Everybody Loves Saturday Night

I have another imperative for you: GO SEE AMERICAN SPLENDOR, the movie based on Harvey Pekar's comic books/graphic novel (Our Cancer Year), in turn based on his life. It does not matter if you don't know who he is, nor does it matter if you're not a fan of comic books/comic book movies. The movie itself breaks down a number of boundaries between film genres. I read one negative review that criticized the movie's self-indulgent postmodernism, but that guy doesn't know what the hell he's talking about--he couldn't even figure out that the voice-over in the movie was done by the real Harvey Pekar (who also appears in the movie). Why should anyone believe a review by someone who can't pay attention? Another peeve of mine. Besides, although Pekar's outlook on life is fairly pessimistic (in the movie version, the comic book version, and ostensibly in real life) I thought that the movie was incredibly inspiring and positive. Maybe that's because, you know, it's a movie, but again, I think we're supposed to feel good. The movie version of Pekar is played by Paul Giamatti. Sure, he doesn't look like Pekar, but because the movie also gives you the real Pekar, you can start to play Compare & Contrast with the Fact-Pekar and the Fiction-Pekar, and they start to look like the same person, which I think is a testimony to Giamatti's talent. The same goes for Hope Davis, who plays Pekar's wife Joyce. The story of their meeting is one of the high points of the movie. I thought Davis was brilliant. The main point of the movie, that everyone's lives are extraordinary and worthy, is carried out through the movie's depiction of the process of turning life into art. In doing so, the movie suggests that we all have the potential to do likewise.

If you don't believe me, take a cyberwalk on over to the Rotten Tomatoes website and browse through all the glowing reviews, written by credible reviewers (they've also described the movie more succinctly and eloquently that I can at 8:30 a.m. on a Sunday morning). Don't freak out by all the hype this movie is getting...the comic book version of Pekar has been on a number of magazine covers...y'know, he's been doing this for decades and NOW the people are all over him, but he's worthy of the hype. So's the movie.

I went to see the movie at my favorite movie theater, the Landmark Sunshine Cinema, on E. Houston. I'm not exactly sure why this place is my favorite; I just always get a really good, relaxed vibe from the place. It might have something to do with the kind of movies the Sunshine plays, which span the indie range, with a few foreign films thrown in for good measure. The seats are comfy and the popcorn is delicious. It's the kind of theater patronized by folks who actually do turn off their cell phones, at least most of them, most of the time. It's the kind of theater that shows The Goonies at midnight.

In GA news, there are 16 members now! Most of us are also a part of the virtual knitting community, so I want to give special attention to two sites that aren't: the first is Live in the Delirious Cool. Donna has a knitting blog as well, but the GA ring will take you to her general daily observances, including a righteous rant on the use of "impact" as a transitive verb. The second site is Iona's you are a china shop, i am a bull (l'il Ani shout out, there). I don't know how Iona found the GA ring, but I'm so glad she did, because her blog is charming.

Alison posted a picture from that movie that's as old as my students, The Breakfast Club, depicting evil taskmaster Vernon giving Bender the "devil's horns." This reminded me that I came upon a picture of Jack Black in his upcoming movie, wherein he portrays a substitute teacher who rallies a bunch of 5th graders together so they can win the Battle of the Bands:



Look carefully at the pointer. Take that, Ronnie Dio!

My people, heed my words:

If you ever get the chance to see the New Orleans Klezmer All Stars, GO. Run, don't walk.

I first saw them in New Orleans, New Year's Eve 2001 (best NYE ever). They combine traditional klezmer (I just found this site and it looks pretty cool, go there if you don't know what I'm talking about) with high-powered jazz and blues, and they do it like no one else I've ever heard. They rocked Brooklyn pretty hard last night and yes, a group of us broke out with some funky hora dance moves for the last song. Seriously, go see these guys.

It was the perfect capper to my first day of teaching. Everything worked out well, of course. I like the first day of class because it's always so rife with enthusiasm and energy...which I then get to squash completely by reading through the syllabus. I'm not talking about the hard-ass policies here, I'm talking about the actual ritual of reading through the syllabus. Were you ever bored by that as students? It is doubly boring for teachers. I mean, I just spent however many days/weeks working on the sucker, double and triple checking it for mistakes (think about how embarrassing it is for Comp teachers to have typos in the first Official Course Document), and now I get to read through it again. And then read through it yet again in my second class. Oy. I feel like I shortchanged my second class because I was skimming through it so we would have enough time to do the other things we needed to do.

More to come...

I don't teach until 4:00 p.m. today. That's a lot of waiting. My biggest concern is that the copy people completed the copying of my syllabus. It can get so crazy during the first week of school and the support staff are overburdened with demands. I put my syllabus in 48 hours before I needed it, which under normal circumstances would be enough time...

I think of myself as a trusting person, but I'm not always that trusting. I guess I've been burned or betrayed enough times to be wary of trusting people, or at least trusting them too much. Aside from the occasional slip up, I am a trustworthy person. The slip ups I've made were really big and they still haunt me from time to time, but in that cliched way they have all taught me valuable life lessons. I do wonder, though--how did I get to be so untrusting? Is it just with people I don't know very well? There was that time in college when I wanted to transfer to the music school and I applied and auditioned...and my application "got lost." There was another time when I was working in a group on an in-house publication for the English Department and had to deal with an editor who butchered everyone's work so that her own would look better. I am not the greatest at keeping in touch with people but I have had it with friends who write promising to be better about keeping in touch and then getting "too busy" to take five minutes out of their day to send a little note saying, "hey, how's it going?" I've stopped giving of myself to these people. It's too much effort to catch them up on my life when they can't be bothered to reciprocate.

There is one person who is exempt from this, because we actually talked about it. Several years ago I was going through a hard time health-wise and seriously freaked out about it and really needed my friends around me, supporting me, even if it was through phone calls and emails (which it mostly was). To make a long story short, two friends of mine (married to each other) were just simply not there, and not there in a such a way that hurt, because I tried talking/writing about it to them. So I cut them off in the most gracious way possible, no hard feelings, just that it seemed as though we'd drifted far enough apart that it was too much of an effort to get back to the same space--and it was possible that we didn't want to be in the same space, and that was fine too. After I wrote this email I started to feel a little guilty, because like I said, I'm not the best at keeping in touch either, and maybe I should've been more understanding of other people's schedules and lives. Then again, fuck that. When does it get to be about my life, you know? Still, I wrote to this other friend of mine--we've known each other for a long, long, long time--and asked if it upset her that we didn't write more frequently. She said something to the effect of no. Her schedule was hectic and she knew I understood that; my schedule was hectic and she knew that I knew she understood that. When we do write to each other, she said, it's quality email. And she's right. We're in the same time zone now so our emails/phone calls/visits are more frequent, but when we were thousands of miles apart we'd write each other these huge emails about what had been going on in our lives, correspond for a week or two, and then work would get in the way for a month. But we talked about it, we sort of set the schedule up ourselves, so there would be no issues.

What upsets me most about people who completely lack the ability to keep in touch is that...well, I take it personally. They clearly don't understand what a joy it is to hear from someone I care/d about after so much time has gone by. If they did understand, they wouldn't pop in my life and get me all happy and then just leave again.

My mom once told me that I was a very demanding person in my relationships, that I require a lot from people. I sort of agree with her, but I also believe that my standards are reasonable. I don't ask anything of anyone that I wouldn't be willing to do for them. At least, I don't think I do.

You must agree with everything I say because Mars is in the house, yo. I love being an Aries. Worship me! Answer to my every whim! Fulfill my every need! DO IT!


It was hot yesterday, but that didn't stop me from knitting in wool. Here's 12.5" of the back to Lazy Sunday:



Like I said before, these aren't really my colors, but I really like this so far. I'm going to have to put it aside for a little bit so I can cruise through the Koigu Affair in the next couple weeks.

Oh, and Rachael's thrown together a knit-along for a wave/shell patterned shawl. I'm going to work on a scarf using this Artisan Lace yarn:



The only thing keeping me from starting this project is the horror with which I think about winding this into a ball. I so desperately want a swift/ball winder contraption.

The Brothers Chaps got themselves a NY Times article today. Sort of.

Happy "I Have a Dream" Anniversary, America.

I started the lost post by publicly musing whether I would journey to Jersey to finally get my faculty ID and check on the desk copy of my reader, or whether I would venture into the city to get some stuff photocopied.

I'm not gonna do either of those things! The ID can wait and I've given up on the desk copy. I'm just going to have to go back next week to start school so why waste two or more hours for something I'm not guaranteed will actually happen? The photocopies can also wait. I'd thought I needed to hand out a story tomorrow but it's not assigned until next week. I am taking the whole freakin' day off. So there.

Then I had a little brief commentary on how any freewriting I do tends to veer towards scheduling. Trying to organize my day is usually the first thing I think of so I make lists. It's so incredibly boring. "Today I need to do this and this and this." To make matters worse, I hardly ever follow the list. I may do the first "this" and then decide I've accomplished enough.

I am really going to miss spending the entire day in my pajamas.

YC had a dinner yesterday for the new students. I went to see what it was I was getting myself into. It's going to be fine, but I can tell what the main challenges will be. My pedagogy is steeped in feminist theory and I'm going to be teaching at an institution that's a total embodiment of Patriarchy. I am used to a rather informal approach to teaching. I wore regular clothes, students called me by my first name, I quoted The Princess Bride in the margins of their papers ("You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means"), and still managed to maintain an authoritative presence, although if you asked me how I'd shrug and say "I have no freakin' clue" except I wouldn't say "freakin'" if you know what I'm sayin'. I am sure that I was privileged by looking like my students and coming from a similar educational background (if not economic). Teaching at YC will be much more formal. I got into a conversation with two older students after one of them addressed me as "Professor." I tried to explain that I wasn't a professor, not yet anyway, and that confused them. A colleague explained to me that anyone who teaches here is a professor and that I might want to rethink having my students call me by my first name.

This brings up another challenge: I really hate my last name. It subjected me to years of taunting and cruelty and it may be lame but I've never really fully gotten over that. I still cringe when someone says it. What's worse, it's easily mispronounced so I have to correct people. I crack wise about it all the time as a defensive manuever--especially on the first day of class--but in more vulnerable moments it's still a sore spot and an easy target. I've been talking about legally changing it for years now, ever since college, but I haven't gotten around to it. I go back and forth on it: much as I hate my name, it's mine. I don't want to own it but I do. It's never felt comfortable, but would another name? Jeez, do women who take their husband's names go through identity crises like this? I get to pick whatever name I want, so it becomes like the ultimate TITLE. Actually, I've been taking one name out for a test drive every now and then. I figure I'm pretty settled in here in the city, and I haven't started publishing anything yet, so if I'm going to do it, I should do it very soon.

I know what I'm doing today: getting the battery in my watch replaced. I've been wearing a Powerpuff Girls watch I bought at Wal-Mart for the past couple years. I love it dearly but it's not formal enough for teaching. The other watch I have is a Wizard of Oz watch, but it's not plastic and looks professional enough for teaching. My mom bought it for me a few years ago. It came in a ruby slipper that I also still have; my roommate at the time looked at it and commented, "But you need two to get home." I still think that's funny.

Yes, I'm a Wizard freak. I never saw the need to wait for Halloween to dress up like Dorothy. I still have a slight puffed sleeves/gingham dress fetish. The moment when Glinda tells Dorothy that she's always had the power to return home? Cut to me collapsed in a weepy mass. I'm completely worthless by the time Dorothy tells the Scarecrow that she'll miss him most of all. Wah.

Close friends will tell you that I frequently cry at movies, but there are few movies that never fail to affect me so intensely. I also choke up, without fail, at the moment in Casablanca when they all sing the Marseillaise.

Another fun fact about me: I knew the Marseillaise before "The Star Spangled Banner." My aunt teaches French and taught me a number of songs that I learned phonetically. I still prefer the French anthem for its musicality and drama.

The Guerrilla Girls have a new book out! Bitches, Bimbos and Ballbreakers: The Guerrilla Girls' Illustrated Guide to Female Stereotypes. Yay!

Blogger veterans know the story: wrote a post, it was brilliant, it got lost.

I don't have time to rewrite it now.

More later. 'til then, I'm feeling good today, thanks for the comments from yesterday, have a great day everyone and oh yeah. Dudes. I start teaching tomorrow.

I got up this morning a bit earlier than usual, fed the cat, made the coffee, sat down to surf through blogs and morning news, got to the blogger post page and...I got nuthin'.

Rachael and Cari mentioned (I think on Rachael's comments?) doing morning pages. I assume that they're talking about The Artist's Way. A good friend of mine passed that book along to me when I was in a pretty bad place emotionally, mentally and creatively. She said it really helped her get through her dissertation--and she's in the sciences. So I gave it a shot, and started writing morning pages. It was through those pages that I made a number of important decisions, like moving to New York, finishing the dissertation regardless of whether I decide to continue in the academy, and...oh, probably a few more that I can't think of right now.

I didn't keep up with them. I went through about seven weeks of "recovery" and then realized that writing the pages was getting in the way of writing my dissertation. I go back to the pages every now and then for a few weeks when I need to. I needed to this morning. Every time I start writing them again I promise myself that I will keep up with them but I don't. I don't know why. There must be something just underneath that I am really afraid of confronting. I think it's been there for a while but I haven't been able to bring myself to look for it. Then again, maybe I just think there's something there and the only thing keeping me from realizing my full potential as a writer is laziness.

I'm going to go for a walk.

Try to refrain from buying Toblerone the next time you go to the Film Forum. The sound system there is not good enough to mask the rather loud crinkling of the practically shrink-wrapped foil around the chocolate. I'm guessing you really irritated the people around you. I know you irritated me. The chocolate, however? So good.

Robin Hood is as glorious as I remembered it.* Even more so, what with it being all digitally remastered 'n' stuff. There are still some odd glitches here and there, but Errol Flynn's tights were never so green. Olivia de Havilland's costumes never looked so ridiculous. I have since decided that for the rest of the week, whenever I find something amusing, I shall throw my head back and give a hearty laugh, while standing with my legs apart and my hands on my hips. The timing of dialogue is everything in this movie:

"Will Scarlet, this man is now one of us."
"He looks like he could be three of us."
[tiny beat]
"HA HA HA HA HA!"

The Film Forum is fast becoming one of my favorite movie theaters. Sure, the screens aren't very big and the sound isn't THX or whatever, but it's so comfortable and community-ish, like an old art house theater in a smaller city. And it's so organized, too, with clearly marked signs for where lines start for ticket buyers, ticket holders, and which particular movie is seating next. The staff is actually friendly and helpful. I think their popcorn is about the healthiest kind of movie popcorn you can get--no radioactive butter gloobs (I love those gloobs, though). And I love--LOVE--that they show old movies. I love that the audience always claps after the movie. Last night, they even clapped for the Bugs Bunny feature, "Rabbit Hood." Of course, who doesn't applaud cartoons?

I get daily words from Wordsmith.org in my mailbox. Each week, the words are organized around a theme, and this week's theme is literary insults. I think that's so great that I decided to celebrate by putting it up on my site. Today's word, "facinorous," means "extremely wicked." I have found my new favorite word. Do you think the overeducated in Boston will start using it?

On today's agenda: emailing my advisor for the third time, as I still have not heard one word from her, and then mailing off Chapter Three. I wish she wasn't so Luddite-ish about this, but I suppose I wouldn't want to receive or print out a 45-50 page attachment either. I'm also going to head to Joisey to get my faculty ID (ooh!) and check again on my book order. Keep your fingers crossed that my desk copy has arrived. If it hasn't, and I can't borrow a copy, I'm going to take the rest of the day off and, I don't know, maybe knit some stuff.

Here's a few balls of the Gedifra Gigante in "Aztec Sun" that I recently purchased from Elann:



The colors looked a lot more autumny on Elann's site--the pinks looked redder and the yellows looked golder, so I was initially a little disappointed when I got the yarn. These aren't really colors I wear, particularly the yellow. However, I'm going to try it out (because I don't feel like returning 20 balls of yarn). I already swatched an entire ball:



Believe it or not, this took me about an hour. I've decided that I'm going to make a "Lazy Sunday" sweater with one cable up the middle of the front, a shallow V-neck, and I'm thinking about diagonal rib sleeves just to be different. I also think I'm going to experiment with the cable--I'd like the twists to look like they're stretched out more, so that the cable looks lazy as well. I have never worked with yarn this bulky. The size 15s feel really strange to me, but I think I could whip this sweater out in a week or less!

* Summers with my father meant receiving an education on the proper books to read and the proper movies to appreciate. He shoved Pride and Prejudice in my hands when I was about 11 or so, and to my present-day embarrassment, I hated it. Then again, at 11 I would've hated anything that either of my parents told me I was sure to like. I did like the movie (w/Laurence Olivier as Darcy) better. I also remember being forced to watch the old Michael Curtiz/Errol Flynn movies like Robin Hood and Captain Blood and, again, because I was stubborn, I refused to admit that I liked them. I may have appreciated Robin Hood then, but that may be my revisionist mind. I know that I appreciated it years later.

I believe that the Grammar Avengers ring is set up now. The homepage is still under construction (monkeying with font size 'n' stuff), but I put up a bunch of guidelines and rules. I'd love it if folks would check them out and offer suggestions. I'd also love it if someone with more experience in button construction would offer one up. No rush, though. I'm not sure if the code will work the way I want it to. I've never managed a ring before, and a lot of this has been trial and error type stuff.

Friday night I went to a poetry reading, which was part of the Howl! Festival celebrating both Allen Ginsburg and the art scene of the LES. The reading was cool: about a dozen poets from the area reading both their own work and later, collaborating to read some of Ginsburg's stuff. My favorite poet was a woman whose name I can't remember now; her style was in the slam poetry vein, and she mentioned that she often performs with hip hop backup. Her poetry was political, sharp and witty, and I would love to see her perform again. She's going to be at the Bowery Poetry Club this afternoon but alas, I have other plans.

Those plans, however, are not as exciting as one might hope. I need to do laundry, and I need to spend some time on my dissertation. I would also like to finish up a piece I'm writing for my friend's online journal--oh, hey, I should add that link, shouldn't I? It's called Slant, or Slant Review. A new issue just came out, and there's a really nice interview with novelist David Liss. I'd never heard of him before, but he's written two books that both sound fascinating to read. One is called A Conspiracy of Paper, and takes place in 18th-century London (I'm guessing it's at least partially about the coffeehouse and print circulation, which is right up my alley); the other is called The Coffee Trader, set in 17th-century Amsterdam. Writing and coffee. I love this man.

Speaking of novels, I am almost done with Jane Juska's A Round-Heeled Woman and I think it's fantastic. It's a memoir of a woman who placed an ad in the New York Review of Books that read: "Before I turn 67--next March--I would like to have a lot of sex with a man I like. If you want to talk first, Trollope works for me." Although the subtitle of the book is "My Late-Life Adventures in Sex and Romance," there is a lot more to her than that (as would be expected). In between accounts of the men she meets, she muses on her upbringing and how she learned about sex, she writes about teaching (an English teacher, natch) and her first marriage, her mother and father. I find that her writing on teaching is a little too...clean, but I love the way she talks about her students and her brief discussion on the relationship between teaching and desire.

Later on, I have plans to go see Robin Hood at the Film Forum. The original, Errol Flynn/Olivia de Havilland/Claude Rains/Basil Rathbone directed by Michael Curtiz Robin Hood. I feel slightly silly about going to this movie when a bunch of new movies just came out (in particular, American Splendor and Thirteen), but it's Robin Hood on the big screen and it's only playing for a week and this is the only night I could go. So. There it is.

Tony's pizza is just as good as Carmine's, albeit slightly more expensive.

Some people have pointed out that the "I have no life" syndrome is also set up to make those who manage to have a life outside academics/work feel less-than. I think this is such crap. I remember having conversations about this in one of my graduate seminars, from a gender standpoint. Male academics have had and, it could be argued, still have the leisure to focus entirely on their work. Female academics, on the other hand, are expected to keep house, raise children, take care of ailing parents, rush to the side of friends/families in emergencies, etc. When we ask for time to ourselves, we're being "selfish." Of course, it should be expected that male academics also share these responsibilties, but such is not always the case. The two people who left comments about being made to feel less-than are female, although this is most likely because a high percentage of knitting bloggers are female. Still, I want to know how hard it is for men to maintain their lives. Has it gotten harder, or do you not have to ever think about it? Has it gotten easier for women to say "no" to the demands made on us?

(yah, I know there are other factors at work besides sex/gender. There's economic class and tenure/non-tenure, to name a couple.)

This weekend I was really feeling the pressure of work, worried that I'll get everything done before I need to teach, worried that my books will never arrive, worried that I won't get copies made on time, etc. A lot of unnecessary worrying. I created a Plan B schedule for YC and wound up liking it a lot more than my original schedule. It is a rare and wonderful thing when potential obstacles and snags become grounds for better things.

On the knitting front: I finished the second birthday sock and somehow it turned out noticeably bigger than the first sock. I had the same number of stitches, so it must have been my tension. Admittedly, I was speed-knitting and taking it easy on my wrists. But I can't send the socks like this and the birthday in question is next week. I don't know what to do. I could tell the recipient what happened and buy myself more time, but I know myself well enough to know that I'm not going to be in any big rush to redo this sock. And I'm not in any big rush to give myself a serious wrist injury redoing the sock. If our feet were the same size I would just send the Regia socks I finished. I'm leaning towards making something new, something quick and easy, that I can whip out as soon as I finish with the Koigu Affair (which I also had to frog back because I was getting ladders. Stupid sexy ladders).

Koigu is calling me. Laundry is calling me. I shall work on Koigu at the laundromat. Koigu. Koigu. I love you.

I can't think of anything to say. I went over to the friday five but today the questions are pretty meh. Too easy to answer in a single snarky sentence. I started answering the first one hoping it would lead me somewhere interesting but "When was the last time you laughed" is just not an interesting question to me. Too easy to answer, "right now, dimwad."

The heat makes me cranky and impatient.

I do not know for sure if my book orders have gone through. I ordered most of them online, but one order I gave to the chair of the department to fax in. I haven't received my desk copies, which worries me. I've tried calling my contacts at both bookstores but no one has gotten back to me. I'm sure they're all busy with the new school year starting. If I can order my books online, I should be able to track the progress of the book order and not have to bother them, but no such option exists. Classes start next week at YC, and the bookstore only stays open for 10 days. Yeah, I know, and no, I don't know why. I think I'm going to have to punt and spend the weekend hunting for essays to copy, just in case. This will mean completely rewriting my YC syllabus because the paper assignments are geared towards the book I ordered. I haven't even started the syllabus for the other place because I was assured my desk copy would be in my mailbox within the week, and it's not. Maybe it will be there Monday? Maybe. Dealing with student bookstores has always been such a hassle. In the past the department secretaries took care of it--I'd get a book order form in my mailbox with a deadline for turning it in. Even so, I've had book orders go missing before, and the fact that I'm dealing with two new places gives me adequate reason to worry. Then again, there's nothing I can do at this point so I might as well stop worrying and work on other things.

"I felt impotent and out of control, which I really hate."

The Grammar Avengers web ring should be up and running by tomorrow. I've spent most of the day making up practice sentences for my classes to correct. This is the first time grammar has been made a big issue in the classroom--in previous writing classes, I would bring up issues when I saw the need. Otherwise, I would circle errors in papers and direct students to look in specific pages of their handbooks to fix. Most of them did. This year, one of the English departments requires all comp students to take a grammar exam, so part of our class time will be spent going over the points they should know. I decided to do the same thing for my other class.

It's too hot to think about knitting right now, but here's a picture of some yarn:



This is On Line Linie Mistral, three from the same dye lot and one oddball. It looks like a lot of fun to play with, doesn't it? I haven't figured out what I'm going to use it for. A hat, maybe? Wrist warmers? I know someone who wanted some wrist warmers...I've got some stray balls of fuzzy yarn to mix in with it, too. Hmm. Maybe it's not too hot for some knitting.

Update:: I just got an email confirmation from the YC bookstore informing me that they will start processing my book order immediately--10 days after I placed it. Books will be there, but probably not for the first day of class. So, OK, I'll just need to rewrite the first week or two. Annoying, but no big.

Why is it that career academics--at least in the humanities--glory in not having lives? At our grading workshop we were asked to introduce ourselves and mention one thing about our lives outside of academics. At least four people--including the person whose idea this was--shrugged that off with, "oh, well, I have no life." The humanities must attract people who rejoice in being miserable. I admit that there's a part of me that identifies with this condition, but I always assumed it was my Minnesota upbringing (see Garrison Keillor). What gets me even more is the competitiveness attached to this not having a life, the way that we always try to one-up each other in terms of boring, pathetic lameness. What is up with that? I know I've covered this topic before, but bear with me. It suddenly occurred to me that it's not that I was miserable being an academic. It's that I was miserable being in Ohio (no offense to Ohioans out there). I do want to teach; I am excited and passionate again, as I was when I first started (oh, so this is what sabbaticals are for!). What pisses me off--nay, what offends me--is being made to feel that I can't be a good teacher/scholar and have a life at the same time.

I think part of this is guilt. Do we ever feel like we're doing enough--for our students, for our career goals, for ourselves? Perhaps the "I have no life" syndrome is a way of making oneself feel better--at least I'm not out there partying every night. At least I am taking my responsibilities seriously.

Still, something about it irks me. You do have a life, and, unlike people in some parts of the world, it is a life you have chosen freely.

Full disclosure: of course I've whined about not having a life. It is my promise to you that I will never do so again. It is my promise to myself that I will never again let myself use the academy as an excuse for not getting out and enjoying life. Because I think that another part of the "I have no life" syndrome is fear of what's really out there. The Ivory Tower exists still. And of course the syndrome is affected by race and class and gender and age and I have no idea how people going through pregnancy or the infant stage manage at all. I doff my proverbial hat to you all. I envy your endurance.

This is all leading to the advanced degree web ring that I said I was going to set up and still haven't. I'm still working on it, but I would like some input. What should we call it? The only thing I can come up with is "Notes From the OverEducated." Or just "OverEducated." And what would our ring logo be? Help!

Speaking of web rings...coming soon.

In other news...

Doorknob: fixed. Mad props to Donna from the mgmt. company, who got the guys to show up at 10:30 a.m.

Regia socks: done.     
This is the closest to identical twin socks as I have ever gotten!


The yarn pix aren't coming through so I shall try again tomorrow. Until then, farewell. I feel better for having vented a bit.

Freaky thing happened tonight. Boyfriend went out for a smoke and couldn't get back into the apartment. I was at my computer--normally I would be at trivia but I opted for a quiet night at home to get some writing done--when I heard this small tapping at the door. I can't claim to be as in touch with my body and senses and all that to claim that I had a premonition that made me want to stay home tonight, but damn--it's a good thing I did. The doorknob is busted. The knob itself turns but the latch part won't budge (I am hardware-clueless so I hope that makes sense. It's the doohickey that fits into the notch thingy in the doorway). So we're on opposite sides of the door coming up with brilliant solutions like, "Let's both turn on the knob at the same time, real hard like. Ok? One...two..." "Wait, which way are we turning?" The simple and relatively easy solution would be to unscrew the knob, yes, except that there are no screws on the outside of the knob, on either side. Can't get a credit card or other device into the crevice. There is another door to the apartment, one with one deadbolt but no key or doorknob, so it's only accessible from the inside. I usually have a tall bookcase up against it, but now the bookcase is pushed off to the side so that I can access the outside world. Provided someone is here to close and lock the door after me. And then let me in again. Tomorrow, with my several errands and appointments, which now include getting mgmt. here to fix my front door, should be fine family fun for all.

I hate when I re-read previous posts and notice stupid things I did. I wish I hadn't put "in action" in quotes like that. I wish I hadn't hyphenated "minor league." Could I have found another verb besides "adore"? I don't beat myself up over these things, but it feels like all those times I'm trying to be so suave and wind up tripping over my own feet or talking so much that the Altoid I'm sucking on accidentally shoots out of my mouth. Yes, that actually happened.

At this point I'm planning on going to the NYC Knit Out this Sunday on September 21st, but I don't know what time yet (because it's a month away and not three days like I originally thought, even though I read the website). Anyone else in the area planning on heading out? I promise I have that Altoid thing under control.

There's a story I want to pass along but I promised another yarn pic, so here it is:







This is Lana Grossa India, a scrumptious ribbon yarn destined to become a purse. The store had a tiny bag knit up already in a colorway that reminded me of Easter baskets, with pastel pinks and yellows and greens, but this colorway is more my style.




I always enjoy talking with my brother, who is one of the funniest people I know. He's 3.5 years younger than I and we've pretty much always been close. That tends to happen, I think, when you move into a neighborhood with not so many children. I was fortunate to have met someone my age who lived on my block (this is a fantastic story but it's going to have to wait for a different day) but my brother had no one, and we played together a lot. We rarely fought--in fact, once I was hip to the concept that brothers and sisters weren't supposed to get along, I approached my brother with the suggestion that we start fighting. It was an incredibly pathetic and hilarious fight.

"This is dumb."
"And boring."
"Should we stop?"
"Yeah, I think we should."
"Let us never speak of this again."

OK, I made that conversation up, but it's pretty close to what actually happened.

J. and I talk fairly regularly, usually about once every two weeks or so. I called him up yesterday because I hadn't filled him in on my Blackout (lack of) adventures, although my mom told me that she had called him once she had heard from me and informed him that I was OK. His response? "I figured." She seemed a little put out by that, but it makes perfect sense to me. Of course he'd know I was OK. That's why I called Mom instead of him. J. is an actor/writer/budding director who spent this past summer as part of the entertainment crew for a certain non-major league baseball team. (You know, this whole preserving anonymity thing is getting too tricky and wordy for me but I told myself that I wouldn't reveal major details of other people's lives without their explicit permission. Then again, I told J. that I would write about this today, and he said, "cool." But that's not explicit permission, right? Am I worrying too much about this? Did I mention how freakin' neurotic I am? I could make Woody Allen run up a tree.) When I went home in June, I got to go to a couple games to see my brother "in action," something I love to do because he's very talented and I like to think I played a small part in getting him on the stage in the first place, back when we wuz kids.

I love minor-league games. I love the smallness, the strong sense of community, the closeness to the field so you can actually see what's going on from any seat, watching players who are either on their way up or on their way down but are there because they can't live without baseball, the goofy stuff that happens between innings, the goofy giveaways...when I was there, everyone would receive a free coupon for Arby's if a certain player on the visiting team struck out, and if our team got seven runs everyone would receive Taco Bell coupons (my response: "operative word being 'runs.'").

The first game I attended, a miraculous thing happened. I caught a foul ball. Or rather, I scooped up the ball on its second or third bounce. I proudly held the ball over my head for all to cheer and drool with envy. What I did not hear was the chant, "Give it to a kid!" Apparently it's a rule at the ballpark to pass on any foul ball to a youngster. I was still caught up in the moment when my brother, making his rounds through the stands, leaned over and said, "You gotta give it to a kid." I thought this an excellent rule, so I turned around and offered the ball to the first child I spotted--an adorable four or five-year-old girl who looked at me with immense awe and gratitude. I'm serious. What I learned later was that she was fully aware of the "give it to a kid" rule and was behind me pleading, "give it to me! give it to me!" and that her mom was horrified at her daughter's shameful display and equally horrified that it might have worked. But, like I said, I was in the moment and completely oblivious to anything other than the feel of my hand around my very first foul ball. The girl came up to me repeatedly after that to thank me. My brother offered to autograph the ball (this is not hubris; children adore the entertainers at the park and frequently request autographs). The girl politely refused because she wanted to keep the ball "clean." She didn't need any other reminder of what had just occurred. Good on her, I say.

After the game I stood around at the entrance of the park waiting for J. to change clothes so we could leave, and I ran into the girl and her family again and we fell to talking. The girl, clearly admonished by her mother for her shameless begging, was apologizing every other sentence in order to prove herself worthy of the foul ball. I adored her. Turns out that the parents of the child had been on the waiting list for season tickets for ten years, before they even had kids, which made me feel even better that I had passed on the foul ball to this girl. I was hoping that I would see them the next night but the threat of rain kept them away.

J. told me yesterday that he sees this family every so often when he makes his way through the stands, and that they always ask about me. Am I going to make it back to the Cities before the baseball season is over? Did I make it through the Blackout? "That totally makes my day," I told J. "You totally made that girl's year," he replied. Maybe she made my year, too.

I seem to get a 48-hour bug every August. I distinctly remember getting sick in August last summer, because it was around the same time that I had found The Yarn Tree and rediscovered knitting.

I was just completely wiped out yesterday. Achy and stuffed up...you know when you get so congested that not even water tastes good? I was worried that this was going to be my obligatory clearing-o'-the-lungs illness but I woke up this morning and feel ok, a little stuffy still, but breathing better and not as achy.

I am not a pleasant person when I'm sick. I tend to wallow. I have wallowing tendencies anyway, but getting sick is a license to wallow with impunity.

I couldn't even knit yesterday. To add insult to injury, the yarn I bought in MN showed up. I did manage to take pictures:

I should really take close-up pictures because I'm not happy with the quality of this one--I shouldn't even put it up, but I don't have time to take new ones right now. At any rate, this is all the sock yarn I got. On top, we have Opal Crocodile #9. You can see how it will be knit up by going to the Woodland Woolworks Opal Page.

Next, we have Regia Line Steps #5368, in various shades of blue. This is apparently a "limited edition" series.

On the bottom left, there's Regia Ringel #5048 and on the bottom right, there's Regia Multi Effekt #5378. This is one of the newer Regia lines and the one about which I am most excited. These are all lined up for presents for my family, but I haven't exactly decided who gets what, aside from the blue sock yarn--that goes to a guy. I doubt the men in my family would willingly wear the rainbow-colored socks.


There's more yarn, but I'll post a picture a day, how 'bout. Always leave 'em wanting more.

Alison over at Brainy Lady has a fun entry on the "latest" trend: legwarmers. You know, I am kinda glad that these have come back, for a simple practical reason. I wear skirts most of the time and I don't like not wearing skirts in the winter. If I decide to make a pair of legwarmers--I say "if" because there's a lot of 80s retro nostalgia baggage I need to sort through before making this decision--I would make them thigh high. Out of disco sparkly yarn. Striped, preferably. Oh hell, I'm going to make them, aren't I? Hell.

Alison asked us where we were in '82 and since I couldn't get into her comments (is it me or does that sound sexier than it should? "I don't let just anybody into my comments") I will write about it here. In the first half of 1982 I was 11 years old and in the fifth grade. I read a lot of Judy Blume and sat around waiting for my breasts to grow (oh man. Time better spent elsewhere, methinks). My teacher was Mrs. Swanson and I still think of her fondly. She read Bridge to Terabithia to us. We all loved her. One day she wasn't there and we had a substitute teacher named Mrs. Gmash. I suppose we weren't very nice to her because she was a substitute teacher, but she wasn't very nice to us either, and didn't treat us with the respect that Mrs. Swanson did. So we did what any fifth grade class would do--or should I say, we did what any fifth grade class weaned on TV would do--we rebelled. I distinctly remember Mrs. Gmash giving us an art lesson in drawing hexes, which makes absolutely no sense to me now but I'm going to say that we were in the middle of a unit on folklore. Whether or not that's true I couldn't say. One of the boys drew a hex that prominently featured a trash can, because one of our juvenile names for Mrs. Gmash was, of course, Mrs. G'trash (we also called her Mrs. G'monster mash). Someone else either swiped the bathroom pass or made extra ones because she refused to give them out. Our planned coup de grace was genius. At exactly 1:30 p.m., in the midst of "quiet time," everyone in the class would begin singing the "na na na na na na" part of J. Geil's "Centerfold." If I remember correctly, we kinda punked out on that one.

I got the chicken pox in 1982, and have two scars to prove it. The summer of '82 was either the first or second summer I went away to camp. The shoe to have was the leather Nike with the red swoosh and the blue stripe on the sole. Even better, lace those puppies up with rainbow shoelaces. If you wore one shoe with the laces done up the "right" way and the other shoe with the laces "upside down" (so that they tied at the top of the shoe), it meant you were going with someone. We made friendship pins for each other by taking small beads and stringing them on safety pins. We wore them on our shoelaces so that we jangled when we walked. All the girls collected stickers. It was the year before Thriller. Did I have leg warmers? I believe I did, and I believe they were baby blue. I had no fashion sense in the fifth grade.

There are certain songs that hit you with such force that years later you can remember where you were and what you were doing when you first heard them. In 1982 I had come home from school and was in my room, sitting crosslegged on my bed. I had my homework out on a little lap desk and my little radio in front of me, set to WLOL (which is now a classical music station). The walls of my room were yellow, and the bedspreads and curtains this overly floral pattern that my mom had picked out. The walls on my side of the room were bare--I hadn't started putting pictures of musicians up yet, because I hadn't started subscribing to Rolling Stone yet. The late winter/early spring afternoon sun was coming in through my window and warming an otherwise drafty room. And that's where I was the first time I ever heard Joan Jett's "I Love Rock and Roll."

Well, yesterday was a near perfect day. I got up fairly early thanks to le chat. How silly of me to want a fuzzy clock when I already have one:



After guzzling down about 24 oz. of coffee, I set about finishing up the revisions to Chapter Three. This chapter is about The English Woman's Journal, which ran from 1858 to 1863. Some people put the end year at 1864 but this is misleading. The journal as the EWJ faced folding due to lack of funds in 1863, and merged with another journal called The Alexandra Review, thus becoming The English Woman's Journal and Alexandra Review. That journal held on for another year. The EWJ is generally considered the first feminist periodical in nineteenth-century England, and I'm arguing against that, too. I'm just all kinds of antagonistic. It is a landmark publication, however, because it is the first to be edited and published by a community of women, who understood themselves to be working as a female/feminist collective. The women (known as the Langham Place Circle) were primarily concerned with employment and education opportunities for middle-class single women, and I'm using that as the background for the journal's articles on American slavery. The articles against slavery fall within a long tradition of British women and abolition, except that in this case the anti-slavery arguments are less about the slaves themselves than with the female writers aligning themselves with British national values. Want more?

I also finished up my syllabus for YC. I had actually finished it on Friday during the blackout (is it a blackout in the daylight?) but the Director of College Comp suggested a few changes. Is it wrong to derive a certain amount of pleasure from creating hard-ass classroom policies? "You are allowed two unexcused absences...all papers must have margins no greater than 1" all around...I will assess penalties for egregious violations of these criteria...I do not accept emailed papers...failure to bring drafts to workshop days will result in your grade on that paper being docked a full letter..." Actually, I don't find many of these hard-assed policies at all--I think they're, well, fair and balanced. What I learned over six years of teaching is that it's best to come out on the first day as a strict hard-ass, and then be gracious and generous when circumstances permit. Otherwise, students will walk all over you.

It's shocking, really. I organized trips home around my class schedule, and never tried to get a teacher to excuse me for leaving early, coming late, or not showing up at all. I never expected to be reprieved if I didn't turn something in. I fully admit to using various tricks in my papers to s t r e t c h them out, but I never tried to turn in a 2.5 page paper when I was supposed to have 3 pages. I never pushed in my margins more than a couple tenths. I never bumped the font up to 14. I am almost insulted when I get a paper like that--what do they think I am, dumb or sumthin'?

Ooh, I just remembered: I need to put something in there about Spell-Check being a false friend.

I went to the store for more coffee and food for the day, and was charged $1.01 for one tomato. One regular, non-organically grown, medium-sized tomato. I think this place is trying to recoup their losses from the blackout. I don't think I'll be going back there. #3 best thing about NYC: tons of corner produce stands. (I'll let you know when I've figured out the rest of that list.)

Then I sat down to watch all of All I Wanna Do (for some reason IMDb is listing the movie as Strike!). I caught half of the movie a couple years ago on cable but it was never on again (shocker). It's a surprisingly and delightfully charming movie about students at Miss Godard's School for Girls in 1963, who face a merger with a boy's school and rebel against it. A near-perfect example of girls being pretty and girly and backing it up with an assertive and thorough political message. After that I watched Brown Sugar. Wow, this movie had so much potential: fantastic cast, great music, great idea. But it just didn't deliver and I'm not sure why. It was sweet, and yet a little bland. It didn't seem like any of the characters had much emotional range and major life-changing moments barely registered with them, until the end.

I knit a whole helluva lot over the weekend, too. Got halfway through the foot of Birthday Surprise Sock #2 (second sock, same as the first), and started a new thingy that I can't post pictures of because the recipient reads this blog, but I'm using Koigu yarn and all you knitters breathe with me: "koohhhh-eeeeeeeeee-goooooooo." Oh. Mah. Gawd. I needs me a sugar daddy. Or mama, hell, I ain't picky as long as I can buy more of that yarn.

And speaking of pimpin' out for yarn, I am no longer a Rowan virgin and forcefully on my way to becoming a Rowan ho. I am making fabu progress on that sweater that needs a name because "VK Fall 2002 #5" is so blah:



I'm 4 rows into the fair isle band. This is my first experience with fair isle and I don't quite have the hang of it yet. I've tried the two-handed knitting method but I might as well be palsied in my right hand.

Alison's Rock-Along Gallery is now open for business! I've changed the link on the button over there to take you directly to it.

Do people in Detroit have power yet? Because...damn. In true New York City fashion the rest of the world has melted away while we simultaneously congratulate ourselves on staying calm in a crisis and test the limits of our power system. Seriously, NPR kept insisting that we all try to conserve electricity when it comes back on, don't run the AC unless you need to for health reasons and turn off everything--nay, unplug everything--that is not in use. This came after reports of power flickerings going on in Park Slope, one of the first Brooklyn neighborhoods to have its power restored. This makes me think about which neighborhoods are more Brooklyn and which are more Manhattan, ala Lenny Bruce's Goyish/Jewish dichotomy, but I digress. No sooner did the power go on than my OCD neighbors upstairs started to vacuum. They vacuum at least three times a week, sometimes more. I've never known anyone who vacuumed more than once a week. I've only met a few people who make it a habit to vacuum regularly at all. One guess as to where I fall in those categories.

I didn't mention yesterday how much I am in love with my neighborhood. One of the corner delis was giving away ice cream to all the kids so that it wouldn't go to waste. The two closest delis stayed open well past their usual times so that people could get what they needed, and guided customers through the dark aisles with flashlights and candles. Right outside my apartment, folks gladly drained their car batteries to play dance music, and someone set up a huge grill to cook meat that would otherwise spoil. No one looted and there have been no reports of break-ins or muggings. I was a little concerned about the latter because in the past few months there have been a handful of crimes--not in my immediate surroundings but a few blocks down. But everyone was cool. Even the trash that was everywhere yesterday morning has been picked up. And everyone is still warm and friendly.

Not surprisingly, I've been thinking about how much electricity I use. I try to conserve as much as possible anyway, to keep the bill down. I grew up with the rule to shut things off if you're not using them. I unplug the coffee maker after it's done. You'd be surprised how much that one little clock needs to keep going. Even now I'm sitting at my computer without any lights on, and only the computer, the phone and one fan (as opposed to three) are running. I haven't plugged in my alarm clock because Scout functions very well in that capacity (what a brave little trooper he was, too, eating warm food when he prefers it slightly chilled). When I want to watch TV, the computer will go off. I'm just gearing up for the rolling blackouts we were threatened with yesterday...but now there's no word about them. My one request is that my Netflix movies arrive today so I have something to do later.

I had to laugh at the TV news people who described yesterday as a trip back to the Middle Ages, accompanied by shots of folks in synthetic clothing listening to walkmans while rollerblading. I watched with mixed emotions some footage of people who had slept outside, on benches and in parks. I'm impressed that there was so much community spirit that they felt comfortable enough to do so, but at the same time it's nice for them that they don't have to do that every night. The homeless were even more invisible over the past 24 hours than they usually are.

I'm ok, folks. I was at home, being all studious n' shit and actually getting some work done. I switched on an extra fan and ten minutes later the electricity in the apartment did the wave. I promptly switched the fan off thinking it was just my stuff and then everything shut down. I wasn't stuck in an elevator (my worst nightmare) or the subway (second worst nightmare) or stranded in Washington Heights with no way home but my feets. That would have been one long-ass walk, man.

It took me a while to realize the whole scope of the blackout. I thought it was just my immediate neighborhood so after a couple hours I went out looking for a place to get food (for once I am thankful that the fridge is not stocked). It was really hot yesterday and a lot of people were gathered on stoops outside, listening to battery-powered radios. I passed one gathering and overheard "...evacuating LaGuardia..." and I started to freak out. Terrorism hadn't even occurred to me. It was hot, like I said, and I figured all the AC units caused a surge. I walked further and realized that the power outage was not limited to a three-block radius. Hardly anything was open. The smaller groceries were only selling the fruit that was out front. The bars were open but I wanted food. I wandered back home and passed another gathering, and when I heard, "not for a few more hours," I stopped and asked for information. They laughed at me, which is perhaps the first time not owning a battery-powered radio has been cause for ridicule, and then explained what was going on.

I went on and stopped in my local corner store and bought candles--Spanish Catholic religious candles that I now adore for their kitsch value--and a bag of chips, and a 40 of Corona (because it was just going to get warm and that's no good), and ran into one of my downstairs neighbors, who had more info. At that point "they" believed power would be restored within 7-8 hours, which both of us thought suspect, because of the hugeness of the blackout.

In the waning daylight, I started the sweater from VK Fall 2002 using Rowan wool/cotton. Yummy yum yum.

In the morning I found my walkman and I've been listening to NPR ever since. Power was restored to the city in what seems like a fair and balanced way--parts of the Bronx, all of Staten Island, Manhattan and Brooklyn in bits and pieces. The power came back on here at 2:30 pm, and at 5:00 there are areas of the city that still don't have power. There will be no subway service for an additional 6-9 hours after full power is restored, which means I'm not goin' anywheres for a while.

No personal reason for the title, other than it being one of my favorite Woody Allen lines, from Love and Death.

The part of Annie Hall that never fails to cause hysterics:

Young Alvy Singer: The universe is expanding...pretty soon it won't have anywhere to go and that will be the end of everything.
Alvy's Mom: What is that your business?

We have two excellent submissions for Remakes as Good as, if not Better than, the Originals: Robin mentioned Ocean's Eleven and Carolyn offered up The Thomas Crown Affair. Of course, of course, of course! Very well played, ladies. That noise you hear is the echo of my resounding "DUH!"

I'm a little wacko this morning. Very long day yesterday, culminating in the onset of a Very Bad Headache which prompted me to leave trivia before our team won 2nd place. I'm told we tied for first but lost the tiebreaker. We had a HUGE team for the first time in a long time and for once, it was to our advantage. Usually more than 5 or 6 people creates confusion--too many people offering different possible answers--but last night it really worked. And I met some fantastic people. A great night except for the migraine, which has become a dull ache this morning, just enough to be painful and irritating but not enough to force me to lie in bed with all the lights off. I can sit at my computer and the light doesn't bother me but I'm also just...off. Slightly. OK, slightly more than usual.

The orientation at YC (yeah, "Kosher U" is a pretty big tip-off but I'm still going to go with initials instead of spelling it out. It's not like I'm going to be broadcasting major secrets or bashing the school and my teaching journal is going to be on a different blog details to follow but I have a hard time keeping up with code names and I'd rather not have to create a FAQ for this blog so...there it is) was...orienting. The funniest part was when the six us of there realized that we'd all quit smoking in the recent past--all except for one woman whose boyfriend or husband was trying to quit and finding the patch unhelpful.

It will be two months this Saturday for me. I say this not to garner praise/support although that is much appreciated--I tend to have a hard time accepting words of praise/support, especially for something I should have done years ago. Strike that: for something I should have never had to do in the first place. If my calculations are correct, this is the fourth time I have "quit." The first month was easy. It's now, when I'm facing the beginning of another academic year, that I am starting to feel pressure and the absence of that thing that was ever-present while I created assignments and handouts and graded papers. Oh my yes, especially when grading papers. I really appreciate hearing former smokers' stories--one woman at the orientation had been smoking a pack a day for 15 years and has been smoke-free for 3 years: "If I can do it, anyone can do it." Yes. Fabulous.

At long last, here's the first "birthday surprise sock":



It's made from Cascade Fixation in Ecru, Fern Green and Purple Passion. The pattern is Wendy's toe-up, using the short-row toe. The hardest part of the short-row toe (and heel) is getting the needle under the double wraps on the knit side, but my two solutions were to a) use a smaller, pointier needle just for that stitch, and then move it on to the working right needle and b) slip the wrapped stitch, use the right needle to pull up the two wraps and place them on the left needle, slip the wrapped stitch back to the left needle, knit the whole thing. A bit more time consuming but less aggravating. I find I don't have to do this with the Regia sock yarn. The striping pattern is totally random. I was worried at first that the green and the blues of the purple passion would totally clash--the green looked a lot more emeraldy on my monitor when I ordered it, but I went ahead with the color combo anyway and I'm very pleased with the results. I like that it's not an expected color combo. The recipient of these socks has a thing for purple and green together so I think she'll be pleased. I just hope they fit.

The Pakucho cotton is finally available from Elann! I've been waiting for this all summer. I bought up a ton of it but there's still a lot left. And that's it. No more cotton yarn purchases this summer. To prove it, I went ahead and picked up some of that scrumptious Gedifra Gigante in Aztec Sun. With that and the box of yarn coming from MN, I am going to be in a yarn coma this weekend.

I know you all come here for the news. Last night it was reported that the man on the other end of the arms deal was an undercover FBI agent. So, like, the missile launcher is in the country, but it's OK because it's on our side.

(is she being serious or sarcastic?)

I watched a re-run of Gilmore Girls last night and noticed something that had escaped my attention on first viewing. Lorelai owns a fuzzy clock. It's a "classic" round analog clock with Cookie Monsteresque fur on its back and sides. I want a fuzzy clock. How hard would it be to make one? Just get a cheap clock and a skein of fuzzy novelty yarn like Splash or Boa. And the right kind of glue.

I've also decided that I simply must have a pair of jeans like the ones Madonna and Missy Elliot wear in that Gap commercial. My understanding is that the Gap offers monogramming so you can get any initial, but I think this also has DIY potential. I've got funky old style fonts. I could blow up an M and print it out on card stock and use it as a stencil. And then I could get a Bedazzler. I've kinda always wanted one of those anyway.

The only remake example I can think of right now is His Girl Friday which probably shouldn't count on a couple of levels: I've never actually seen the original (The Front Page), and both original and remake are based on the same play, so it's more likely that His Girl Friday is an updated version of the play The Front Page and not a remake of the movie. It's all I got so far, though.

I finished the first birthday surprise sock last night. Today I have an orientation session at "Kosher U." (I should really find a better code name) until 4 and then it's trivia night so I'll get pictures up when I can.

This morning I had bunches of stuff to write down but I had to leave for an appointment...and now I can't remember any of it.

Does anyone out there reading know of Too Much Coffee Man? I've added the link to my "everybody loves comics" list. It's much more than a comic strip, but the strip is what got me hooked like the caffeine junky I am.

I wish my comments worked today. I have been challenged on my general dislike of movie remakes but could not respond, so I took the issue to email. We came to the conclusion that the problem is that no one is remaking BAD movies and making them better; instead, they are remaking GOOD movies and making them sucky. I can't think of a movie remake that I enjoyed as much or more than the original (Get Carter was the one example mentioned, but I haven't seen it). Can you? Post them on Tagboard if the comments aren't working. Updated adaptations of books or plays don't count--The Italian Job is a remake, Clueless is not.

Can you tell I love movies? I love movies. I could talk about movies all day and all of the night. I have been known to hold entire conversations using only lines from movies. I have also been known to come close to losing friends this way. The first movie I ever saw was Charlotte's Web. I don't remember seeing it, I just know it was the first one. The first R-rated movie I ever saw was Risky Business. To my dying day I will refer to Joe Pantoliano as Guido the Killer Pimp. I worship at the altar of Netflix. I also love movie theaters--in fact, one of my original ideas for blogging (back in, like, January) was to post reviews of the various movie theaters in NYC, and I may still do that, even though Time Out beat me to it.

Breaking News: Authorities have just arrested a British man in Newark for allegedly attempting to smuggle a surface-to-air missile into the country to sell it. CNN.com reports that an "administration official" claims "no terrorism was involved," and that the man seemed to be motivated by profit alone. Yeah. He was going to sell it as a planter. And they wonder why we're so confused about the terror alert codes.

And it doesn't end there! I was about to post this when more breaking news came in announcing the arrests of two more men, this time off of 47th street in Manhattan.

The most disturbing thing to me right now is the conflicting stories between two sources as to whether the missile launcher is actually in the country.

I saw Freaky Friday last night with my best bud C. (or since I'm doing this phonetic initial thing, should it be "Cee?" "Sea?") I loved the book when I was younger (published in 1972--we were wrong, C.) and loved the original Jodie Foster/Barbara Harris movie. I was skeptical about the remake, as I usually am about any remake.* Then I heard Jamie Lee Curtis was in it and realized that I would have to see it even if it blew. And it didn't blow. In fact, it was quite good. The updating was done well (considering that skateboarding is no longer unconventional for teenaged girls), and I liked the fact that Anna is now in a rock band (IRO sign alert!) and their BIG AUDITION is the same night as her mother's rehearsal dinner (in this version, the mom is a widow about to remarry). I really liked the way technology has completely taken over the mother's life--she's got two cell phones and a palm pilot and they all go off at once. I did think the teen-speak was a little off in places. Do people say, "Snap!" anymore? And I do have one huge reservation: the depiction of the two Chinese women who run the restaurant that supplies the "Asian voodoo" fortune cookies that cause mother and daughter to switch bodies (yes, that's right: "Asian voodoo"). I thought they were both totally condescending caricatures playing on white American ideas of "ancient Asian mysticism." What makes it particularly sad is that the younger Chinese woman is played by Rosalind Chao, who was in The Joy Luck Club, playing a character who confronts her husband's preconceived ideas about Chinese/Asian women (as well as her own). I do not believe this is a minor point or a petty criticism, particularly since a quick perusal of Rotten Tomatoes reveals only one review that even mentions the movie's resorting to played-out and offensive stereotypes. Actually, ok, Roger Ebert compares the "mystic Asian" character to the "wise or God-like African American" ala Legend of Bagger Vance. Exactly. So, I liked the movie in general but I would be remiss if I didn't mention the one severe problem it has.

*Generally speaking, I am against remakes. This goes double for movies made out of TV shows, with the notable exception of the Brady Bunch movies and the first Charlie's Angels movie which I did not see in the theater but on cable and I wasn't expecting it to be as good as it was. I would, however, be first in line if they ever made a movie out of The A-Team.

I'll post more later.

Languid weekend. You could reach out and squeeze the air, it was so humid. No relief in sight, at least not until after Wednesday.

My grandfather was always obsessed with the weather. Wait, let me back up a bit.

I had an unusual upbringing. My parents divorced when I was five. I don't remember my parents fighting a lot, although I do remember walking into the dining room one night when I was trying to sleep and with my authoritative five-year-old self demanding that they keep it down. I also remember being neither surprised nor all that upset when my mom told me that we were moving...without dad. She asked me if I would like living with my grandparents and, I mean, what five-year-old kid wouldn't want to live with the folks that give her presents every time they see her? I said the innocent five-year-old equivalent of "hell yeah!" So, in the summer of 1976, my grandparents drove up to North Dakota to help my mom take me and my brother (not quite two years old) down to St. Paul. I rode with my grandparents. I remember coloring a lot, at least until the crayons all spilled from the front seat into that no-man's land of nasty crumbs, lint and dirt. I remember trying to predict the colors of the bridges we drove under.

Mom made the decision to move back in with her parents for a simple reason. She was part of a generation of women who grew up with the understanding that they were their own persons, and could get educated and hold jobs and stuff, but that true satisfaction would only come when they were married with children. So when the divorce came around, mom was left with no job training and hardly any work experience--nothing that would allow her to support and raise two kids on her own.

When I was a teenager I started to resent the living situation. I wanted to go out and do stuff but I had essentially three parents, each one more protective than the next. I couldn't have sleepovers because there was no space. I shared my mom's old room with my mom, so I had hardly any privacy (to be fair, I think she understood how this might be hard and tried to give me as much space as possible). I used to think that since she now had a job we could've moved out on our own and I could've had the teenager life I wanted (which was basically the teenager life all my friends had), and for a long while I blamed her for not being independent enough. Now I understand that the income she had was not enough for three people to live on, and so I lived with my grandparents until I left for college.

Which brings me back to my grandfather. We certainly had our ups and downs. He was the most overprotective person I have ever known. I would be up in my room doing homework and he would call up every time he walked by the stairs to make sure I was OK. Was he suspicious that I may not have been doing my homework? That I may have been, what, I don't know, doing drugs? Plotting world domination? That I hadn't somehow suffocated under the weight of my textbook? Or escaped from my bedroom window?

And yes, he was obsessed with the weather. Most people in Minnesota are, but my grandfather really made it a way of life. "It's going to rain today," he would announce with authority at the breakfast table. By afternoon, he'd pace the living room muttering, "It was supposed to rain today." Once members of his family started moving away from home, he would call us up to inform us of any major weather patterns that might affect us. He would call me in Chicago in the middle of a snowstorm to tell me to "be careful" because it was snowing. He would call up after any nasty thunderstorm or tornado warning that happened anywhere in the state to ask if I was all right. Both of his daughters do this as well. Not a single conversation goes by without some discussion of the weather we're having. This is my grandfather's legacy.

The man had an insatiable desire to please everyone, and to make sure everyone he loved was OK. When I was a little girl he played fairy tales with me, and would tell me and my brother stories in which the two of us go exploring and discover a race of little people called Squeegeedunks. He knew my favorite movie was The Wizard of Oz and he built me my very own yellow brick road in the backyard.

I had my very own yellow brick road. That's the part that chokes me up every time. I'm not sure I have a picture of it, but I'll look for one. He never pulled it up after I left home, and what really kills me is that the new owners of the house never understood its significance and probably tore it out as soon as they moved in.

I have no idea what brought this on, aside from talking about the weather. He passed away six years ago and today is neither the anniversary of his death or his birth. I guess it's just that the people that matter most to you are always going to be there, just behind your eyes, waiting for their moment.

Man, I didn't think I was going to get deep on a Monday morning. Quick, someone say something funny!


1. I met my downstairs neighbors, finally. They moved in a year ago, like me, but we never ran into each other. They had a little BBQ on Saturday and came up to invite me, which was nice. There's a little patio out back and they have sole access to it, lucky them. It's dripping with grapevines and looks like the perfect spot to sit & knit when the weather cooperates (see, there I go again with the weather). They seem nice enough to let me hang out there, though.

2. Scout has abandoned his mouse. He loved it intensely long enough for his photo session and now shoots me a pitiful look when I try to get him to play with it. Perhaps he's pissed that I broadcast his debauchery on the 'Net.

3. Croupier is a very good movie. The DVD has nothing else on it, which blows, but the movie itself is worth seeing. Clive Owen plays a writer (Jack) with writer's block and he can't get a break from his publisher. He needs money, so he follows a tip from his dad and gets a job at a casino. From that moment on, I wasn't sure if the intrigue in the movie was "real" or if it was all in Jack's head, as if he were composing a new novel. Good script, well acted, and there's a fabulous twist at the end that maybe I should've seen coming and maybe was a little too "easy" but was still fulfilling.

4. Amores Perros is also a very good movie, but wow is it intense. I knew the basic structure of the movie--three different stories that are somehow interconnected--and I knew that Gael Garcia Bernal (Y Tu Mama Tambien) was in it but I didn't know many of the plot elements. The first story revolves around dog fighting, and it's brutal and very hard to watch. I mean, really hard to watch. I almost turned the movie off. One of my dissertation chapters is on feminist arguments against animal cruelty so I think that I've become even more sensitive. Eventually I started fast forwarding the fight scenes and can honestly say that if you can make it past the first part, it's worth it. Each story is in itself rather brutal and poignant and the movie is well crafted in its handling of bringing the three stories together, particularly in terms of chronology.

5. I looked into setting up a grad student web ring and found instead a number of blogs by grad students, adjuncts and professors. It seems like they're all in their own little circle but there's no ring to connect them. Most of them are political, academic, or both. I get a sense of self-imposed isolation. I'm going to put links up to them when I take a break from work today.

6. I haven't worked on my dissertation in two weeks and I'm starting to freak out. I also haven't heard back from the chair of my committee in three weeks, ever since she last wrote to tell me things were looking good. I wrote back asking for advice on putting together a writing sample for the "real" job search and for advice on getting things ready to submit for publication, and now she is strangely silent. It pisses me off, it feels like she's ignoring me because she doesn't want to help me, even though I know that's irrational. I just need to email her again, but that also pisses me off because she should be more attentive and prompt in responding. I'm not asking for much, here. Just a little advice to go on. But I'm feeling now like maybe the lack of response is making it difficult to move on and I just need to get over it. I'm also, I know, just being lazy about it. If only I could bring the enthusiasm for blogging into my academic writing.

So. The summer reading for first-year students at one of the places I'll be teaching is Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried. To describe this book as a memoir about Vietnam is doing O'Brien an injustice. I've never read anything like it. I'd like to design my compositon course around the book project theme for the year--"War, Memory, and the Individual"--so I've been looking for articles about the Gulf War and Gulf War II: Electric Bugaloo. I came across this. It completely turned my stomach.

Here's some good news that you may or may not have heard already: there are a number of lefty organizations forming various coalitions to defeat W. in next year's election. Read a brief article about it here.

If that doesn't make you happy, I got something guaranteed to make you laugh. I made a catnip mouse for Scout so he would have something to occupy his time while I made others for Wendy's charity mouse-a-thon. The results are documented in my photo gallery: Catnip Adventures. I recommend looking at the pictures with the slideshow function (menu is at top right) so you can fully appreciate his descent into junkydom. Some of the pictures are fuzzy because I was laughing so hard. Here's a little teaser:



I love my camera.

I finished ChicKami and...well, the jury's out on this one. The front fits well but it's a little saggy in the back and I don't know if I should just throw it in the wash, or rip it out and redo it. The thought of redoing it does not thrill me in the slightest. Summer's almost over and I need/want to start other things. But, you know, it's done and all. I'll decide what to do with it later.

So, I've turned my attention to the Birthday Surprise Socks and I'm almost done with the first one. Picture maybe tomorrow? The recipient doesn't know about the blog yet so it's OK. Her birthday's at the end of the month so I've decided to speed things along by making anklets. Cascade Fixation hurts my hands to work with. I know a lot of people love it but I'm only feeling the pain.

P.S. I added Tagboard on the left, there. Because a girl can't have too many gadgets.

You're not going to find any naked pictures of Trishelle on this site. I don't know what gave you that idea. Oh, was it this? "I got to see Stanley Tucci naked...In lieu of those pictures, here's a shot of ChicKami in...a cast member of 'Real World: Las Vegas' (Trishelle, for those..."

Yeah. See the series of dots separating each phrase? They're called "ellipses." We use them to indicate that portions of quoted text have been removed. In this case, all three phrases are from three different days. I don't even want to know what you thought a "ChicKami" was or why/where it would be in Trishelle. And my site is even listed below the site that states fairly explicitly that it has naked pictures of anyone you want to see.

You lead a sad life.

Unless you are Trishelle/Trishelle's lawyer and you are looking for people who post unauthorized naked pictures of you/her.

Or, I suppose, you could be checking out who's got naked pictures of you as a way of gauging how far your fifteen minutes has extended. That is equally sad.

A friend of mine sent me this link: be afraid.

I also want to let people know about a new site that just went up, run by a friend of a friend: craftster.org. There are so many knitters around this ring who also do other crafty things (marble magnets!)--here's your chance to showcase your bad selves! From the looks of things, the site leans more towards the sort of DIY projects that involve reconstructing or recycling materials, but there is also space for sewing and knitting. Check it out! Pass the word along!

I spent almost all of yesterday trying to take a nap and not succeeding.

We've been having total crap weather for the past week. It just keeps raining and it's hot and muggy. Not conducive for anything but whining and starting petty fights. It's the kind of weather that makes it impossible for me to retain any thought that enters my mind, which makes for really boring blogging. I don't even have any new pictures to post.

ChicKami progress has become asymptotic. "Asymptote" has always been one of my favorite math-related words and concepts. It's when a point on a curved line gets closer and closer to a straight line (e.g., an axis) but never touches it. Something like that--the engineering folks would be better equipped to define it. It was explained to me in high school as a bullet that gets shot out of a gun at someone and travels half the distance, and then half that distance, and then half of that, and so on and so on, but in the World of Math, that bullet would never reach its target. "In the meantime, someone's shot someone!" I remember yelling. At any rate, I keep getting closer and closer and closer to finishing but it feels like I will never really ever be done with it. A few nights ago it was because Scout decided he wanted some lovin'. Last night I finally started on the i-cord and got one strap done but was too tired to go through with the 3-needle bind off.

Blarg.

I know it don't thrill ya, I hope it don't kill ya

P.S. I don't care how fat or hairy he gets, I would run away with Elvis Costello in a heartbeat.

This has been the busiest and longest week I've had since I moved here. I'm not complaining. Just tired.

I do have another teaching gig, at a school somewhere in New Jersey. Yay me! I will be teaching writing there too. My interview was at 9:30 am and I went to the adjunct orientation that afternoon. There are a lot of us at this university. It will be interesting to note the differences between the two English departments I'll be working for. OK, ok. I just ended that sentence with a preposition. Normally I'd go back and change it but I'm too tired.

The woman who talked to us about the College Writing course told us that her friends lovingly tell her that she's anal about grammar. I didn't get a vibe off her that she'd be into the whole "Grammar Avengers" group but I did think about it.

So, I will be teaching at one place or another Monday-Thursday. Somehow I managed to work it to get Fridays off.

This also means that I can't take the Women's Studies gig because it doesn't fit with my schedule. It would be my first priority to teach that course but I had to go where I knew I would get work. I swear the NJ school was set up like an FDR New Deal program, where people walk in and are handed jobs. I wound up hanging out with the two people who were "interviewed" right after me. I keep telling people that I'm not good meeting people but you know? I really am, I guess. I need to stop thinking of myself as shy and introverted.

I went to play trivia last night at a neighborhood bar. They really do it up here. It's not the computer NTN trivia. On some kind of rotating schedule, actual real life people make up questions every week. There are questions on current events and general knowledge, and there's an audio round in which 20 seconds or so of something--usually music, but it could be anything--is played and you have to answer a question about it, and it's usually not "name the artist," and there's a visual round that is also as creative as it wants to be. Most of the time the quiz is challenging but fair and fun--instead of making you feel stupid for not knowing something, you tend to enjoy the question itself--but at times those in charge of the quiz seem to do nothing but take revenge for something and make it impossible for everyone--like the top score out of 50 would be 17. Last night's quiz was definitely fun--I think our team even made the top 10. The audio round was made up of songs that were inspired by or about a specific historic event and we had to name the event, and the songs ranged from the Clash's "Spanish Bombs" (Spanish Civil War, we got that one wrong) to ABBA's "Waterloo" to an old song by Tom Lehrer called "So Long, Mom" (about World War III, we got that one right because I have been a geek for a very very long time) and they played possibly the BEST song to commemorate the passing of the 19th Amendment, "Sufferin' til Sufferage." Those of you who grew up with Schoolhouse Rock know what I'm talkin' about. Those of you who don't...go here. I'll warn you--the .wav file was on a loop for me and it's not the whole song.

I drank a lot last night. Nothing like celebrating intellectual achievement by killing off a few brain cells.

What I should really do to celebrate is buy a lot more yarn.

The past few blog entries are my response to this whole "should knitting bloggers blog only about knitting" BS.

OK, so I'm going to set up, within the next couple of days, a web ring for graduate students. I thought about making it a PhD only thing but on second thought decided that since I was an MA student who hated being excluded from the most interesting classes because they were PhD only, I'm not going to turn around and do a similar kind of exclusion. If PhD people disagree with me, let me know. There are also a couple of grad student rings but they seem to be concerned with resources and research and jobs and stuff, and I want a ring of blogs. I want the space in which to vent, share ideas, complain, talk about what we're doing, complain, vent, grumble, but most importantly I want to create a place for graduate students to talk about things BESIDES GRAD SCHOOL. I am tired tired tired of being pegged as little more than Student or Teacher. I moved out of Ohio because there were no other outlets for me there. I had no other life. I hated teaching, I hated graduate school, I hated my dissertation, I wanted out, I wanted a life. I wanted to be around other people who had nothing to do with school.

So I moved to Brooklyn. I got a life I'm happy and comfortable with. I made friends with people who had long been out of school, and I made friends with people who were just starting graduate school. I started writing non-academic things (that no one has seen or heard of til now and I'm still not ready for people to see them). And I am really excited to have teaching colleagues again. I am inspired to go on. It all boils down to taking care of yourself and being happy and protecting your well-being. Pioneer Melissa has been talking about this very thing lately.

Seems like a good enough place to stop for now.

(oh, jeez, i really hope the "gellin'" ads don't revert to yiddish)

It's not totally official yet but I have been offered two comp courses for the fall! There really wasn't much of an interview. I walked in and the director of the composition program had a huge folder with all this information, including the summer reading book (NOT Nickel and Dimed) and I knew it wouldn't have been there had it not been intended for me. I suppose maybe as a parting gift? Mmmm...nah.

So, I don't know if it's kosher to name the school. What's the ethics/ettiquette on this one?

"Kosher" is a good clue.

I am addicted--not just to blogging but to the comments. I love the comments! I live for the comments!

So, thank you Carolyn and Shannon for recommending Coliseum. Next time I'm at the NYPL (soon. very very soon) I will drop by. Dangerous.

And thank you to Pamie! You'd think that reading a novel wherein the heroine starts posting stories on the internet and is surprised that anyone besides her small circle of friends would read them would clue me in to the possibility that this would happen. But it didn't. I was very surprised and really really happy. Really. It totally made my day. Like, more than the job getting. Except that the job getting supports the book buying. Aw, hell, it's all delicious. And thanks to Rachael for sending Pamie over here. And thanks to everyone who leaves comments. They really do brighten my day.

I've decided that I like it much better when people approach me about knitting, rather than just sitting opposite me on the subway and staring.

A woman asked what the five needles were for and I explained that it's an easier way to make a sock because you're knitting a tube instead of a flat piece. Something to that effect. She asked if I thought it was a good idea if she took a knitting class. I said absolutely. Then she said she felt kinda dumb to take a class. And this marks the first time that a total stranger has looked to me to justify her existence. I don't think I'm comfortable having that kind of power.

On the other hand...

Another woman asked if I was ever afraid of poking myself in the eye. The minute I said "no" I realized a much better response would've been, "It's the danger part that attracts me most." One of these days I'll synchronize.

Alison is indeed a Brainy Lady. She has created a Knitting Rock Along and a button to go with it. She's also setting up a Rock Along Gallery if enough people are interested (and it looks like they are). As if I weren't giddy enough. This puts me over the edge.

Hey, that wasn't so bad! We both agreed I am completely qualified to teach the intro Women's Studies course, more so than several of the other applicants she saw today. She hopes to make her decision in about a week, and it's still entirely possible that my lack of CUNY cred will be a bigger drawback than someone else's unfamiliarity with teaching from a social science perspective...and so it goes. What I learned: I interview well. Awesome.

I decided that, since it went so well, I would treat myself to a bookstore expedition. I wanted to pick up Why Girls Are Weird, which I had heard of before but forgotten about until Rachael's post about the author's booksigning. I hadn't known that the author is Pamie of Television Without Pity fame! She writes the fab recaps of that fab show, Gilmore Girls. Now, keep in mind that I have just exited the Graduate Center and there are four or five student types hanging out on the steps doing that smoking thing that people who smoke tend to do (I have been one of these people, and I know). I am positive there's a bookstore of some sort nearby which would render it unnecessary for me to head to Union Square. So I ask a few people and receive nothing but blank stares. "Uh...book. Store?"

"Yes. A store that sells books. Things that people read? Like on the subway?"

Whatev. Funny, when I'm in Manhattan I sometimes forget that buses run there, too. So I hop on the M1 and it immediately starts raining. And I mean biblically. Had I been in the Midwest I would've expected the tornado sirens to go off. When I get off the bus at 14th Street and step into a puddle that's three inches deep, I know that my umbrella is useless. Strangely, I'm not pissed about this. I mean, yes, my shoes were brand new. But they're cheap and hence not ruined. Yes, I'm likely to get pneumonia when I walk into the bookstore. But the flash downpour is really comical in its temper-tantrum intensity. I walk across Union Square clutching my bookbag to my chest in an effort to keep it from getting totally soaked, and I pass a woman doing the same thing to a bag of I'm guessing food, and we look at each other and just start laughing.

I reach the vile brand conglomerate B&N. I tend not to shop there but its evilly convenient location to the subway line I need to get back home lures me in a weak moment (Sigh. Ok. "I did not get lured. I accept full responsiblity for my actions."). I really don't feel like browsing until I find the book so I go straight up to the info desk and say, "I'm looking for a book called Why Girls Are Weird. " The woman behind the desk looks it up and in the process snarks, "Isn't that obvious?" I'm still undecided as to whether or not I find that funny. I'm leaning towards no, because it doesn't make grammatical sense. It would were the book titled, Why Are Girls Weird? And then, she said it in this really snippy way. Maybe she just got dumped or something. But, you know, she's a girl too. Why self-deprecate?

I eventually find the book, turn it over to read the back and lo! there's a Lloyd Dobler reference. And an epigraph from Rilo Kiley, who may be huge on the West Coast but very few people I know here know who they are, whereas I've been a fan since the very first time I ever heard "The Frug." So, I cannot wait to start reading this book. Maybe Pamie's on a whirlwind tour? And will be here? So cool.

Oh, I also bought the latest IK--I must be some kind of freak because I generally like most of the patterns but I see a lot of criticism of them in these blogs. I only had to see the cover of VK to know I wouldn't be buying it.

It is one of my biggest pet peeves to see the word "weird" spelled incorrectly. Not nearly as much as the whole you're/your, it's/its, they're/their/there trinity, but it's up there. I would like to form a roving band of marauders and call ourselves the Grammar Avengers. We would walk the streets armed with Sharpies and correct all signage errors.

Ya wanna know why academics are always accused of not being in touch with the real world?

Because they have no freakin' time to be.

I got the max for the minimum yesterday. There's a mall-ette in Manhattan that has a T. J. Maxx AND a Filene's Basement. Everything the struggling grad student/adjunct needs to appear quasi-professional. Most career wear is the exact opposite of my style. I'm not one for tailored suits, or tailored anything. I like to bring a little of the funk in what I wear. Most of the time I don't like the current styles, and the current styles don't like my body type. To be fair, current styles seem to favor women with prepubescent bodies, and I find that really gross and disturbing. On so many levels.

So, you like the IRO swatch? Coolies. I bet it would work on a larger scale as well but I'm an impatient swatcher and going bigger would've taken too much time. I envision using this on a matching headband/wristband set. Yeeeaaaaahhhh. Or as a patch you could put on a bag. Y'know, it would work as duplicate stitch, somewhere in the corner of a bag or sweater or something, as a tag.

I'm thinking about this too much.

I'm done with the back of Peachy Keen Chic Kami. It's a really good "calm thyself" project. Will take picture later, but if you know what the ChicKami is supposed to look like and you know what color mine is, I think you've got this one pretty much figured out.

Thanks for the good wishes on the interviews this week.

Oh, P.S.: Normally I would not post pictures of something meant as a present until the recipient received it, but I inadvertently sent mom a picture of her camisole, so you can see the shots in my Photo Navy gallery. It's difficult to see that I did a feather-and-fan pattern on the bottom half, then switched to stockinette for the bodice. I didn't do any shaping. I was a little worried that the F&F pattern would come across as too chunky but when I tried it on to gauge the length, it pulled in enough that it looks like there's shaping. Nice effect. You may recognize the top of the camisole as the top of ChicKami. I had planned on doing a pretty shell edging but the yarn wouldn't cooperate. Mom's a knitter so I'm sending her some extra yarn and if she chooses to add something to it, she can. How lazy is that? The gallery is a photo narrative of what happens when you try to block something with a cat who's given free reign. You can see it all by clicking here. The rest of my gallery is pretty much just for hosting stuff, so it's not that exciting.

Mom, you know you get the camisole when you send the yarn. That yarn is for presents and I know you don't want your family to go without socks this winter.

How can I stay bitter when I have this?




To calm myself yesterday, I worked on the IRO pattern and swatched it. Now, if you read the comments over at Jen's place, you'll remember that I half-seriously drew a fine distinction between the rock on sign and the ASL sign for "I love you." After several attempts at the pattern for "devil horns," I need to eat those words. It only really makes sense if you have some semblance of a thumb sticking out. Even with it, I'm not entirely sure it comes across as the IRO sign. Tell me what you think:



Hot or not?     or     ? Any suggestions?

Rachael sent me the rock on emoticon. Thanks Rachael! The other one I got by going here.

Shopping today for teacherly clothes.

How's it going?

I started putting together a teaching portfolio yesterday, to prepare for my three--yes, three!--interviews next week. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, bam bam bam. The one on Monday is for the Women's Studies adjunct position, the least likely one I'll get, even though I bet I have more experience than most of the other candidates. The last year I was in grad school, before I went on fellowship, I was hired to be the teaching assistant in the Women's Studies Program, and it proved to be a much needed break from teaching composition and the gig that revived my desire to teach at all. Creating the syllabus for my first class was incredibly hard because I wanted the class to read everything. I put together a 20 lb. course packet of materials, and I'm still proud of it, although I would change some of the essays around. I think I'm proudest of the oral history assignment, where students interviewed a woman at least 25 years older (most picked their moms) about their relationship to the women's movement of the 1960s/1970s and what it was like to witness the changes the women's movement made. This was done as part of the history unit, and the responses were so varied and fascinating that we all decided to collect them in a book that each student would give to their interview subject (with their permission, of course). The second semester I built the course more explicitly around activism, and part of their final grade was a group activist project. Eating disorders ran rampant on our campus and several groups based their projects on that. One group worked with the campus safety coordinator to propose a plan to improve women's safety in their dorm rooms, after discovering that--oh, surprise--most campus assaults take place inside, not outside, and by someone you know, not Random Guy hiding in the bushes.

I also need to write up a coherent teaching philosophy. All this for a job I'm not likely to get, but at the same time, I want her to know I'm taking it seriously, and it's a good thing to have a teaching philosophy at the ready in case someone asks for it. It's surprising how much I feel I've forgotten after just one year away from teaching. A year ago I would've told you that there was no way I was going back to the academy. I'd had enough bureaucratic bullshit, enough of the "publish or perish" mentality that drives tenure-track assistant professor to multiple nervous breakdowns in order to get those two books published, and because of that pressure the books aren't very good, and no one outside their field ever reads them because they're so specialized, which further perpetuates the idea that the Academy is an Ivory Tower with no concept of what goes on in the "real world," and so the academic press loses money which means they don't have the funds to publish as many books as are being written, which means assistant professors don't get tenure...and the powers that be in this case are paying a lot of lip service to the idea that this desperate situation needs to change, that the younger generation of professors should be helped rather than hindered, but I don't see a damn thing being done to really change the situation. Why should they care anyway? They all have tenure.

I'm still bitter, as you can see. Although adjuncting is a nasty life--it pays poorly, there are no health benefits, and no job security--at least I can focus on teaching, and not what I am doing to promote a particular university's reputation. Of course, talk to me after I've been teaching 6 courses for a couple of months.

My attitude in all of this is also partly responsible for the lag in getting my diss finished. I will finish--I haven't come this far in the project to just stop. But there are days where I find it difficult to add anything to it because the whole business makes me...so...angry and frustrated.

Is there a PhD blogger web ring? There should be. I've cyber-met one or two knitters who are dissertating right now...should we start a little sumthin'? Waddaya think?

I don't have a day job, so I can't really get excited that it's Friday. That had to be the longest July ever.

Met up last night with a few friends from grad school--three of us have been transplanted here and the fourth is in town for some bizarre computer training sessions that for some reason can't be taken care of in her hometown. It was really good to see her. I knew that I would like her when she started the grad program (I'd been there for a couple years already) and sent a message to the grad student listserv with the signature, "I wish Steve Austin were here. He'd know what to do." Turns out it was something that someone else had said, but still. Did some catching up, drank a few beers, and then we were all in various stages of hunger and I proposed Veselka's because I had a hankering for pierogies. Veselka's specializes in Ukrainian food--stuffed cabbage, pierogies, blintzes, etc.--and it attracts a number of different types of people, from the frat boys to the punks to the bohemian bourgeoisie who flocked to the East Village once it had been cleaned up a bit. The food is fabulous--it speaks to my Eastern European heritage, although now that I've gone veggie the meat-stuffed cabbage that smells like the ones grandma used to make is out of the question. The ones stuffed with kasha are really good, with a nice mushroom sauce...now I want to go back there for breakfast...

So, I missed Amazing Race last night and I only hope my troubled VCR made it all the way through the recording.

Got a decent night's sleep last night.

Craving a movie in a theater. The last one I saw was Charlie's Angels 2 which was basically a parody of itself, or at least that's how it came across. I kept laughing and then wondered if it was supposed to be that funny. Good summer movie, but now I want something substantially good. Seabiscuit is on hold until I'm in the right frame of mind to be emotionally manipulated. The Secret Lives of Dentists opens today, and that's a promising one. It's based on Jane Smiley's Age of Grief, which I haven't read, and stars Campbell Scott and Hope Davis. It sounds like another film about an emotionally stunted family that can't figure out, or won't bother trying, how to communicate with each other. I could go either way on this one, but after seeing Roger Dodger I would follow Campbell Scott into a remake of [insert your own "worst movie ever"]. What's Roger Dodger, you ask? A fantastic movie that no one saw. Rent it. Scott plays a totally emotionally retarded man who lacks all kinds of self-awareness, thinks he's at the top of his game work-wise and women-wise but really isn't, and when he's abruptly cut off by the woman he's with at the beginning of the movie, engages in this downward spiral of cynicism and vitriol, which happens to coincide with a surprise visit from his 16-year-old nephew. Because it's a study of "the male ego," it reminded me of High Fidelity. I think Roger Dodger succeeds where High Fidelity failed. It may be that HF intended the audience to react to the main character the way I did. I still think it failed. But that's for another post.

I love reading reviews of bad movies. Today, the release of Gigli, is a very good day.

Still plugging away at ChicKami. Decided that the next sweater project will be this, from the 2002 VK anniversary issue:



for which I bought this Rowan wool/cotton blend:



I'm a Rowan virgin and looking forward to losin' it with this yarn. I think it will be very special.