Holy gorgeous pie, Batman
I made this most beautiful pie after having more than three drinks at the dog park last Wednesday. Yum.
Distraction number one from other more scholarly pursuits.
I made this most beautiful pie after having more than three drinks at the dog park last Wednesday. Yum.
I have just this to say, to protect the innocent: Being an adult sometimes really really sucks. All I want to do is throw a little tantrum and make someone fix it all for me. I don't want it, he doesn't want it, yet it's the best thing to do but it feels so bad. The child in me wants to reason that if we both agree, then how can it be wrong? I go for five minutes being an adult and then I revert back to being a child and wanting someone to find a solution. Except you can't really find a solution when there's not a fixable problem.
Usually they're teaching anxiety. But this is the second time in less than a week that I've dreamt that I'm at a conference, scheduled to give a presentation on the last day, and I have NOTHING with me. No paper, no computer, no draft, no nothing. All my friends were there and I had to decide whether I was going to hang out with them and enjoy myself or go up to my room and write the damn paper I had to present. Ah yes, the tension at the center of the nightmare: social life vs. work. I guess this isn't all that surprising since I've been spending more time on the social life lately and have a tremendous amount of built-up guilt about not writing.
Cool, rainy Sunday morning in Bloomington, Illinois. I've showered, I've eaten, I'm drinking my coffee. The girl has gone out, done her little dance in the back yard, and come right back in to snuggle up to the flannel sheets on the bed. I've got end-of-the-semester-itis. And practically no skin left on any of my fingers, down to the first phlange (Hillary loves that word).
Last night I slept for approximately eleven hours. Yesterday I was awake for approximately eleven hours. But I'm happy to report that, though I had what seemed like a million things on my list of stuff to do over Thanksgiving break, I did not do it all. I have not yet drafted my own class narrative for the collection my grad students and I are putting together. I haven't yet finished grading my 101 papers. I haven't yet finished reading my grad students' class narrative drafts. All of this is to say that I'm finally--sloooooowly--learning to let myself relax a little bit. Don't get me wrong--there's still a whole lot of free-floating anxiety when, at 8:00 on a Friday night I'm reading Joan Didion and I have to stop and stare off into space for a minute while I identify where that free-floating anxiety is coming from. It happens. A LOT. I have to constantly remind myself that next semester I'm only teaching two courses and will have more time to write. Plus I have an ambitious book-writing schedule--a gift from Becky that will do wonders for me because it's not MY schedule that I can just ignore. It comes from above.
Okay, so maybe it's a bit cliched, but what the hell. It's good for the soul.
Um, hello. I bought a bird today. WTF? Okay, not a whole bird, just the breast. And potatoes and stuffing and cranberry sauce (with lines) and broccoli and apples for pie. AMY IS COOKING A TURKEY, PEOPLE. Need I say more? Lift your jaws up off the floor.
Nola Virginia Wingard Sicinski was welcomed into the world this afternoon by her fantastic parents, Jennifer Wingard and Michael Sicinski. She joins her big feline brothers, Ube (aka Ubilicious), Hollis (aka Monkey Humper) and LeMieux (aka Memes).
I saw Capote in Champaign last night. Excellent flick. A few very jumpy moments. Philip Seymour Hoffman: very good. The movie made me want to immediately go out and get a copy of In Cold Blood, which I haven't read since college. At Barnes & Noble, the book was $14. I think not. I'll get a copy at a used book store, thank you very much.
It is fair to say that Treadwell was eccentric and delusional. Treadwell imagined himself as a champion and protector of the grizzlies, when in reality they were in little danger. He saw in his beloved grizzlies an idealised world of love and harmony. All the love and beauty that Treadwell thought was missing from civilisation he projected onto the bears. He was naive and delusional in that he failed to acknowledge the brutality and misery that are constants in our world.But you just watch: it won't be here in Bloomington. I'm sure I'll have to go to Champaign again to see it. Grrrrrrrr.
Here's the full text of my introduction of Julie last night at the book party. People laughed. It was good.
Belly's started eating the mail. Perhaps she's not getting enough exercise? Or enough kibble?
Mother of god it's windy and cold out today. Snowing, even. But I got up at 7:30 in order to be here at 9:00 for a meeting with Ron Fortune about our collaborative article on plagiary and forgerism. Since our meeting ended, I have accomplished a number of things: I've planned two of tomorrow's three classes, I've talked to the Julie Wonka and to Julia--separately--I've eaten lunch, I've braved the elements to run over to Subway to get an oatmeal raisin cookie, and I've still got two hours to go. I'm doing a quick read-through of first-year students' revised literacy autobiographies, and then I'm going to take the beast to the dog park at 3:30. At this rate, I shall collapse at 7:30.
Don't I sound all mathematical and shit.
I resisted for a long time, I really did. Hillary and Al have been addicted to online Scrabble at the Internet Scrabble Club for months now and I've been giving her shit--a lot of shit--about how much time she's been spending playing Scrabble with other people when she could hop on a flight and come here to play with me. To which she replies that I could just as easily sign up for online Scrabble and all would be well. Except we wouldn't be sharing a big bag of potato chips as we played.
I like my post title. I was trying to come up with another Fish pun, one that would actually work with the little update I'm about to provide, but I couldn't come up with one, so there you go.
Stanley Fish gave a lecture here on Thursday night. I ended my grad course early so we could all go and, I gotta say, I wasn't really expecting to be as impressed as I was. The man can argue. I think this might say a little bit about the man: ISU's provost said a few things about him and then turned it over to Gary Olson, Dean of CAS, who told a story about a debate he'd witnessed between Fish and Dinesh D'Souza. When Fish took the podium, he corrected parts of Olson's story. It was x, not y, that happened.
How many times in my life have I heard this? It's a backhanded compliment--I'm not worried about you because I know enough about your work, your interests, your writing, and your work ethic to know that you'll eventually pull through and wow us. Or if not wow us, you'll at least be okay.
You dream about having to find the closest McDonald's because you have to pee so badly. And in this dream you also know that you could stop off at the local diner, but you'd much rather go to McDonald's because at least there you can get yourself a refill on your Diet Coke.
I took Annabelle to the cemetery by our house this morning and, since she'd had a traumatic weekend with the sedation and the toenails, I decided I'd let her run off leash. Which she did. She ran for about 10 minutes and came back to me relatively quickly and obediently, but when she got close, I noticed that her mouth was covered in blood. AND I DIDN'T FREAK OUT. Pat me on the back, peeps. We were a 15-minute walk from home and there wasn't much I could do, so I just put her on the leash and we walked back home. I wasn't really sure whether the blood was coming from her mouth or it had come from another hapless animal, but by the time we got home there was no more blood.
I wrote a book prospectus this summer. I asked a couple of beloved colleagues to read it and help me and they did. And I haven't really looked at it since early August. When I sat down yesterday morning at Panera to dig in again, I was struck by how many claims I was making (I have been accused of claim proliferation more than once in my short academic career) and by how much I was assuming my readers knew and understood. This prospectus wouldn't fare so well in my own rhetoric course. I'd probably give myself a C+.
Did lots of reading today for my grad class and I decided that I'd set aside a couple hours tonight to go to Panera and work on revising an essay I began in last semester's grad course on authorship, this time with an eye for social class, violence, and abuse. At 6:00, I got all my stuff together and it was REALLY PAINFUL to contemplate the very idea of leaving the warm house with my warm doggie to go out into the cold, dark, cruel world. Last week I said it'd take me about a week to get used to it getting dark out at 5:00, but, I'm not there yet.
Minor crisis with Annabelle yesterday and today. Her toenails have been ridiculously long because, ever since her summer 2004 encounter with a porcupine in Chester, MA, she won't let anybody come near her with any kind of tool. And I've been hesitant to sedate her just to do her toenails because, well, she's my baby, and sedation scares me. So last night she was limping, favoring her front left foot--this is the third time in as many months that I've noticed this, but I'd always figured she was limping because she'd run too hard the day before. Turns out it was probably her toenails that were bothering her. Last night I noticed that one of her toenails had separated itself from the quick--the best way I can describe it is to say that it looked like the toenail was shedding itself, kinda like a snakeskin. But it was still attached.
Please recall, Euphony= you funneeeee.
How's that for a blog post title?
How many coffee pots can one woman break in the space of, say, eight months?
First, the sugar. I lied about not buying any Halloween candy. At the last minute, I stopped at Walgreen's and bought KitKats just in case. Then I felt bad for the poor little kiddies because it was raining and that doesn't make for a fun night of begging. And I ate a lot of chocolate. Haven't eaten that much chocolate in a long time and my body didn't quite know what to do. So it crashed.