The last few nights in Kiawah were just about the most beautiful that I've seen in a long time. There was a Cheshire Cat smile crescent moon over the starry saltmarshes as we drove back to the island after a day shopping in Charleston, and the air was just cool enough to remind you that it's the holiday time.
Lunch at the Sweetgrass café again this year before our two families parted for opposite poles: us to the north, them back to Atlanta. I swear, those hominy grits are the best that I have ever tasted, no question. We didn't make it home quite as soon as planned, due mostly to a detor to Brookgreen Gardens, a "refurbished" old plantation sight on the Carolina coast just south of the ugliest place on the face of the earth, Myrtle Beach. Lowcountry nature and the live oaks dripping sphagnum moss are indeed beautiful, and it's hard to mess up what's already there in the landscape unless you tried really freaking hard.
Brookgreen tries really, really hard. All of the buildings' and fountains' and walls' architecture is circa 1920, pure art deco (one of the tackiest movements in American art, as far as I'm concerned...and difficult to pull off): piles of bricks covered in now-flaking concrete. Eeeew. Plus, it's supposed to house the finest examples of 'American representational sculpture' from the past 150 years. Uuuh, did I miss something, or did reputable artists stop doing photo-realistic pieces about a century ago? Plus, the sculptor/owner's husband is a "poet" who liked to write in a neoromantic style with lots of internal rhyme and heavenly metaphors. Dripping with sappiness, thank you. It was a neoclassical revival about a century too late. I mean, I could almost understand if it were people from Byron's time doing this stuff, obsessed with Diana and Hermes and Pegausues, and whatnot, but it's not. It's from the 1940's. A throwback of a throwback, all done in lead, aluminum, and bronze. No, thanks, I'll skip it next time.
Thus, we did not arrive at home until well after 1:00 am, making today a day of unpacking, rearranging room, sneezing and watery eyes from dust raised as a result of said processes, and of course, Fake Christmas. Alex should be home soon, and she had better hurry her ass up, because I'm ready to eat the hot and sour soup that I just made, and open presents at last =).
Happy Holidays, all.
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
Sunday, December 21, 2003
Day 1, Kiawah
Powering through the last 3.5 hours on interstates 95, 26, and 526, three of the 8 Williamsons currently in South Carolina arrived at 1124 Duneside Lane, approximately 11:00 pm, a good hour behind our estimated arrival time. True, part of the delay was a little backtracking for the almost-forgotten lefse that my roommate and I so dilligently made, whilst taking shots of stoli vanilla the night before we parted ways. But as my sister always says, "It just wouldn't be Christmas if we didn't have to turn the car around." Too true, too true.
In any case, I awoke this morning at a very decent hour (10:00) to find that there were no groceries in the house, save 6 tins of cookies (a decided dearth compared to years past), the lefse, and some old apples that we just *had* to bring from home. Luckily, the food situation was easily remedied, as was my non-wired status. How fortunate that the other Williamson cousins are even more technological geeks than I. We definitely had a debate this afternoon, when I got back from my beach run, about Macs vs. the PC. I love our family. So here I sit, post ALIAS rerun and pasta dinner, at Richard's new laptop (16 inch screen, it's O-O-C), clicking away on the dialup connection while Spain pictures are being broken out in front of the fireplace. I guess I had better go narrate =).
In any case, I awoke this morning at a very decent hour (10:00) to find that there were no groceries in the house, save 6 tins of cookies (a decided dearth compared to years past), the lefse, and some old apples that we just *had* to bring from home. Luckily, the food situation was easily remedied, as was my non-wired status. How fortunate that the other Williamson cousins are even more technological geeks than I. We definitely had a debate this afternoon, when I got back from my beach run, about Macs vs. the PC. I love our family. So here I sit, post ALIAS rerun and pasta dinner, at Richard's new laptop (16 inch screen, it's O-O-C), clicking away on the dialup connection while Spain pictures are being broken out in front of the fireplace. I guess I had better go narrate =).
Saturday, December 20, 2003
I HATE AMTRAK I HATE AMTRAK I HATE AMTRAK I HATE AMTRAK
Times 40, at the very least. Am never taking the train again.
I'm back at home in Va Beach, despite Amtrak's best efforts to keep me away, and am about to depart for Kiawah Island, SC for the annual Williamson clan gathering. It's freezing down there, which is counterintuative because there's also palm trees. It is also freezing in our house, because my parents like to "save money" on heating in the wintertime. I told my dad while we were watching Goldfinger last night that "I can't feel my toes" to which he replied: "That's what blankets are for. Am dubious as to how cost-effective this whole no heat policy is. At least my fat furry cat was there to share the warmth [aaaww].
So Amtrak.
Alas, but time runs short. Time to hit the road!
I'm back at home in Va Beach, despite Amtrak's best efforts to keep me away, and am about to depart for Kiawah Island, SC for the annual Williamson clan gathering. It's freezing down there, which is counterintuative because there's also palm trees. It is also freezing in our house, because my parents like to "save money" on heating in the wintertime. I told my dad while we were watching Goldfinger last night that "I can't feel my toes" to which he replied: "That's what blankets are for. Am dubious as to how cost-effective this whole no heat policy is. At least my fat furry cat was there to share the warmth [aaaww].
So Amtrak.
Alas, but time runs short. Time to hit the road!
Thursday, December 18, 2003
FI-NALS, whew.
Have just spilled coffee on myself. I think that's indicative of the mood at the moment. One should ingest the caffeine for optimal effectiveness, as opposed to attempting epidermal osmosis, by way of shirt sleeve. And it's damn good coffee too, its a shame.
Happy Birthday Alex...it's still Wednesday. Happy Birthday Sarah...it's technically Thursday.
Best bad weather ever today: I left the apartment at 4:15 for a meeting with David Sedley, PhD, Associate Professor of French and master of social graces (or staring awkwardly), and Founders' Hall was my destination. Upon exit of my abode, it was raining, with a mix of hail. By the time I reached the nature trail, full on hail was heard pitter patter on my umbrella. Ira D. Reid House, approximately 1.5 minutes later, the hail had mixed with snow, and by the time I walked in the Campus Center door to retrieve my Feria poster AND PRÍNCIPE COOKIES from Sasha Brady, goddess of world travel, it was full-on snowing.
Craziness, I tell you, craziness.
And speaking of craziness, I should get Bach to work. [Tocatta and Fugue style, to maximize productivity and get me thinking, at the very least subconsciously, about tomorrow's Fantasia paper.]
Happy Birthday Alex...it's still Wednesday. Happy Birthday Sarah...it's technically Thursday.
Best bad weather ever today: I left the apartment at 4:15 for a meeting with David Sedley, PhD, Associate Professor of French and master of social graces (or staring awkwardly), and Founders' Hall was my destination. Upon exit of my abode, it was raining, with a mix of hail. By the time I reached the nature trail, full on hail was heard pitter patter on my umbrella. Ira D. Reid House, approximately 1.5 minutes later, the hail had mixed with snow, and by the time I walked in the Campus Center door to retrieve my Feria poster AND PRÍNCIPE COOKIES from Sasha Brady, goddess of world travel, it was full-on snowing.
Craziness, I tell you, craziness.
And speaking of craziness, I should get Bach to work. [Tocatta and Fugue style, to maximize productivity and get me thinking, at the very least subconsciously, about tomorrow's Fantasia paper.]
Wednesday, December 17, 2003
"Do we walk in legends, or on the green earth in daylight?"
Left Haverford's campus at 9:15 last night with a hardy crew of three other LOTR fanatics. Okay, 2 other fanatics, and the boy. Marni at the wheel, driving Boston-style down Montgomery Avenue, hot caffeinated beverages in hand, we arrived at King of Prussia in time to stake our claim to the first section of the seating line for the final installment of the Fellowship: Return of the King. People applauded when Orlando and Viggo had their first closeup. [Sigh.] I sat there with my iBook, typing away dilligently as news cameras panned the huge line that wound around the lobby. Even saw some hard-core costumed fans; one dubiously sober adolescent male was dressed as Sauron's eye, carrying a 4-foot long cardboard cut out colored orange. Well done.
3 hours and 25 minutes of pure Peter Jackson magic, even if there were some *serious* departures from the book (don't worry, I won't give anything away), and a perfectly acceptable ending. I'm not ashamed to say I was a little weepy towards the final scenes. I, too, felt as though something was over, a fellowship was ending; three years is a long time to be attached to a concept, and now it's over.
There's always the extended versions! Woo hoo, Two Towers dvd. I'm so bad.
And so, running on little sleep (we didn't pull in to the South Lot until 4:30 am this morning), but with visions of Minas Tirith dancing in my head as opposed to sugarplums, I trudge ahead on the last two assignments of the semester. Two days to go. So many things to bake, so many things to write. An aside: I enjoyed how they portrayed Frodo as the 'ultimate tortured writer' at the end. Everything's so intertextual these days, I love it.
I *still* think that Eowyn deserved more screen time, dammit.
3 hours and 25 minutes of pure Peter Jackson magic, even if there were some *serious* departures from the book (don't worry, I won't give anything away), and a perfectly acceptable ending. I'm not ashamed to say I was a little weepy towards the final scenes. I, too, felt as though something was over, a fellowship was ending; three years is a long time to be attached to a concept, and now it's over.
There's always the extended versions! Woo hoo, Two Towers dvd. I'm so bad.
And so, running on little sleep (we didn't pull in to the South Lot until 4:30 am this morning), but with visions of Minas Tirith dancing in my head as opposed to sugarplums, I trudge ahead on the last two assignments of the semester. Two days to go. So many things to bake, so many things to write. An aside: I enjoyed how they portrayed Frodo as the 'ultimate tortured writer' at the end. Everything's so intertextual these days, I love it.
I *still* think that Eowyn deserved more screen time, dammit.
Tuesday, December 16, 2003
overconfident, overly-funded, flighty high school girls shoudln't be allowed to have 'blogs
And that's all I have to say about that.
In other news...Pics of Saddam on the NYTimes website remided me of the photos of Ché that the CIA sent to the papers to prove that he was dead. Weird coincidence, maybe it's the whole "I've-been-hiding-in-a-cave/mountain jungle-for-6months-beard" that does it.
The interesting stuff: so my omelet didn't stick.
For a very long time, I've practiced a general rule that apart from immediate family members I don't cook for boys. Years ago, I had several unsavory experiences (you like that culinary pun? I know you do.) that involved me cooking for males, most of them ending in either 1. embarrassment, *plus* lots of dirty dishes, 2. utter ruin, crying fits, and humiliation, yadda yadda, melodrama. Thus, by the middle of sophomore year, I was resolute. I said to my steadfast roommate: "If I ever think it's a good idea to cook for boys again, remind me that it's not. NO more. Tie me down and make me eat my own apron."
I may have left out that bit about the apron, but it was some time ago, my memory fails. Several weeks ago, I was reminded again, gently, that it might not be such a great idea to invest myself in a cooking project, as it would be in direct violation to the corrolary to the previously instated "boys suck" policy. Stoically, I maintained the decorum necessary to not get hurt by someone's mystified disinterest in a prepared meal, but my resolve has recently been somewhat less stoic than it was.
On Sunday, a positively slushy day brought about by three inches of snow, followed by 39 degree rain, someone came down to the apartment for brunch. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that someone was of the male gender [gasps of shock from reading audience of say...three]. There was coffee, there were gruyére and fresh ricotta omelets with shallots, and there was easy conversation. There were hot pans lightly coated with just the right amount of olive oil so that the eggs don't adhere to the bottom, but don't get overly greasy. There was cheese, melted and goey, pepperey pepper, and omelets steamy delicious as they slid right out of the pan, their slightly oozy half-moons coming to rest on blue plates.
The first time I didn't get it right, and tried to rush through too many steps at once, so we had some sticking issues because there were bits of caramelized shallots still left on the pan that I only halfheartedly wiped clean. You've got to clean up the old mess or things get even worse if you try to pretend it's not there. But, learning from my mistakes, and having a little more prudence/patience with the next one, I barely had to touch it with a spatula. Turned over once, lowered the heat to a gentle flame, and let it set. If I were one who was more given to allegorical anectodes, I'd say that had some sort of resonance in my romantic escapades from the past several years. Then again, maybe that's just the Ella Fitzgerald from the afternoon ringing in my ears.
But hell, that second omelet didn't stick at all. That hardly *ever* happens.
NB: words randomly glanced at while looking up proper spelling of 'surreptitious:' sport utility vehicle (picture included, who knew?), succulent, sunnyside up. i [heart] dictionaries.
In other news...Pics of Saddam on the NYTimes website remided me of the photos of Ché that the CIA sent to the papers to prove that he was dead. Weird coincidence, maybe it's the whole "I've-been-hiding-in-a-cave/mountain jungle-for-6months-beard" that does it.
The interesting stuff: so my omelet didn't stick.
For a very long time, I've practiced a general rule that apart from immediate family members I don't cook for boys. Years ago, I had several unsavory experiences (you like that culinary pun? I know you do.) that involved me cooking for males, most of them ending in either 1. embarrassment, *plus* lots of dirty dishes, 2. utter ruin, crying fits, and humiliation, yadda yadda, melodrama. Thus, by the middle of sophomore year, I was resolute. I said to my steadfast roommate: "If I ever think it's a good idea to cook for boys again, remind me that it's not. NO more. Tie me down and make me eat my own apron."
I may have left out that bit about the apron, but it was some time ago, my memory fails. Several weeks ago, I was reminded again, gently, that it might not be such a great idea to invest myself in a cooking project, as it would be in direct violation to the corrolary to the previously instated "boys suck" policy. Stoically, I maintained the decorum necessary to not get hurt by someone's mystified disinterest in a prepared meal, but my resolve has recently been somewhat less stoic than it was.
On Sunday, a positively slushy day brought about by three inches of snow, followed by 39 degree rain, someone came down to the apartment for brunch. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that someone was of the male gender [gasps of shock from reading audience of say...three]. There was coffee, there were gruyére and fresh ricotta omelets with shallots, and there was easy conversation. There were hot pans lightly coated with just the right amount of olive oil so that the eggs don't adhere to the bottom, but don't get overly greasy. There was cheese, melted and goey, pepperey pepper, and omelets steamy delicious as they slid right out of the pan, their slightly oozy half-moons coming to rest on blue plates.
The first time I didn't get it right, and tried to rush through too many steps at once, so we had some sticking issues because there were bits of caramelized shallots still left on the pan that I only halfheartedly wiped clean. You've got to clean up the old mess or things get even worse if you try to pretend it's not there. But, learning from my mistakes, and having a little more prudence/patience with the next one, I barely had to touch it with a spatula. Turned over once, lowered the heat to a gentle flame, and let it set. If I were one who was more given to allegorical anectodes, I'd say that had some sort of resonance in my romantic escapades from the past several years. Then again, maybe that's just the Ella Fitzgerald from the afternoon ringing in my ears.
But hell, that second omelet didn't stick at all. That hardly *ever* happens.
NB: words randomly glanced at while looking up proper spelling of 'surreptitious:' sport utility vehicle (picture included, who knew?), succulent, sunnyside up. i [heart] dictionaries.
Friday, December 12, 2003
Today Does NOT Blow
For the following reasons, all of which are valid...
1. Classes have ended, and things are winding down around Haverford. Less than a week left. I've brought my plants to the greenhouse, and have begun to asess the perishable contents of our refrigerator to use them up before we head out.
2.I bought a hot pink shirt today. I [heart] H&M. Ordinarily speaking, I don't wear a whole lot of pink; I tend to leave that up to the roomie, but I was feeling in a bright, hot, "hey-look-at-me-i'm-wearing-borderline-neon" kind of mood today and couldn't resist.
3. I will never have to go to another Chemistry of Art Class again.
4. Chemistry of Art is over. Took my last test today, and barring meteor showers or other sorts of catastrophic cataclysms, I will be exempt from taking the exam.
5.. Did I mention that I won't ever have to listen to another Valerie Walters lecture?
6. Helped out with production work today @ Hot Soup making punties for tumblers and such. Yay. I love glass. Plus, the artist that I was making the punties for is the guy who's KICK-ASS pieces are up in the gallery this month.
6a. It's good to be a cute girl in the hotshop. It's also good to be a cute girl who catches on quickly and makes a better than serviceable punty.
7. Walked down Chestnut St. today to get to work, instead of the usual Market, and got a *completely* different view of the city. It's strange how one block south really chages so much. Hello, only-white-girl-in-a-peacoat.
8. Have grand plans in store for rest of tonight/weekend, including but not limited to: watching a movie up in the North Dorms, dessert, finishing film paper, going to the darkroom, semiformal dance, final SFS presentation, and a good night's sleep.
So I'm going to get on that =).
1. Classes have ended, and things are winding down around Haverford. Less than a week left. I've brought my plants to the greenhouse, and have begun to asess the perishable contents of our refrigerator to use them up before we head out.
2.I bought a hot pink shirt today. I [heart] H&M. Ordinarily speaking, I don't wear a whole lot of pink; I tend to leave that up to the roomie, but I was feeling in a bright, hot, "hey-look-at-me-i'm-wearing-borderline-neon" kind of mood today and couldn't resist.
3. I will never have to go to another Chemistry of Art Class again.
4. Chemistry of Art is over. Took my last test today, and barring meteor showers or other sorts of catastrophic cataclysms, I will be exempt from taking the exam.
5.. Did I mention that I won't ever have to listen to another Valerie Walters lecture?
6. Helped out with production work today @ Hot Soup making punties for tumblers and such. Yay. I love glass. Plus, the artist that I was making the punties for is the guy who's KICK-ASS pieces are up in the gallery this month.
6a. It's good to be a cute girl in the hotshop. It's also good to be a cute girl who catches on quickly and makes a better than serviceable punty.
7. Walked down Chestnut St. today to get to work, instead of the usual Market, and got a *completely* different view of the city. It's strange how one block south really chages so much. Hello, only-white-girl-in-a-peacoat.
8. Have grand plans in store for rest of tonight/weekend, including but not limited to: watching a movie up in the North Dorms, dessert, finishing film paper, going to the darkroom, semiformal dance, final SFS presentation, and a good night's sleep.
So I'm going to get on that =).
Thursday, December 11, 2003
Today Blows, a Pseudo-scientific Proof
and it started off so well, for several reasons: it was 60 degrees outside, so not only did I get to wear flipflops, but my fun grey skirt. Had several Marilyn Monroe-esque moments on this windy afternoon which were fun. However, these things were not enough to counteract the following crappy events which shall be hitherto enumerated.
1. Received yet another job rejection. Yes, I know the economy sucks, yes, I know you have 20% more applicants this year, yes, I suck and you don't want me.
2. Have nearly resigned myself to my boring mediocrity. I do a great many things passably well, but can't quite manage to excel at anything.
3. It dropped about 15 degrees while I was at class, so when I left to check my mail (and receive said "wedon'tlikeyouthea" letter) I froze my exposed tootsies right off.
4. Am inexplicably tired and achy in spite of *very* good night's sleep last night, and nearly fell asleep at work tonight in the athletic office whilst alphabetizing envelopes.
5. My room is in bad shape. I'm talking execrably messy, papers strewn everywhere, and long blonde hairs floating around due to our completely ineffectual air filter/ventilation system.
6. Need to do fucking laundry. Damn clean socks.
So I'm going to go shower, shut myself up in an exceedingly steamy cubicle for a little while, and think about my fantastic friends, both of whom I will see in a week. Some things never need to change. Some people, after having been there for you (okay, "me", but we're talking hypothetically here) through all the bad times and melodrama, make sharing the good times with them that much more special. A demure shoutout to Cambridge and Blacksburg, if you're listening.
1. Received yet another job rejection. Yes, I know the economy sucks, yes, I know you have 20% more applicants this year, yes, I suck and you don't want me.
2. Have nearly resigned myself to my boring mediocrity. I do a great many things passably well, but can't quite manage to excel at anything.
3. It dropped about 15 degrees while I was at class, so when I left to check my mail (and receive said "wedon'tlikeyouthea" letter) I froze my exposed tootsies right off.
4. Am inexplicably tired and achy in spite of *very* good night's sleep last night, and nearly fell asleep at work tonight in the athletic office whilst alphabetizing envelopes.
5. My room is in bad shape. I'm talking execrably messy, papers strewn everywhere, and long blonde hairs floating around due to our completely ineffectual air filter/ventilation system.
6. Need to do fucking laundry. Damn clean socks.
So I'm going to go shower, shut myself up in an exceedingly steamy cubicle for a little while, and think about my fantastic friends, both of whom I will see in a week. Some things never need to change. Some people, after having been there for you (okay, "me", but we're talking hypothetically here) through all the bad times and melodrama, make sharing the good times with them that much more special. A demure shoutout to Cambridge and Blacksburg, if you're listening.
Wednesday, December 10, 2003
Let the Madness Begin
Oh, yes, it's finals. The strange thing is that the actual volume of work that is required in the next 10 days is not all that excessive, but the relative importance of said work to my college career is quite weighty indeed. I'd like to have a thesis that I'm proud to defend, that above all else makes sense.
It's also, somewhat inconveniently, Oscar hopeful season, and LOTR III comes out really really really really soon. [read: I'm very psyched.]
I had also had the impression that I had something more relevant to say, but I guess I was just imagining that. It happens. To work, or not to work, that is truly the question.
It's also, somewhat inconveniently, Oscar hopeful season, and LOTR III comes out really really really really soon. [read: I'm very psyched.]
I had also had the impression that I had something more relevant to say, but I guess I was just imagining that. It happens. To work, or not to work, that is truly the question.
Tuesday, December 09, 2003
Seminario
estudiante 1: "Y como vamos a a ser evaluado este semestre?"
profe: "con mucho cariño"
estudiante 2: "con mucho vino"
Went out to dinner last night, c/o the Haverford College Spanish Department with the rest of the Senior Sem peeps. It was so fun to hang out with the majors for a while, speak Spanish, and eat a nice meal at Mikado. Green tea icecream, sushi, and a good debate about Haverford College pedagogy and awkwardness. Apparently, the professors are all awkward too, so we really *do* have a unifying force in the community. Who knew?
The semester is winding down, and as we all know that means two things
1. paper writing
2. cookies
Not having spent all that much time in the ol' apartment lately, the cookie baking has been on hold, a tragedy which I intend to remedy shortly, now that we have groceries again for the first time since Thanksgiving (yes, we're that lazy).
Fun weekends, fun weeknights, what in the world is my life coming to? Maybe I should be a little more concerned with my work... then again, maybe not.
estudiante 1: "Y como vamos a a ser evaluado este semestre?"
profe: "con mucho cariño"
estudiante 2: "con mucho vino"
Went out to dinner last night, c/o the Haverford College Spanish Department with the rest of the Senior Sem peeps. It was so fun to hang out with the majors for a while, speak Spanish, and eat a nice meal at Mikado. Green tea icecream, sushi, and a good debate about Haverford College pedagogy and awkwardness. Apparently, the professors are all awkward too, so we really *do* have a unifying force in the community. Who knew?
The semester is winding down, and as we all know that means two things
1. paper writing
2. cookies
Not having spent all that much time in the ol' apartment lately, the cookie baking has been on hold, a tragedy which I intend to remedy shortly, now that we have groceries again for the first time since Thanksgiving (yes, we're that lazy).
Fun weekends, fun weeknights, what in the world is my life coming to? Maybe I should be a little more concerned with my work... then again, maybe not.
Wednesday, December 03, 2003
And the Drama Continues
I have finished with my anal, self-suffering, overly-involved power point presentation, and yes folks, all of the graphic elements have been placed to my satisfaction. In other words, I made Power Point my bitch. In some sick part of my soul, I enjoyed being able to show my creative side a little bit. A very small, small part of me.
As I walked around campus this morning, color-printed presentation grasped firmly in frozen hands ($.75 a page, are you kidding?), a fat, belligerent squirrel chatter/hissed at me from atop a dumpster next to the field house. Please, Mr. Rodent, can I steal your putrescent garbage? Yes, that's right, get angry at me, I have central heating and baked goods and you're gorging yourself on acorns so you don't DIE this winter. Mmmwaaahahahahahah. [evil laugh] It's really all about the little things in life, right?
And speaking of bitterness...the amarga quotient is dropping rapidly. I'm not talking puffy pink clouds and all that shit, but we're most definitely down to milk chocolate range: 45-50%. Or perhaps I should clarify; while I might not be solid dark chocolate any more, it has come to my attention that the composed and tempered outer coating is melting a bit, and cracking as it goes. Think: melting peppermint patty (one of my all-time favorite-est candies). Sure, you get around the bittersweet chocolate on the outside to the sweet minty filling, but it's messy as hell in the process and usually ends up cracking.
Or maybe I'm just obsessing because my stash of said confection has just run out, and should refrain from all further use of sweet metaphors in reference to my personality. I think that's a good idea. Let's go watch some O.C. now that I have kicked Chemistry's ass. That's a good idea too.
As I walked around campus this morning, color-printed presentation grasped firmly in frozen hands ($.75 a page, are you kidding?), a fat, belligerent squirrel chatter/hissed at me from atop a dumpster next to the field house. Please, Mr. Rodent, can I steal your putrescent garbage? Yes, that's right, get angry at me, I have central heating and baked goods and you're gorging yourself on acorns so you don't DIE this winter. Mmmwaaahahahahahah. [evil laugh] It's really all about the little things in life, right?
And speaking of bitterness...the amarga quotient is dropping rapidly. I'm not talking puffy pink clouds and all that shit, but we're most definitely down to milk chocolate range: 45-50%. Or perhaps I should clarify; while I might not be solid dark chocolate any more, it has come to my attention that the composed and tempered outer coating is melting a bit, and cracking as it goes. Think: melting peppermint patty (one of my all-time favorite-est candies). Sure, you get around the bittersweet chocolate on the outside to the sweet minty filling, but it's messy as hell in the process and usually ends up cracking.
Or maybe I'm just obsessing because my stash of said confection has just run out, and should refrain from all further use of sweet metaphors in reference to my personality. I think that's a good idea. Let's go watch some O.C. now that I have kicked Chemistry's ass. That's a good idea too.
Tuesday, December 02, 2003
It's Freezing
No really, I'm serious. I'm also serious about the fact that I've got a ton of shit to do in the next two weeks. It dawned on me today, in the middle of Senior Sem for Spanish that our final project is due a mere week from today. Oops.
Another sagacious revelation: ditto for CompLit, five days later. Next week is going to be, shall we say, interesting. Dammit, and I wanted to have fun on Saturday.
In the meantime, I wonder why my baking skills seem to have deserted me (ha, get it? dessert-ed?), and have ruined several attempts at dessert. I think that my somewhat distracted mental state has effected my ability to function with even the modicum of efficiency on which I ordinarily maintain a tenuous grasp. It seems to have disappeared sometime around the end of October, for mysterious reasons.
I also miss my cat. That's tangential, I know.
Also tangential, if veracious, is my delight at having the opportunity for some Alias this Sunday with the roomie, of whom I have not seen much of as of late.
But enough with the procrastination, on to more agreeable things. Such as sleep.
No really, I'm serious. I'm also serious about the fact that I've got a ton of shit to do in the next two weeks. It dawned on me today, in the middle of Senior Sem for Spanish that our final project is due a mere week from today. Oops.
Another sagacious revelation: ditto for CompLit, five days later. Next week is going to be, shall we say, interesting. Dammit, and I wanted to have fun on Saturday.
In the meantime, I wonder why my baking skills seem to have deserted me (ha, get it? dessert-ed?), and have ruined several attempts at dessert. I think that my somewhat distracted mental state has effected my ability to function with even the modicum of efficiency on which I ordinarily maintain a tenuous grasp. It seems to have disappeared sometime around the end of October, for mysterious reasons.
I also miss my cat. That's tangential, I know.
Also tangential, if veracious, is my delight at having the opportunity for some Alias this Sunday with the roomie, of whom I have not seen much of as of late.
But enough with the procrastination, on to more agreeable things. Such as sleep.
Monday, December 01, 2003
mooooonday
bleh. thesis-ifying is much more difficult to concentrate on than previously anticipated. luckily, today is much better than yesterday, when i had the attention span of a 6 year old child. yes, i painted my nails, when to the farmers' market, and rearranged my binders, but how much work did i *actually* get done? not much. 2 weeks left of class. yikes.
bleh. thesis-ifying is much more difficult to concentrate on than previously anticipated. luckily, today is much better than yesterday, when i had the attention span of a 6 year old child. yes, i painted my nails, when to the farmers' market, and rearranged my binders, but how much work did i *actually* get done? not much. 2 weeks left of class. yikes.
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