on the windowsill lent a savory hint to the normally stale kitchen air, and the lemon juice (along with the citrus zest for tonight's biscotti that spattered my shirt) sent a zing throught the apartment that reminded me of sunny days. Either that or dish detergent, I can't decide which. Clean smells all around makes for a good environment to cook in, hell, to exist in. Throw in some loudly sung pop music from Klu's CD player, and I'd say that makes for a Friday night to rival some of the best. Now, if only that damn biscotti would finish baking, and I could get to bed. And it's only Friday =).
The briskness of fall has arrived in Pennsylvania as of today; I needed a cardigan to wear to class this morning, and the light breeze was just enough to jolt me awake upon exiting quite possibly the most excruciatingly boring class I've ever sat through. An hour can seem incredibly long when a middle aged, nondescript, soft voiced woman who dresses similarly to my mother is explaining how to convert degrees Fahrenheit to degrees Celsius. Are you kidding me? Did we not cover that in like, oh, Middle School?.
Luckily the Ardmore farmers' market was open today, so I was able to get a head start on tomorrow night's dinner. I absolutely love the weekday afternoon bustle of that place, the fact that it's filled with members of the community (yes, too wealthy Philadelphia suburbanites talking on headsets, soccer moms, and trophy wives. But hey--that's our community), fully functional and reasonably priced to boot! I can, after a miraculously short 20 minute walk, find smoked mozzarella, ricotta salata, amish organic cornish game hens, and fresh flowers. The plum and lavender carnations, while beautiful (and I don't even like carnations), were a bit too much of an extravagance for my budget, after I splurged on good coffee. That's a shame, because we could use a little color in our lives around 2C. Our sad looking refrigerator was almost empty by the end of this week, as we've both been far too busy to run off to the store for silly things like milk or fresh fruit, luxuries for the weekday overinvolved college senior. It's funny that on a day like today I can get excited about both imported cheese and condensed water vapor dripping down a glass of cold, plain, skim milk.
I had a nice sushi dinner with a friend from up campus (in other words, who I never see on a normal shedule), bitched about the spectre of evil in literary criticism aka Harold Bloom, talked about feminist Romantic poetry, and then went grocery shopping again at the supermarket to pick up the stuff that I couldn't find at the farmers' market earlier. By 9:30 pm, I was in my pajamas (red sweats, of course: athletic issued 00-107) and up to my wrists in soap suds, doing the last three days' accumulated dishes. A short while later, a gleaming kitchen in front of me, the lemon juice scrubbed copper bowl that I'd just untarnished rocking lazily on the drying rack, Kaitlyn said "it smells kind of good in here."
It did. The new basil plant on the windowsill lent a savory hint to the normally stale kitchen air, and the lemon juice (along with the citrus zest for tonight's biscotti that spattered my shirt) sent a zing throught the apartment that reminded me of sunny days. Either that or dish detergent, I can't decide which. Clean smells all around makes for a good environment to cook in, hell, to exist in. Throw in some loudly sung pop music from Klu's CD player, and I'd say that makes for a Friday night to rival some of the best. Now, if only that damn biscotti would finish baking, and I could get to bed. And it's only Friday =).
Thursday, September 11, 2003
Productivity
Today at work, I learned that there's a private school in California called "Lick-Wilmerding." Is it just me, or does that seem like 1. a very bad idea, and 2. a strange sort of request? I mean, kids who go to that school are just asking to get beat up on their way home. At least my independent college preparatory school's nomiker was rather innocuous: Cape Henry Collegiate isn't exactly suggestive of anything...at least not that I know of.
I also had my Spanish tutorial read poetry out in the sun on Founders' Green this afternoon, as the atmosphere on campus today was highly conducive to Neruda's musical syllables. To complete the perfect image, of course, it was recited by a cute little circle of liberal arts students bent intently over their photocopies, gazing respectfully but lovingly at me, their cool, hip, yet intellectual TA. I expected a tour to walk by any second, or someone with a camera to snap the "look-at-the-brochure-worthy-students" photo, but alas, our small display of the quintessence of the small East Coast school went undocumented. And perhaps it didn't look *quite* as picturesque as I imagined it.
Finally there is some semblance of order in my academic life, and I'm greatly looking forward to the next 3 relatively free days to get caught up on all the shit that I didn't do this week, while simultaneously doing what I need to get done for next week, and sqeezing in something fun as well. Yeah, like that's all going to work. Shit, and I have my last summer photos waiting for me at Ritz; need to get on that.
It's also 9-11 today, and I didn't really clue into the fact that the date might mean something until after lunch; felt a little (very little) pang of guilt that I hadn't realized it, but then soothed my guilty conscience by listening to All Things Considered this afternoon. I don't mean to be coarse, but I'm just so damn sick of how every single faction in this country manipulates that specific event, along with many others, for stupid political goals. It gives Dubb-ya an excuse to preach about military might, justification for maintaining the completely futile and ignorant US presence in Iraq, and our asinine Secretary of Defense has leave to bolster support for the "Homeland Security Act." What doesn't make it any better is parading weepy-eyed children around ground zero in an attempt to make the memorial all that much more dramatic. I understand the significance of reading victims' names, taking time out of the day to remember what happened and mourn for those lost, but I honestly feel as though it's gratuitous (not to mention heavy-handed) to have all children doing the reading. Please, get me a large doe-eyed blonde six year old to whimper over something, therefore giving it national importance. 4 times on the news cycle they mentioned this, immediately followed by the fact that 'significantly' less people showed up in NYC for the 2 year anniversary. And really, shouldn't everything be about or 'for the children?'
Oh, American populace, how quickly you forget anything that isn't immediately relevant to your own well-being. [myself included, most of the time, she adds sheepishly]
Today at work, I learned that there's a private school in California called "Lick-Wilmerding." Is it just me, or does that seem like 1. a very bad idea, and 2. a strange sort of request? I mean, kids who go to that school are just asking to get beat up on their way home. At least my independent college preparatory school's nomiker was rather innocuous: Cape Henry Collegiate isn't exactly suggestive of anything...at least not that I know of.
I also had my Spanish tutorial read poetry out in the sun on Founders' Green this afternoon, as the atmosphere on campus today was highly conducive to Neruda's musical syllables. To complete the perfect image, of course, it was recited by a cute little circle of liberal arts students bent intently over their photocopies, gazing respectfully but lovingly at me, their cool, hip, yet intellectual TA. I expected a tour to walk by any second, or someone with a camera to snap the "look-at-the-brochure-worthy-students" photo, but alas, our small display of the quintessence of the small East Coast school went undocumented. And perhaps it didn't look *quite* as picturesque as I imagined it.
Finally there is some semblance of order in my academic life, and I'm greatly looking forward to the next 3 relatively free days to get caught up on all the shit that I didn't do this week, while simultaneously doing what I need to get done for next week, and sqeezing in something fun as well. Yeah, like that's all going to work. Shit, and I have my last summer photos waiting for me at Ritz; need to get on that.
It's also 9-11 today, and I didn't really clue into the fact that the date might mean something until after lunch; felt a little (very little) pang of guilt that I hadn't realized it, but then soothed my guilty conscience by listening to All Things Considered this afternoon. I don't mean to be coarse, but I'm just so damn sick of how every single faction in this country manipulates that specific event, along with many others, for stupid political goals. It gives Dubb-ya an excuse to preach about military might, justification for maintaining the completely futile and ignorant US presence in Iraq, and our asinine Secretary of Defense has leave to bolster support for the "Homeland Security Act." What doesn't make it any better is parading weepy-eyed children around ground zero in an attempt to make the memorial all that much more dramatic. I understand the significance of reading victims' names, taking time out of the day to remember what happened and mourn for those lost, but I honestly feel as though it's gratuitous (not to mention heavy-handed) to have all children doing the reading. Please, get me a large doe-eyed blonde six year old to whimper over something, therefore giving it national importance. 4 times on the news cycle they mentioned this, immediately followed by the fact that 'significantly' less people showed up in NYC for the 2 year anniversary. And really, shouldn't everything be about or 'for the children?'
Oh, American populace, how quickly you forget anything that isn't immediately relevant to your own well-being. [myself included, most of the time, she adds sheepishly]
Tuesday, September 09, 2003
Youthful Enthusiasm
So I processed my first rolls of film today all by myself, and only ended up burning one picture out of 48. I was pretty psyched about that, and it made me want to get back into the darkroom so I could make a contact sheet and see how the pictures really turned out, but unfortunately I had class. College campuses in the early fall are such beautiful places, full of all sorts of idealism and fresh attitudes that I wish I had a little bit more time to appreciate at the moment. Although I am currently trapped inside on this idyllic September afternoon, in the unique-smelling athletic department student workers' office, at least I'm making money, right? You know I missed stuffing envelopes and addressing recruit letters to unwitting high school girls, seducing them to Haverford's soccer team while getting the news of the world via NPR's All Things Considered and Fresh Air.
I'd just like to state for the record that Henry Kissinger was an awful, awful man, and that US foreign policy in the 1970's was f-ed up. I forgot that the CIA helped Pinochet overthrow Chile's *democratically* elected gov't in '73. Makes you proud to be an American, eh?
Time is flying by, and before I know it I'll be a legal adult, fellowships will be due, and classes will start to hold me accountable for the work that I'm already behind on. For the time being, I'm going to be a 'photographer' and enjoy the last wisps of summer that are lingering here on the Eastern seaboard.
So I processed my first rolls of film today all by myself, and only ended up burning one picture out of 48. I was pretty psyched about that, and it made me want to get back into the darkroom so I could make a contact sheet and see how the pictures really turned out, but unfortunately I had class. College campuses in the early fall are such beautiful places, full of all sorts of idealism and fresh attitudes that I wish I had a little bit more time to appreciate at the moment. Although I am currently trapped inside on this idyllic September afternoon, in the unique-smelling athletic department student workers' office, at least I'm making money, right? You know I missed stuffing envelopes and addressing recruit letters to unwitting high school girls, seducing them to Haverford's soccer team while getting the news of the world via NPR's All Things Considered and Fresh Air.
I'd just like to state for the record that Henry Kissinger was an awful, awful man, and that US foreign policy in the 1970's was f-ed up. I forgot that the CIA helped Pinochet overthrow Chile's *democratically* elected gov't in '73. Makes you proud to be an American, eh?
Time is flying by, and before I know it I'll be a legal adult, fellowships will be due, and classes will start to hold me accountable for the work that I'm already behind on. For the time being, I'm going to be a 'photographer' and enjoy the last wisps of summer that are lingering here on the Eastern seaboard.
Monday, September 08, 2003
"It's good to see you out and about, Thea."
I've eaten nothing but cookie dough and chocolate chips with pellegrino for dinner, faked my way through a commentary on post-colonial literary theory for senior seminar because I didn't have time to finish the reading for Wednesday's class, haven't even started the photography assignment due Thursday, and woke up my mother at 11:00 pm tonight when I got home from class in an unsuccessful attempt to reestablish my status as a good daughter and phoning home on a regular basis...and I'm still smiling. Why? Shit if I know.
Maybe it's because my stress-relief baking was well received at the cafe tonight; maybe it's because for the first time in almost a year I've had an engaging class discussion about literature (yay for Cortázar!) with my peers AND a great professor; maybe it's because I dragged my ass out of bed at 7:15 to work out this morning so that I could be productive today; and maybe it's because walking home tonight to the apartment, even mocking Baseball boys couldn't shake my sense of self and personal accomplishment (or the small grin that I had on my face left over from compliments on the cookies and study abroad stories of London). Fuck them if they want to gossip about me and break out into bawdy laughter after I continue on the path! I'm cute, I'm talented, and if they don't care to appreciate me, then I'll find other friends who will. I can laugh at them now, and really be laughing, not laughing just long enough until I get home and start to cry. Makes me feel a little tougher, a little more resilient. Also makes me sound like overcooked meat. But enough with the cooking metaphors, I've got work to do! Essays to proofread, reading to skim, and class waaaaay earlier than anyone should have to smell darkroom chemicals.
I've eaten nothing but cookie dough and chocolate chips with pellegrino for dinner, faked my way through a commentary on post-colonial literary theory for senior seminar because I didn't have time to finish the reading for Wednesday's class, haven't even started the photography assignment due Thursday, and woke up my mother at 11:00 pm tonight when I got home from class in an unsuccessful attempt to reestablish my status as a good daughter and phoning home on a regular basis...and I'm still smiling. Why? Shit if I know.
Maybe it's because my stress-relief baking was well received at the cafe tonight; maybe it's because for the first time in almost a year I've had an engaging class discussion about literature (yay for Cortázar!) with my peers AND a great professor; maybe it's because I dragged my ass out of bed at 7:15 to work out this morning so that I could be productive today; and maybe it's because walking home tonight to the apartment, even mocking Baseball boys couldn't shake my sense of self and personal accomplishment (or the small grin that I had on my face left over from compliments on the cookies and study abroad stories of London). Fuck them if they want to gossip about me and break out into bawdy laughter after I continue on the path! I'm cute, I'm talented, and if they don't care to appreciate me, then I'll find other friends who will. I can laugh at them now, and really be laughing, not laughing just long enough until I get home and start to cry. Makes me feel a little tougher, a little more resilient. Also makes me sound like overcooked meat. But enough with the cooking metaphors, I've got work to do! Essays to proofread, reading to skim, and class waaaaay earlier than anyone should have to smell darkroom chemicals.
Week 2 Begins
It's Monday again, and I seem to have acquired more reading than I thought I had. Not an auspicious trend to start this early in the semester, but I guess I brought it upon myself by having a relaxed Sunday. I let myself get roped into watching LOTR with my roommate on Sunday morning (with very minor protestations), and before I knew it, not only had I spent an hour showing Sevilla pictures to an alum who's going back this week, but I was late for my darkroom time, and still without a shower.
Just for the record, Photography is hard. And it's essentially all trial and error. I forsee many a late night in the darkroom, emerging all chemical-ey and tired with little tangible evidence of hours of work. That said, I still spent Sunday afternoon taking pictures, so it must be worth all the trouble.
It was a beautiful afternoon out on Walton field, and the men's team did well; my photographs of them (ostensibly illustrating movement, but probably all out of focus) might not do so well, but we'll see. Also ran into the ex-soccer coach and had my first conversation with her in over 9 months. Whew. Good to see that nothing's changed there, and she's still just as socially awkward as I left her =).
Ack! Where does the time go? Late for class, as usual...
It's Monday again, and I seem to have acquired more reading than I thought I had. Not an auspicious trend to start this early in the semester, but I guess I brought it upon myself by having a relaxed Sunday. I let myself get roped into watching LOTR with my roommate on Sunday morning (with very minor protestations), and before I knew it, not only had I spent an hour showing Sevilla pictures to an alum who's going back this week, but I was late for my darkroom time, and still without a shower.
Just for the record, Photography is hard. And it's essentially all trial and error. I forsee many a late night in the darkroom, emerging all chemical-ey and tired with little tangible evidence of hours of work. That said, I still spent Sunday afternoon taking pictures, so it must be worth all the trouble.
It was a beautiful afternoon out on Walton field, and the men's team did well; my photographs of them (ostensibly illustrating movement, but probably all out of focus) might not do so well, but we'll see. Also ran into the ex-soccer coach and had my first conversation with her in over 9 months. Whew. Good to see that nothing's changed there, and she's still just as socially awkward as I left her =).
Ack! Where does the time go? Late for class, as usual...
Friday, September 05, 2003
Leavening
There's nothing quite like the pleasure of freshly baked bread in the morning. I've had a starter going for a few days now, and it was growing quite happily according to plan. Yeast is most content in a warm, moist environment, and it's usually a little difficult to achieve those conditions for an extended amount of time--that is, long enough to complete all 3 rises. Oh wait, when it's been raining for THREE DAYS STRAIGHT that means our entire poorly-ventilated apartment is an uber-productive yeast factory. My roommate came into the bedroom yesterday evening with a puzzled look on her face and told me cautiously: "uh, I think you might want to check the starter."
Out of control. In an unprecedented fit of activity, it had bubbled completely out of its tupperware and was dripping onto the countertop like some gooey creature of the fens. I think it actually burbled at me mockingly. Extra flour wouldn't stop it; not even salt could chemically retard the overzealous bacteria, so at 11:00 pm I decided that I'd do what real bakers do, and prepare a batch of fresh wheat bread, scheduled to finish around breakfast time.
There's something very satisfying about going to sleep with that slight ache in your triceps from kneading; a rhythm in the quarter turn, fold, push, quarter turn that works out the kinks of a stressful day. Due to my roomie's psycho workout schedule, I didn't have to wake up at 7:00 to form the twice-risen dough into loaves, so that was even better. When the alarm finally rang at 8:00, I rolled out of my comfy bed, stepped on some (likely) important papers scattered on the floor, and shuffled sleepily out into the kitchen to turn the oven up to 475 degrees. After my shower, I still wasn't exactly "awake," as they say, and spilled a jar of coffee grounds on the floor while simultaneously attempting to 1. make coffee, 2. brush my teeth, 3. hold up my fluffy red towel. Nobody ever said I was good at multitasking in the mornings. Yet as I cleaned up my caffeinated spill, I could already smell the bread in the oven working its leavening magic, and when I washed off my hands in the kitchen sink, I noticed that for the first time in 4 days, I could see the sun outside.
The swampy temperature of the night before dropped down to about 65: perfect for a September morning of baking. Before I knew it, I was spreading peach jam onto freshly sliced bread to have with my morning coffee. Felt just like a cold January a.m. in Spain, only better. Cleansed, prettied up in new jeans and sevillana earrings, I met the intermediate Spanish class I'll be TA-ing for this semester, and then in true Andalucían fashion, found that I had nothing better to than sit in the sun until class. Right now, it's good to be me, and I'd like to keep it that way.
Out of control. In an unprecedented fit of activity, it had bubbled completely out of its tupperware and was dripping onto the countertop like some gooey creature of the fens. I think it actually burbled at me mockingly. Extra flour wouldn't stop it; not even salt could chemically retard the overzealous bacteria, so at 11:00 pm I decided that I'd do what real bakers do, and prepare a batch of fresh wheat bread, scheduled to finish around breakfast time.
There's something very satisfying about going to sleep with that slight ache in your triceps from kneading; a rhythm in the quarter turn, fold, push, quarter turn that works out the kinks of a stressful day. Due to my roomie's psycho workout schedule, I didn't have to wake up at 7:00 to form the twice-risen dough into loaves, so that was even better. When the alarm finally rang at 8:00, I rolled out of my comfy bed, stepped on some (likely) important papers scattered on the floor, and shuffled sleepily out into the kitchen to turn the oven up to 475 degrees. After my shower, I still wasn't exactly "awake," as they say, and spilled a jar of coffee grounds on the floor while simultaneously attempting to 1. make coffee, 2. brush my teeth, 3. hold up my fluffy red towel. Nobody ever said I was good at multitasking in the mornings. Yet as I cleaned up my caffeinated spill, I could already smell the bread in the oven working its leavening magic, and when I washed off my hands in the kitchen sink, I noticed that for the first time in 4 days, I could see the sun outside.
The swampy temperature of the night before dropped down to about 65: perfect for a September morning of baking. Before I knew it, I was spreading peach jam onto freshly sliced bread to have with my morning coffee. Felt just like a cold January a.m. in Spain, only better. Cleansed, prettied up in new jeans and sevillana earrings, I met the intermediate Spanish class I'll be TA-ing for this semester, and then in true Andalucían fashion, found that I had nothing better to than sit in the sun until class. Right now, it's good to be me, and I'd like to keep it that way.
Thursday, September 04, 2003
Am I Overinvolved?
I just came home on this, the humidest of all evenings, from my first *actual* Watson Fellowship meeting. Why is it that I feel both horrendously nervous and overconfident at the same time. More than anything else in the world (except maybe peanut butter and timed distance runs) is putting myself before a committee of some sort to be evaluated. I don't feel as though I should have to 'sell myself,' but clearly that's going to be the case here, and in so many other occasions coming up in the near future. it is unreasonably naive to think that you can just show up somewhere and have people 'like you for who you are.' That said, it does absolutely nothing to make the application process for said fellowship any less scary.
I've been working like mad, reading books and talking to professors, spending inordinate amounts of time in the library for my first week in school, and all I can think about (when I'm not ridiculously enthusiastic about the project, babbling about it to anyone who will listen) is that it's all for nothing, and I'm just killing myself trying to do this and balance an extra class, working 3 jobs, and maybe the internship at Hot Soup. Am I insane? I keep telling myself that I can't have a repeat of first semester last year, when I really was doing TOO much, and drove myself a bit batty.
And then, hidden innocuously there in the fifth tier of the library (literally the old attic of the cathedral part) is an original 1949 copy of M.F.K. Fisher's translation of Brillat-Savarin's canonical The Physiology of Taste, and all is right with the world; I show Klu and an old English prof my miraculous find, garnering the response "wow, you're really a geek now, aren't you?" That was the professor, not the roommate.
I forget about the reading for my film class that I forgot to do, and the private tutoring that I signed up for which has absolutely no place in my weekly schedule, and instead go grocery shopping for the ingredients to tomorrow night's 14 2C dinner for two, which promises to be scrumptious. To the gym, Thea! Exercise out those doubts.
I've been working like mad, reading books and talking to professors, spending inordinate amounts of time in the library for my first week in school, and all I can think about (when I'm not ridiculously enthusiastic about the project, babbling about it to anyone who will listen) is that it's all for nothing, and I'm just killing myself trying to do this and balance an extra class, working 3 jobs, and maybe the internship at Hot Soup. Am I insane? I keep telling myself that I can't have a repeat of first semester last year, when I really was doing TOO much, and drove myself a bit batty.
And then, hidden innocuously there in the fifth tier of the library (literally the old attic of the cathedral part) is an original 1949 copy of M.F.K. Fisher's translation of Brillat-Savarin's canonical The Physiology of Taste, and all is right with the world; I show Klu and an old English prof my miraculous find, garnering the response "wow, you're really a geek now, aren't you?" That was the professor, not the roommate.
I forget about the reading for my film class that I forgot to do, and the private tutoring that I signed up for which has absolutely no place in my weekly schedule, and instead go grocery shopping for the ingredients to tomorrow night's 14 2C dinner for two, which promises to be scrumptious. To the gym, Thea! Exercise out those doubts.
Wednesday, September 03, 2003
Dampness
It's been raining now for three days here at good old Haverford. All of my class schedule books, syllabi, and other assorted paper products are thouroughly saturated with humidity, and the newly affixed pictures on my wall are starting to curl, as are the unruly flyaway pieces of hair at my temples.
Senior year begins, full of unexpected obstacles, which I should have anticipated. The entire network was infected with some virus and crashed two days before school, so nobody had internet until a few days ago...but all the professors still wanted to contact you through (you guessed it) EMAIL. Some of them are not quite as technologically savvy as we'd like them to be. Work on thesis development and fellowship applications are is in full force, the due date for the Watson conveniently falling right after my birthday [sarcasm]. Oh well, I guess I can wait until the 22nd to celebrate.
Being back in an American college setting is quite a contrast from my life of the past 9 months, and I'm not quite sure how that's going yet. I like my self-imposed isolation in the apartment; Klu and I actually had a nice little sit-down dinner last night in the 'dining room' which felt relaxed and pseudo-grown-up. We're so cool, 'cause we made gourmet salad and I had a glass of Pellegrino, perfectly chilled, to accompany it. I'm all about the little things.
Unfortunately, I am 'all about' the little things, and tend to get distracted quite easily from the greater task at hand. It has been brought to my attention of late that I have "unorthodox" organizational methods; when unpacking, my roommate came in to hang out while I proceeded to
1. Made a collage of Spain pictures, stopping halfway to
2. put away a sweater
3. organize my CD's
4. make a playlist on the computer
5. put up some more Spain pictures
6. unpack my shoes
7. put away another sweater
8. reposition the couch
So I don't exactly think in a linear fashion...It all gets done. Eventually. Most of the time. Personally, I find it charming and endearing, one of my 'cute little quirks.' Others may not agree =).
Since my class shedule is officially fucked (that being a technical term), today will be spent running errands in typically non-linear Thea fashion, and hopefully I'll go to bed this evening having accomplished something worthwhile on this moist, misty September day.
Senior year begins, full of unexpected obstacles, which I should have anticipated. The entire network was infected with some virus and crashed two days before school, so nobody had internet until a few days ago...but all the professors still wanted to contact you through (you guessed it) EMAIL. Some of them are not quite as technologically savvy as we'd like them to be. Work on thesis development and fellowship applications are is in full force, the due date for the Watson conveniently falling right after my birthday [sarcasm]. Oh well, I guess I can wait until the 22nd to celebrate.
Being back in an American college setting is quite a contrast from my life of the past 9 months, and I'm not quite sure how that's going yet. I like my self-imposed isolation in the apartment; Klu and I actually had a nice little sit-down dinner last night in the 'dining room' which felt relaxed and pseudo-grown-up. We're so cool, 'cause we made gourmet salad and I had a glass of Pellegrino, perfectly chilled, to accompany it. I'm all about the little things.
Unfortunately, I am 'all about' the little things, and tend to get distracted quite easily from the greater task at hand. It has been brought to my attention of late that I have "unorthodox" organizational methods; when unpacking, my roommate came in to hang out while I proceeded to
1. Made a collage of Spain pictures, stopping halfway to
2. put away a sweater
3. organize my CD's
4. make a playlist on the computer
5. put up some more Spain pictures
6. unpack my shoes
7. put away another sweater
8. reposition the couch
So I don't exactly think in a linear fashion...It all gets done. Eventually. Most of the time. Personally, I find it charming and endearing, one of my 'cute little quirks.' Others may not agree =).
Since my class shedule is officially fucked (that being a technical term), today will be spent running errands in typically non-linear Thea fashion, and hopefully I'll go to bed this evening having accomplished something worthwhile on this moist, misty September day.
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