yay me!

I graduated!

And already I'm feeling a bit more sane. There are a few more things that became suddenly more pressing -- like finding an apartment and a full-time job -- but I finally have time to deal with all that. I've got time! It's crazy!

I've moved into the Vander Ark's house for the next month, tomorrow I'm going to the Snader's house for Christmas, and then I'm going home. Then back to get married and hopefully move into our marriage apartment.

Greg & I applied for an apartment, so hopefully we'll get it.

I will no longer receive mail at school -- I don't actually know where I could receive mail at all. I need an address.

And that's my update. Woot! No more homework for a while!

i haz a dilemma:

I can't sleep again.

Supposedly warm milk helps you sleep. Milk also makes you more congested.

If I have a bad cold but can't sleep, which is worse? extra congestion or lost sleep?

Also, can you explode an ear drum by sneezing?

yes, i know it's 2:30 a.m.

I really went to bed an hour ago, I promise. But I've been tossing and turning ever since.

What if the caterer doesn't show up to my wedding 36 days from now? That's what I've been wondering. How can I face 200 people and tell them they have to be hungry?

My absolute, worst case scenario stands this way: as long as we get 24 hours' notice that the caterer won't show up, we can get meat trays from the nearest grocery store, buy out their bread section, cut the crusts off said bread, make pretty signs with the formula for the finger sandwiches we planned to serve them, provide various and sundry supplies, rent some extra drink dispensers from Tents & Events, and have a picnic where guests can make their own sandwiches. Hopefully the youth of Greg's church/various relatives won't mind pitching in to make it all happen.

I even have my explanatory speech planned out, because it's 2:30 in the morning and I've been tossing and worrying for the last hour:

Welcome! We're so pleased all of you took the time to come to our wedding. When Greg and I started flirting just over two years ago, I don't think either of us had any idea that it would end up going this far. But we're obviously very excited. The road has not been without its bumps -- for instance, yesterday we got the call that the caterer couldn't make it to our wedding today. Yep, I'd call that a bump. [wait patiently for nervous laughter] So what we had originally planned to serve you, a high tea, has become more of a picnic instead. We've provided the ingredients for our favorite finger sandwiches and their formulas over here on the buffet, and if you don't mind, you can take a hand in making your own sandwiches. Over there in the back are the scones made by my lovely mother, and on the drink table is mint lemonade stockpiled by Grandma Beulah, hot water for tea, and coffee. Feel free to take your table's tea pot and fill it for your tablemates.

Again, thank you for coming. I hope you like picnics.

And this is why I gave up caffeine. Can you imagine a weddinged & caffeined & insomniac Mackenzie? Truly not a pretty sight.

Hey Mom, you know how I always thought hot milk was real gross? I'm finding it's calming. With a little honey in it to sweeten the deal.

oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear

Here's how it stands, people:

I graduate in 9 days.
I get married in 39.

I can't stop thinking about all the crazy things that need to happen in between. But! Deep breath. It will be fine. Breathe in... breathe out. . .

We have kind of settled on Lancaster as a place to live. That's a little load off my mind. One of the main reasons we want to live there? The art scene. It has one. I know, shocking, right? Anyway. I want to get involved with other artists and galleries and have shows and things like that. So. We will. In Lancaster, Lord willing.

Keep your fingers crossed that we find a place to live in good time.

things are slowly falling into place

Firstly, I have a place to stay until I get married, thanks to Christine.

Secondly, Messiah hired me as a consultant for the month of January, so I'm going to be earning a paycheck, albeit a small one, in a month that otherwise might have passed without any productivity.

Thirdly, the lady at T-mobile is wildly helpful. Today a customer came in wanting to trade in an old phone that the store doesn't sell anymore -- so she nabbed it and is holding it for me. I can pick it up tomorrow. For free. The only catch is I have to buy a charger, but that's only like $20. She also found the unlocky-code thingy for Greg's AT&T phone, so he can move to the T-mobile plan. How rockin' is that? I've never met such a helpful salesman in my life.

So. We only have to find a permanent place to live and a permanent job. But you know, thinking about how much is falling into place in the last couple of days is encouraging. Somehow everything will work out fine. Somehow.

Wish me luck.

Happy Thanksgiving

It's good to be home.

I haven't died -- I still visit my blog! I might blog more after I graduate. Maybe.

P.S. I'm graduating 20 days from now.

The problem is, I don't have a place to live after that yet!

Oops.

I gotta get on that.

this one is for Aaron, whose college is shut down due to contagion.

How near Thou art in the day of sickness. Thou Thyself visitest the sick; Thou Thyself bendest over the sufferer's bed. His heart speaks to Thee. In the throes of sorrow and suffering Thou bringest peace and unexpected consolation. Thou art the comforter. Thou art the love which watches over and heals us. To Thee we sing the song: Alleluia!

It's part of an akathist (in the Orthodox church, a shorter liturgy than the one used on Sunday mornings) that was written by a guy named Gregory Petrov in 1940, shortly before his death in a prison camp. Seems kind of crazy (in the absolutely best way possible) that he would claim the presence of God so strongly near the many ill he saw on a daily basis. . . .

Today I formulated to myself what I want to do with the rest of my life. It's a big project, and there are many ways in which it could find expression. And it's obvious -- it's been in my work's basic impulse from the beginning, I just never thought of it. I never stopped to make a manifesto from it.

(When Daniel heard that I had a manifesto, he immediately brought up the unibomber. What a great start to our afternoon discussion, right?? But no, it's not that kind of manifesto.)

I've been having a lot of discussions lately about the way technology is changing not just our day-to-day lives but the way our very brains function. Essentially, we're losing our ability to focus, brain-experts say. Other friends of mine are convinced that in 20, 30, 100 years no one will unplug from the internet, ever. We'll have little implants in our brains.

And I'm one of the only people so far who, no matter what -- no matter how futilely -- argues against that possibility. No! my insides say. That would be terrible!

So what's my manifesto? I want to formulate work which demands people pay attention to something rigorously observed outside of technology. I want to create work compelling enough to draw people into the real world -- i.e. flowers and trees and other people and gardens and working with your hands. I want to make people pay attention to what's going on in their walk from their house to their car, maybe just one day after they see something I made.

Simple, right? All the roots of that are already in what I'm doing. But in verbalizing that, I feel such a sense of freedom. . . It's the thing that ties together all the different things I do. I can blog and be pulling people into the world. I can be writing a novel and be doing that. I can paint and do that, make prints and do that, feed people and do that, have an amaryllis in my apartment and do that.

And you know what Daniel said to me when I told him that? He said, "You should teach!" Well yes, Daniel, thank you for remembering that I've always wanted to teach. . . . but in any case, the fact that he immediately saw that same thing as the central pillar of what he does as a professor and thought that desire could fit me for a teaching career -- that's so great! It makes me extremely happy.

In five or six years or whatever, I can go in to job interviews and when they ask me about my philosophy of teaching. . . well, that's it! I'm there to help students see something they've never seen before, change their vision and equip them with something vital that the rest of society needs. . . .

I know, chalk it up to being young, but I'm really passionate about that.

i saved the 695 post for a good cause.

Now there's a lot to catch you all up on.

Last Tuesday Greg and I tried to go to New York City and got into an accident instead, due to freakish snowstorms blanketing New Jersey. I think one place got 14 inches. We were one of 5 cars off the road in a particular place, and yet no one was hurt.

The next day, Wednesday, I got an internship with Central PA magazine that starts this Thursday. Woot!

Sunday, Greg and I finally made it up to NYC to visit friends, and that was wonderful. Without mishap, in large part, just tiring.

Last night, I woke up really sick with the stomach flu, so today I just chilled out and didn't go to classes or work.

This has allowed me to watch nonstop re-runs of The Daily Show and the Colbert Report. Clearly, I am utilizing my extra time for educational purposes. I'm so up on this election stuff, it's not even funny.

Oh, and I got all my old info from my old computer to my new computer! Yay! Now I just have to re-install a few programs so that my ipod is fully functional, and I'll be golden.

What's next on my rigorous schedule? Rustling up some kind of light dinner.

Quote of the day:
"I have felt like election day is a more special day than last week on my birthday."
-- Amy

Man, people are all about this political thing, aren't they? Good thing I had my ballot in a while ago, 'cause otherwise I'd be having all kinds of last-minute debates. Oh, and I would have had to drive with the stomach flu.

so i just realized i've posted 694 times so far.

This one makes it 695. It made me stop and wonder -- what if I had been a webcomic artist instead of a writer? I might well have 695 comic strips to my name. That would've been totally, absolutely rocking.

I mean, not that this blog isn't rocking. . . just not as awesome as awesomely drawn webcomics might be. But I guess I was never a draw-er (I just now realized that draw-er and drawer are spelled exactly the same way. Now I'll never be sure if I'm making drawings or holding clothes).

In good news, however, Daniel says that if I continue with my extra-curricular drawing exercises (bell peppers of the wrinkled and shrunken variety), I could well develop my own economy of mark-making. Which would be super, super exciting. Yes, I need to learn to render, and rendering aids all kinds of other artistic understanding, but my own economy of mark-making? That would be super, super awesome. It's all I've ever wanted. It would mean having the vocabulary to describe whatever I see it in an aesthetically pleasing way that also addresses my visual obsessions and individual perception of the world.

In the difficult news -- well, it's difficult to find time for extra-curricular drawings. But I'll keep at it, and it will be good and rewarding.

Also -- happy birthday, Dad!

oh, ursula k. leguin, you may have just won me over

"I am going to be rather hard-nosed and say that if you have to find devices to coax yourself to stay focused on writing, perhaps you should not be writing what you're writing. And if this lack of motivation is a constant problem, perhaps writing is not your forte. I mean, what is the problem? If writing bores you, that is pretty fatal. If that is not the case, but you find that it is hard going and it just doesn't flow, well, what did you expect? It is work; art is work." -- Ursula K. LeGuin

See, it's funny, because I guess publishers didn't like her first five novels because they were "remote." Which is kind of what I don't like about her later work, too. So she never got over the problem. . . she just found a niche market.

In any case, I think that quote is pretty awesome. Way to give it to us straight, Ursula. Don't baby us when you don't have to.

Maybe I should give this quote to my professor. Man him up a little.

in which i apologize for not posting in two weeks

But what can I say? Life is busy, and I know you don't want to hear me rant about homework every day.

Does anyone know where I could find out at what point a minority political party becomes, legally, a majority political party? I've heard once one of its candidates gets 5% of the national vote the party is considered a majority party. Which, as far as I can tell, means that it would take part in debates and possibly receive more funding, but not much other than that. It would be decidedly interesting to know for sure, but anything I read on the internet is a little bit suspect.

Also, the onion tart is really quite a success. Make sure to carmelize the onions before you put them in the tart -- I didn't do that quite enough. It was still delicious, but I think it could be even better. Also, it's really more of an onion quiche than an onion tart, per se.

Also, I think I'm learning more about cooking! Because the other day I made up a soup that tasted pretty darn good. It was:

1 bullion cube
1 potato
2 leeks
2 handfuls of green beans
2 bay leaves
sprinkle of thyme
some onion
1 clove of garlic
and enough water to cover all of that. Not a bad way to use up some leftovers. I mean, now I have leftover soup. . . but it's decidedly more appetizing than all those things were individually. And that's the point, right?

OK -- I've got to go to work for a couple of hours before I can call it officially the weekend. But I'm excited. Today's Friday and I'm not even exhausted (might have to do with the fact that instead of studying for my midterm today I slept for 10 hours).

is cooking a healthy response to stress?

Because right now, I'm kind of stressed -- and off the top of my head, there are at least four things that I'd rather cook. I don't want to write my papers. I don't want to read. I want to make cookies, an onion tart (which I think must be as good as french onion soup, but in solid form), butternut squash and carmelized onion gallette, acorn squash with chile-lime vinagrette, and beef, leek and barley soup. And, you know, that's just for a start.

My favorite things lately are squash and soup. So imagine how fun it was to make a squash soup from the More with Less cookbook (go look it up, it really is great tasting). Does anyone have any tips on how to peel a squash though? I kind of didn't, and just threw chunks of squash in there, and then dug the meat out of the rind and threw the rinds away while I ate it.

My least favorite thing ever right now is papers. And homework. And being enrolled in school period. Yep, I've got senioritis so bad it's overcoming my fear of unemployment and when graduation comes I'll bust out of here so fast and so happily I might cause a vacuum in my dorm which will then implode on itself.

Oh, and my other favorite thing is milkweed pods. So cool.

Also, it's fall! Yay! I like it! Oh, and my fall break is this week. So totally awesome I'm happy to have an extra two days off. Even though yes, they will probably involve homework, it will be OK.

isn't it annoying how a new browser will constantly ask to remember your passwords?

Other than that, I'm totally lovin' this mac. Oh, baby. Oh, also, I don't have the adobe suite for it yet, but I will shortly. My favorite feature is how it starts up and shuts down in seconds. None of this "I can't check my e-mail in the morning because I only have fifteen minutes and that's as long as it takes to start up."

My project for the weekend is transferring all my files from my old computer to my new computer, with the aid of two USB drives (yes, it's OK to laugh. But I don't know any other way.)

Our dinner tonight was weird but delicious, so I thought I'd pass it on:

Squash and lamb

Take some squash (ours was kind of like an acorn squash but not quite). Cut it in half. Put it in some water in a baking pan and cook it for about an hour on 350.

In the meantime, fry up about a pound of lamb (ignore the fact that you always intended it to be used for kefta -- grilled, middle eastern meatballs with a yogurt dipping sauce). Add 1/3 cup of chopped onion and 1 clove garlic, salt, pepper, and a sprinkling of ground cayenne pepper. And some parsley. We had parsley on hand.

When everything's done, put the lamb in the squash and eat it! Mmmm. . . savory and sweet at the same time. And with a kick because of the cayenne pepper.

It makes enough lamb for three of me, and squash for two of me (I made the qualification "me" instead of "a person" because I know Aaron eats like twice what I eat. So it really depends).

My new ambition in life -- have I told you this before? -- become a food writer! At least if I can't be a professor/in addition to being a professor. So yes. Write about delicious, delicious food. The problem? I'm always so vague if I'm not following a real recipe: "a bit of this" and "some of that" and "about this long" and "I didn't know how to do this, so I did this instead, and it sort of worked." Gotta work on that.

in which i forget what i was going to say, but talk anyway

There was a truly excellent collect the week in church (collect = opening communal prayer, if you're not familiar with an Episcopalian service):

Grant us, Lord, not to be anxious about earthly things, but to love things heavenly; and even now, while we are placed among things that are passing away, to hold fast to those that shall endure; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

See, it's funny because -- well, because my anxiety level could kill a camel. I'm learning and working on it, but it will take me the rest of my life to learn to take work with equanimity.

I also have a great poem for you, by Mary Oliver. I don't like the title much, but the rest of it is great. It reminds me to suck it up and pay attention to the wider world. . . .

The Poet with His Face in his Hands

You want to cry aloud for your
mistakes. But to tell the truth the world
doesn't need any more of that sound.

So if you're going to do it and can't
stop yourself, if your pretty mouth can't
hold it in, at least go by yourself across

the forty fields and the forty dark inclines
of rocks and water to the place where
the falls are flinging out their white sheets

like crazy, and there is a cave behind all that
jubilation and water-fun and you can
stand there, under it, and roar all you

want and nothing will be disturbed; you can
drip with despair all afternoon and still,
on a green branch, its wings just lightly touched

by the passing foil of the water, the thrush,
puffing out its spotted breast, will sing
of the perfect, stone-hard beauty of everything.

in which life is funny

I planned lots of blog posts in my head before this one, and I'll get to them eventually, but it's my theory that we all need a good laugh more often than we need anything else.

So go look at this blog. You will crap yourself laughing. I nearly did. I still can't help giggling when I think of any post on this blog. Oh dear.

I'm also swamped with work. Sad. =( But I had a fabulous birthday! Thank you for all the birthday wishes/cards/comments!

"if we accept one dime from thomas kinkade, we are accepting money from satan!"

-- Don Forsythe, my printmaking professor, when Kinkade invited Christians in the Visual Arts to his Malibu ranch to discuss giving them a donation. Apparently Kinkade is an evangelical. Or something.

Birthdays, birthdays. Ruth had a birthday on Saturday. Yay Ruth! Greg has a birthday coming up soon. Yay Greg! My roommate Amy has a birthday coming up soon. Yay Amy! Birthdays basically rock. I'm pretty sure.

I'm getting a much-anticipated birthday present from myself -- tomorrow I should be able to order my new computer. I'm impatiently waiting for the transfer of my funds from my electronic savings account to my checking account. Then I'm doing it -- I'm ordering a mac laptop. I'm doing a little dance, because man it is hard to be frugal. But it is awesome to own technology.

Then I have to save up for software. And marriage? I may also have to save up for marriage. Just in case, you know, we need a little extra grocery money in the first few months of unemployment.

Unemployment. . . . crap.

I had another funny story to tell you, I'm pretty sure, but I forgot. If I remember, I'll tell you.

ooh, ooh, i know! pick me!

I discovered what my new countdown should be about: my birthday is in ten days! Wooh! I will be 22, and now a "twenty-something," rather than a "twenty-one year old." I feel that the distinction is immense. But probably only for people who are 21.

Also, don't some mental diseases manifest themselves in your mid-twenties? I'm freaking out that I'll develop a disease before I finish college. Or worse, after college, after I've already put up with so many mental-breakdown-inducing circumstances yet never really gave way to them.

Ooh, also, I remembered I have candy in my desk. Yay!


The other day, Greg and I managed to cook our very own whole, free-range chicken. It had that little bag inside with the gibblets in it, you know the one I'm talking about? And it still had the neck attached, which is weird looking. But I don't know what to do with gibblets. Mom said maybe Turkey stuffing/dressing. Greg thinks we should feed it to his housemate's cat.

In any case, I'm proud of us, because it wasn't dry, and it wasn't undercooked, and we only each called our respective mothers like five times about it. And we even went to the extra trouble of boiling the bones and stuff and making chicken broth. So basically we are pretty awesome in the kitchen.

And then I found out that there's another whole chicken waiting for us in his mom's freezer back home. Haha. Oh, and we ordered two more for November. So apparently we are just all about the meat and the roasting, etc.

I do feel really good, though, about eating meat that's free-range. . . and about making our own chicken broth, so we can have free-range stews!

what, i have to invent a new countdown since classes started?

It's the second day of classes and I haven't yet lost the elusive, precious delusion perpetrated by Feelings of Personal or Professional Competence.

I win!

I am taking classes of the levels 300, 200, and yes, even 100. Some of them are gen eds (yes, I am That Person, who put off the easy stuff and to my regret is in the back row making cynical comments and generally causing trouble for people actually interested in European history in the 1700s! Woe!) and I find people saying to me "Are you new? I haven't seen you around."

My response is "That's 'cause I could be your grandma!" And when they look confused, I explain that I am a super senior, and so far ahead of their time that if they were on horseback I would be driving a Mustang.

And then I think to myself, "I am going to kick your academic ass." Because, you know, I have waaaaay more practice at college than anyone else. Well, except maybe this older student in my printmaking class. And the professors themselves. And a few super seniors with whom I have assiduously bonded.

See, that's a joke to cover some of my insecurities, and avoid facing the fact that some of these juniors are probably better artists than I will ever be. Denial and repression, thank you Dan, for those words of wisdom.

I have also acquired The Sickness. So in another way I completely lose at the first week of classes. But it's OK -- no fever, no throwing up, so mostly there's nothing very much wrong with me.

Oh yeah, and shouldn't I have graduated a few months ago and be mired in the quagmass of career aspirations and cold, hard reality knocking against my poorly-heated apartment door, like the majority of recent college graduates? (Poorly-heated because I wouldn't be able to afford the oil to heat it considering that I would still be hunting desperately for a job and cursing the genes that make me congenitally unsuitable for careers like engineering.)

I introspect too much. And also, I clearly have some repressed snark from sitting in classrooms for just two days. What will happen after a whole semester?

It will be an explosion the likes of which has not been seen since Hiroshima. Except, you know, it will be an explosion of snark and not an explosion of anything that kills people.

well. paint me purple and call me arthur.

The Rectangle decided to accept one of my poems for its next issue! SWEET! Now that was news worth waiting 4 months for (I submitted the poems in May!). It also makes me think maybe I should get my butt in gear and submit some other things to other places, just to see what happens. . . .

Also, one of my roommates arrived today! The one that I don't know. So we'll see how that goes. I'm sure it will be OK, since Elena speaks so highly of her. It's just, you know, a little odd. But at least I won't be sleeping alone in the apartment anymore.

Also in other news, I'm working on my EB paper today! And in the midst of thinking up brilliant paragraphs (ha!)I'm posting about it here, and also reading webcomics.

Don't laugh. It makes me feel better about spending my life attached to essays in front of this computer screen.

the creamery line

This week I learned the difference between the straight-up 2% milk from Trickling Springs Creamery and the "creamline" 2% milk. When I opened the 2% creamline, there was a huge clot of cream at the neck of the bottle. And the milk tasted -- oh, so rich and full. It makes me cappucini more about the milk than the coffee!

And it comes in glass bottles. I'm not sure if it's the fact that the cows are grass-fed, or the pasteurization is different, or the glass bottles, but Trickling Springs Creamery's milk is the best milk I've ever had. Oh, plus, since it isn't ultra-pasteurized, it can be used to make cheese! Which Greg has been hankering to do for a while. Ever since he read Animal, Vegetable, Miracle.

Also, I felt like such a nerd yesterday -- when Greg and I came out of our premarital counseling, there was a whole chicken and some fresh eggs waiting for us! I was reading (in Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, where else?) that free-range chickens' eggs have less cholesterol and more Omega-3 fatty acids than your average grocery-story buy. So I'm thinking about getting more eggs from fresh sources, particularly if I can find one closer to wherever we live. (I should say, I'm not sure if these eggs come from free-range chickens or not, but I've also been reading about the benefits of a local food culture, so I'm happy to buy "local" eggs -- local meaning within an hour of where we live. Maybe further than a horse and buggy would venture on a regular basis, but it's still better than buying anonymous eggs from a shelf. Also, these eggs are a pretty brown color.)

But I got excited -- "GREG, IT'S OUR FIRST CHICKEN!" Like it was our first child instead. =) So now I have to find a pot big enough to cook it in, and then we'll have chicken stock on hand as well as meat in our freezer. Mrs. Snader said that the chicken still has the neck attached, though? And Greg mentioned something about a gizzard????

This is going to be a learning week!

I've also mentally called a moratorium on beef after reading about the USDA's mad-cow testing. Or this article. So getting a chicken is exciting. And we're getting two more in November, so yay! We don't eat that much meat, so this one chicken will probably last us until October at least, and maybe longer than that. And the two chickens will probably last us until we get married.

I've also been thinking about politics, more -- if I don't really like either of the candidates from the major parties (if, for example, I think Obama is a liar and McCain has stupid ideas), why should I bother voting for either? I refuse to fall into the trap of thinking that my vote only "matters" if I vote for one of those two options. If there's a candidate I'm really behind, then voting for them is a more responsible choice than voting for the lesser of two evils is. Because if enough people voted their conscience, maybe we'd be able to get rid of the two-party system.

Plus, I'm just tired of thinking about voting like a stop-gap -- who's going to destroy our country and our freedoms the least? I want to think about it like this: so-and-so actually has decent ideas, decent experience, and a grip on reality. Even if they never get elected, at least I performed my job as citizen responsibly and appropriately by voting for someone who doesn't outright suck.

You know what that means, though? I need to go back through and do more research on lesser-known candidates. Or even those who aren't running.

It's the same principle as opting out of a food system I don't like. And forging the lines of our lives against the norm is kind of complicated and requires way more work, but isn't it kind of a good-unto-itself, one that doesn't need effects to prove itself worh pursuing?

"hear a phoebe sing his only song. this summer's day is hovering--"

--The Weepies

I think I've posted nearly every day this week. What is wrong with me? Oh yeah, there's not someone around to gab to all the time, so I end up with a lot more time to think while I type.

Weird.

I've been doing a lot of reading and thinking this last half of the summer, and I really like it. It's what's missing from every semester -- the leeway to stay on any given topic until I feel like I've mastered it and can move on. Granted, I produce way more under the pressure of the school year, but am I producing better things? I'm not sure.

Apparently, I really can't help but think out loud at least once every day.

Also, today Greg comes home! And tomorrow I have some unexpected time off! YAY! And then for the weekend I'm going to Philly to visit my Megan! HOORAY!

I will return on Monday!

P.S.

I just ate like a cup of frosting while I was writing my research paper. I don't think I've eaten so much frosting in one sitting -- or been interested in doing so -- since I was ten.

Someone needs to come take it away from me or even the three flights of stairs I climb at least four times a day won't keep me from looking like Willy the Whale. I am going to have a ba-donk-a-donk butt (whatever commercial that is makes me laugh hysterically every time).

Here's the recipe. It basically means that the cup of frosting I ate probably amounts to a stick of butter, but can you see why it's so delicious?

Swiss Buttercream frosting:
2 cups of egg whites (approx. 12 large)
3 cups sugar
5 cups butter, softened (2 1/2 pounds, 10 sticks)
1 tablespoon vanilla extract

1.Whisk egg whites and sugar together in a big metal bowl over a pot of simmering water. Whisk occasionally until you can’t feel the sugar granules when you rub the mixture between your fingers.

2.Transfer mixture into the mixer and whip until it turns white and about doubles in size. (Here’s a tip: when you transfer to the mixer, make sure you wipe the condensation off the bottom of the bowl so that no water gets into the egg whites. This can keep them from whipping up properly.)

3.Add the vanilla.

4.Finally, add the butter a stick at a time and whip, whip, whip. Do not have a panic attack when this takes a while to come together (though I did every time). One super-large batch took 15 minutes, but it did and will come together. Patience, young Jedis.

And, by the way, that makes WAAAAAAAY too much frosting for one reasonable-sized cake. I have so much leftover frosting, I might need to bake like three more cakes.

in which i anger 95% of my readers with politics

I'm more convinced than ever, due to this article -- I'm voting Democratically in the coming election, even if I do think Obama is a little bit too glib for his own good. In fact, I'm so motivated, I printed out an absentee ballot request form, filled it out, and addressed it, just five minutes ago. I did tell you, right, that I think nuclear power is about the stupidest kind of power we've got?

On a related note, yesterday I read the best essay I've ever read about warfare, nuclear in particular. It's by Wendell Berry, and it's called "Property, Patriotism, and National Defense." And I wish that I could find somewhere on the internet that it's reproduced in its entirety, but I think it's still under copyright. It's from his book Home Economics, in which nearly all the essay so far sound exactly the same, except this one. If you check the book out from the library, read "Property, Patriotism, and National Defense" first. For once, someone is thinking logically about nuclear warfare, the mere existence of them in our weapons stockpile, and it's amazing.

So yes, the conclusion is, I'm probably a hippie. (A) I've been talking for weeks about heirloom plants and buying locally and living sustainably and (B) I'm going to vote for a liberal.

But what's a liberal, anyway? The language is tricky. Conservation (in the sense of preserving the world's resources) seems to be the almost sole province of liberal candidates. And a lot of conservatives believe in free will, which is, historically speaking, a very liberal position. Conservatives are also, in my experience, much more pro-war, and how is that possibly maintaining the status quo? Spending ridiculous amounts of lives, money, and time in conflict isn't exactly "conserving" anything.

Basically, what I'm saying is that "conservative" and "liberal" positions are made up of arbitrary sets of positions that really aren't logically related to their labels at all. Oh, wait, this is politics? I shouldn't be surprised, then.

I think we need new language. And along with new language, how about a little less of a republic and a little more of a democracy? My discouragement with the political system is that no matter how I vote, I'm going to regret it. If we could vote on issues and not just people, maybe it would be a little easier to make change that's beneficial to the general populace. And lobbyists would have a heck of a much harder time doing their thing (which would give me immense satisfaction).

Although given the debt load of most individual American citizens, I doubt if we would be able to shrink our national debt (didn't you ever wonder, though, whether a decreased national debt might help keep the dollar from plummeting relative to the world market?).

P.S. Here's an exerpt I found later in the day, from an essay John Fea wrote for The Bridge magazine after the Compassion Forum happened at Messiah. It makes a good point, I think, about the difference between reform and redemption. . . but I generally doubt the possibility of serious reform, either: "Perhaps we need a healthy dose of pessimism about what politics can accomplish. Can government help us to bring meaningful reform to the problems that ail us? Of course it can. But government will always fall short when it comes to satisfying the deepest longings of the heart or sustaining the types of communities that allow human beings to flourish. We should challenge our civic leaders to act faithfully as they serve us in government. As Christians, we should not be ashamed of bringing our deepest convictions to bear on public life. Yet we must also remember that politics can never be redemptive."

"make awkward sexual advances, not war"

-- Jenn

(Because I can't really condone "free love".)

I just looked at the list of art supplies I'll need for Intaglio printmaking, and I started to hyperventilate and got dizzy. Breathe in, breathe out. Seriously, guys, is there not the Amazon equivalent for used art supplies? Anyone?

Sigh.

I think I'm panicking over more than art supplies, though -- it's everything. Budgeting, yes. Staying alone in my apartment for two weeks. The semester starting so soon. Getting married in 21 weeks and 5 days. In 17 weeks and 3 days I'll graduate but have no job, and in approximately 14 weeks and three days Greg won't have a job either.

It's time to put to work my second Adult Life Lesson: "You can't do it all (even if your mother did) so you better prioritize like hell to maintain (or recover) your sanity."

In this case, first I deal with classes, one assignment at a time. Then panic about a job. Right? Right. Baby steps (sometimes I suspect, though, that my baby steps are heading me straight to the crazy factory).

I also read a very interesting blog post today about the concept of dating your spouse, and why the author of the blog believes more in friend-ing your spouse instead. It was very well-expressed, so I copy a part of it here:

"Of course the romance and sexiness of dating should fold into marriage, but why use 'dating' as a metaphor for intimacy in marriage? In friendship, impression management diminishes, assessment of the other declines, and two selves meet across difference and take delight."
-- Jenell Williams Paris

So, happy Monday. Take it one deep breath at a time.

urg, urg, urg urg urg.

In the face of a lot of mold and mildew and grime, I'm forced to put the most important grown-up lesson I've ever learned into practice:

"Suck it up and do it. No one else will."

This applies particularly to cleaning and killing bugs. If it makes you unhappy, deal with it. Nobody else is around to do it for you.

I've never boiled so much water in my life, but I do feel better about eating off these plates once I've scrubbed and boiled the heck out of them. And also? I scrubbed and boiled our trash can (that made me imagine a huge pot with a trash can floating in it. But no, I just boiled lots of water and poured it over the trash can)! Possibly the most adult suck-it-up-and-do-it thing I've ever done. Well, except for helping Greg clean out his disgusting, moldy, broken, backed-up dishwasher that one time (even though it's not my house and I didn't break it).

Pride and Prejudice is keeping me company, though, both the ungodly long BBC version and the new one. It makes me feel better about all this upheaval. Slash, it makes noise while I work so that I don't feel quite as bored and by myself.

I only have one more box of kitchen things to clean out! Go me!

ow, ow, ow ow ow.

Firstly I spent four hours moving last night. Then I didn't finish before they locked up the buildings, so I finished moving this morning, which took me about an hour and a half. I moved out of a 2nd floor dorm room and into a 3rd floor apartment in a building with no elevators.

Then I walked over a mile to pick Jess's car up from the mechanic. Good thing it's so close, or else I wouldn't have been able to find anyone to take me there until Monday at the earliest.

My arms and legs hurt.

Also, I feel brave because for the next two weeks I'm sleeping all by myself in my new apartment. And last night I actually made it to sleep and slept pretty well. I'm crossing my fingers about tonight.

Now all I have to do is actually move in and de-clutter-ify. Which, judging by how many dishes I'm going to have to wash because they were stored in Greg's moldy, damp, basement, may take a long time.

Maybe once I forge a path through the living room I'll call it quits.

"his exegetical methodology is flawed"

-- Dan

Today, at work, Dan and I wondered if evangelicals are calling for the end times because Russia invaded Georgia, and isn't the antichrist supposed to come from Russia? Then we contemplated what it would be like if there actually arose a leader called Nicolai Carpathia. Would it mean that Tim Lahaye is really the devil, or just that someone had been bribed to change their name?

Today, there is no one at work. Everyone is on a staff retreat to Baltimore, which is, ironically enough, where I was last weekend. But I visited for a very different reason. Namely: Otakon! An anime convention.

Where I met Peter S. Beagle, one of my favorite authors of all time, creator of "A Fine and Private Place" and "The Last Unicorn." As you can imagine, I geeked out. His was the only event actually sponsored by the convention (henceforth referred to as "the con") that I went to all week.

Oh, and I saw lots of costumed people (including Italian Spiderman! Which caused both Greg and I to geek out), familiarly known as "cosplayers," which is a combination of "costumed" and "players." How etymologically logical!

And we hung out with John and Mike and ate lots of food and wandered around the inner harbor area (which contains the most beautiful Barnes & Noble I have ever layed eyes on -- it's a refurbished energy plant with a balcony overlooking the harbor). Oh, and I learned a word in Japanese: otaku. This is what the people who go to Otakon refer to themselves as. In America, it means roughly "anime nerd." Of course, last night I found out that if you actually use the word in Japan, it really connotes something like "creepy anime nerd who's forty, lives in his parents' basement, showers infrequently, and has questionable social skills."

As you can tell, the Japanese are masters of cramming a lot of connotations into a little word. Their form of puns is off the charts in complexity and prevalence, which kind of makes me want to learn Japanese. Except when would I ever use it? And if I don't use it, I'll forget it. I've already forgotten 95% of my Italian.

Anyway, that's not the point.

The weather has been cooling down lately, that's the point. It's bearable outside now on a regular basis.

And if you want actual thoughtful content, you'll have to visit my Messiah College blog, where I have gone on at ungodly length about how complicated it is to try and live like a hippie. You know, if you're actually thinking about it and not just hyped up on drugs.

Oh, and also, tomorrow I move. I hate moving.

"in the cove the old turtle surfaces again"

Me: We're crazy. It's like we met in a mental home. A mental home of AWESOME!
Greg: [looks confused]
Me: What'cha talkin' about?
Greg: [laughs hysterically] Whaaaaaat?
Me: I forgot how to say "What'cha thinking!" I panicked!
Greg: [laughs until he cries]

Me: C'mon man, we got to get groceries! Piece of . . . garbage!
Greg: Did you just call me a piece of garbage?
Me: I was trying to think of something a cowboy would say! But I panicked!
Greg: [laughs hysterically]
Me: Sheep wrangler!!
Greg: Whaaaaaaat? [continues laughing]
Me: Like mutton! And you can cut its skin off and make a coat!

Me: I could get a tiny ice cream for my tiny fridge!
Greg: Really? You don't like ice cream.
Me: But it's tiny! It would fit in my fridge! Or we could get some tiny cheeses! Oh look, there's a tiny shoofly pie! I love shoe fly pie!
Greg: I don't think we can use this coupon because it's only valid with a $10 purchase.
Me: I could get some juice.
Greg: Do you really want juice?
Me: Yes! I really want juice! It will fit in my tiny fridge! The only thing in there is tiny baby gherkins. [starts laughing] Do you get it?. . . because they're baby gherkins in a baby fridge?


I think Otakon affected our brain capacity. Well, OK. My brain capacity.

p.s.

P.S. Before I forget: the best ever way to cook green beans is to sautee them with garlic, a little olive or peanut oil, and some sesame oil. Who'd a thunk it? But it's really delicious.

Also, I really like orange juice, soy sauce, garlic, and salt as a chicken marinade. Mmmmmmm. . . .

"beyonce, you like my favorite ho"

-- Jay-Z, as per Food Party

If you would like to see something funny, you should totally check out Food Party. It's pretty much the funniest, weirdest, most creative set of videos I've seen in a long time (besides Dr. Horrible's Sing-a-long blog, brought to you by a bored Joss Whedon). It's a spoof of a cooking show, basically, except all puppet-ified and. . . well. . . unique. Very, very unique.

And genius. Definitely, definitely genius. I laughed SO HARD. So don't stand around, go watch some episodes. Seriously.

nananana -- feelin' groovy

Well, guess what? I found a job for which I am actually qualified. And,
although it's a little complicated because I won't be available to
start the job until
January, I'm applying anyway. Because it makes me feel better. And
because it provides impetus to update my resume (which I just did in
March, so it shouldn't be too complicated).

Also, what? Me interested in food blogs and craft blogs and things of a similar nature? Are you crazy?

href="http://smittenkitchen.com/">Smitten Kitchen is a
place I often check out for recipes or just strange food anecdotes.Mmmm. . . just linking to it makes me hungry!

Also, apparently Etsy is the place to be for handmade things. Which interests me. Because it's on teh interwebs, and people make stuff, for fun. Like Princess Lasertron, whose personal style I admire. But could never, would never, emulate. But still awesome.

And, if you like vintage beads and things and just want to drool over something lovely , you should totally visit French General. I've got to say, this stuff made me smile a lot a lot. SO COOL!

And, in other news, I begin my sentences with lots of "also's" and "and's." Do you think it's a disease?

hey remember that time when i posted about something other than angst and worry and maybe even wrote something thoughtful? this is not that time.

Last night I sat down to write a paper. . . and I realized that maybe my writing skills have not atrophied into oblivion after all. I only forgot I had them. Whew!

So maybe when I graduate, I'll be like "Oh yeah I'm totally an adult with a career and a marriage, I just forgot for a while." I mean, that happens to every graduate. . . right?! AND EVERYTHING WORKS OUT FINE IN THE END, RIGHT?!

You know the other thing I'm freaking out about lately? And by "the other thing," I mean "the only thing I'm freaking out about each and every day, pretty much every waking minute." How do two creative people put together a sufficient stream of income doing what they love? And how can I possibly be ready for post-graduation life when I am not even competent in my field?

I don't want to tear my hair out doing something I don't like for 40 hours a week when I grow up. I don't want Greg to tear his hair out doing something he doesn't like 40 hours a week when he grows up. But to be quite honest, the odds are so huge that we will both end up, at some point, doing something we don't like so that we can feed and house ourselves.

And how can we have jobs that will allow us to take 2 or 3 months off to do awesome things like artists residencies at places like the MacDowell Colony, or this place in Brazil?

I've always had a lot of goals. And a lot of dreams, I admit, even though that sounds ridiculously cheesy. And now I actually have to think about financing them.

I so want to teach college. I want to teach art in college, more specifically. What could be better than working hard at something full of variety, intellectually stimulating, that only lasts 9 months, yet still pays fairly well? And many art institutions will give art professors a teaching load reduction so they can continue to work.

And what could be worse than teaching college and feeling inadequate every day of my life because my students are way more talented and driven and knowledgeable than me?

I'm finding a couple of totally sweet grad school programs in printmaking at places like MICA and UNC at Chapel Hill. But how to get into them? How do I make work in the years in between now and my theoretical acceptance there, when I will, in all probability, be working a job I don't like for 40 hours a week?

Oh, and after I graduate, how do I get to be a professor? Because I have to say, the only openings I can find ANYWHERE are for graphic design professors, which I'm not, and which I never will be.

Sigh.

I am so unqualified for life.

altoids are my new best friends

because hey, everyone else graduated and left me all alone in Grantham.

Ooh, snap. Yes, I did just begin my blog post with snark. Vacation brought back all my super powers, as well as the amount of energy I can hereby devote to sarcasm, so watch out, blogosphere.

Super powers? Did I say super powers? I officially deny the existence of any sort of super powers. Not possible. How ridiculous. And my super power certainly does not consist of planet-sized chunks of discontent and angst.

Do you want to know something? I do not know what I want to do with my life. How weird. I've never been at such a loss for direction. What do I want to do when I graduate?

The only thing that comes to mind is REST. But graduation does not afford time for rest, graduation means massive amounts of stress as I job-hunt and get married. I used to dream about being an author or an artist or both. You know what my dream is right now?

A part-time job. Any kind of part-time job. It just needs to be part-time so that I can REST and do NOTHING for even a single hour. So that I can spend time in a sunny room somewhere reading. I'd like to watch a whole TV show on DVD, one episode after another, just because it makes me laugh. I would like to refuse to drive anywhere for a full week. I do not want to fight so hard for time for fun things so that they're no longer fun, they're another chore. I would like my own space for longer than two months, or six months, or nine months. I want to really settle in somewhere and feel like the space is worth decorating and making my own. I'm tired of adapting and I'm tired of interacting and I'm tired of things to do in the evening and I'm just TIRED.

I did a good job of being happy for a couple of days after getting back from vacation, but now my summer is half over and I feel like the only fun I had was last week. And I won't GET to have any fun, because last year was so busy that I'm STILL writing a research paper I didn't finish for my honors project and I ALREADY have homework to complete for this coming fall. And who am I supposed to have fun with? Everyone left. (I don't mean to say Greg isn't fun to hang out with -- but one's social circle cannot consist of fiance alone.)

Tonight? Tonight I refuse to do anything I don't feel like doing. That's all there is to it.

And after I graduate? Maybe I will take advantage of "the gap year" phenomenon and do something entirely unrelated to what I do now. Just so I can tell if it's what I really want to do.

Did anyone else experience attacks of lack-of-vocational-calling-itis and extreme exhaustion when presented with the idea of graduation? Anybody?

WOW HOW DID VACATION GO SO FAST?

I'm back from Maine, for those of you who probably didn't even know that I was there. I recapped the trip at my MC blog and find myself too lackadaisical to re-post it here, or to re-re-cap.

The summer is just about half over. Goodness gracious! And there is still so much to do! I'm planning on sweeping it out of the way in one fell swoop and then relaxing my heart out the rest of the time. . . . I finished my show with Greg at Cafe Beracah, so we only have to go and take it down, now. He sold a piece, and arranged another show in the Lebanon area, and we might both have another joint show next year. We just have to follow through and figure out the details. Exciting! Yay!

I'm so tired! Have I said that? But feeling somehwat mentally rejuvenated by my vacation. Although my family is possibly heavy on the sedentary aspects of vacationing, I think it functions as a retreat, where we can really gain a little mental strength back.

Well. So I'm back. And tired but also re-energized. That's a good feeling. If I think about it, I'll ask Greg to send me some photographs of our art show that I can post online.

“there once was a man, he lived and he died, the end.”

If you’re like me, every week contains a moment of evaluation, particularly since my literary analysis classes: is the way I’m living my life worth it? Are all these responsibilities ones I want to keep? For how long? What do I want my life to look like when I am grown up and outside this college?

Tuesday I had an evaluation moment. I thought about the homework I have to do over this summer: finish a research paper, write a story, read six books, read a magazine. I needed to clean the house, I needed to find time to finish a few pieces of new art for a coffee shop in Lebanon, Pa. I wondered if my post-college life would continue on this same pattern: work all day, come home, work for several hours, allow a little reading or baking cupcakes, a little talking with Greg, and then sleep to begin it all again.

For the past month I’ve been house-sitting, and to get to the house, I drive on some very country roads. It’s a beautiful route, but a little scary around dusk or after dark. In every field there are deer, including baby deer that panic and careen across the road when they see my headlights coming. All the deer work to keep my eyes trained on the landscape, and I notice things:

The tree at the corner of Alpat and Chesnut Grove roads which has a forked hollow at its base, through which you can see the sky, and inside someone humorous placed a small garden gnome. The horizon line through this gap is so much lower than anywhere else — if I knelt there, the grass could be a tiny sea and the sky limitless.

Late-afternoon sun resting on fields and leaves, a golden glow that seems like another dimension lurking at the corners of our vision. It calls out unexpected hollows and curves in faces and the earth’s surface.

It made me think: the real sin in assignments, in responsibilities, in filling your life with things like “The Best American Short Stories,” research papers, or assigned reading is letting them narrow your vision of the world. If you cannot take time at least once in your day to take in your surroundings and observe the minutiae of daily routine (or deviations from it), then you are oblivious to the fabric of real life, its silk-fine or linen-thick threads, the sheen of a square foot of plain-colored fabric.

Of this summer, will I note only enough details to write, “There once was a man, he lived and he died, the end”?

There are plenty of people and organizations quite willing to give anyone responsibilities, tasks, assignments (including self-created assignments). And the desire to complete all of these assignments well and in a timely manner is admirable. But is it worth it?

No. Not if there is not time to contemplate a little, every day.

College coursework has given me a lot of knowledge, the examples of wise professors and a few surprisingly wise classmates, and self-discipline in abundance. So as I begin the part of my life where I am completely self-determined, my self-created assignment is this: learn to do less. Depth of craft and internal dialogue with wisdom cannot happen in a frenetic life.

The end.

Dear Mr. James Elkins,

Last night my fiance and I walked into a local gallery to look around. It was open extended hours because of Jubilee, a street-fair type shindig in Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania (where we went because we wanted funnel cake after our strawberry-picking expedition. You should try both sometime. It might make you more optimistic).

We're both artists, both trained at the same liberal arts college. His interests lean more towards graphic design and illustration, commercial and "low-brow" art. My interests are definitely more oriented towards high art, although not in the "ideal media" as you describe them in your book, "Why Art Cannot be Taught." (Those two elements of the art world which you talk about as if they are completely separate and irreconcilable.)

We walked through the gallery and frankly were not impressed by anything there (especially not the naked ladies badly photoshopped into exotic locations).

Then one print caught our joint attention -- sharply angled animals and people described by sweeping ink strokes. The dynamism of the lines, the quirkiness of the way they created figures and animals with expressive control and a minimum presence on the page -- everything about it was GOOD, head and shoulders on a mountain above everything else in the gallery. The skill of the hand that made it was undeniable and overwhelming, the subject and style both engaging.

Can you tell what I'm going to say next? Among the Yosts, Yoders, and hosts of possible high school students (I hope for their sakes, anyway, that they are continuing their education), here, claimed the small paper placard tacked to the top of the free-standing wall, was a Picasso.

I loved this experience, because the quality of the piece appeared undeniable to us, although it didn't strike us as particularly Picasso-like, and we thought it had been made by a local central Pennsylvanian. (you might argue that our education conditioned us to respond a particular way to a member of the canon -- but I would refute the accusation on the grounds that it was not the typical Picasso, and so not the kind of Picasso we were educated to appreciate).

This experience and others like it lead me to the conclusion that there is such a thing as a fact of quality in the world of art. It is nebulous, it differs from style to style, but it exists on a more than purely subjective level. It can be recognized by large groups of people over varying periods in time.

This leads me to my primary criticism of your book.

It seems to me that the elephant in the room of your argument is a question of quality. You say that art cannot be taught. That is an OK generalization, but you make it implicitly clear throughout your book that what you think cannot be taught is good-quality art. Mediocre art is made all the time, you say; it is the staple of art academies. It's only good art that you do not see being taught in art academies.

And while you take care to define teaching carefully (a definition which I do not completely agree with, but that's another argument), you do not take the time to define "art" ("I don't think we need [a] definition of art," you say, "since 'art' is whatever we end up talking about in art school. Its definition is fluid, and it changes along with our interests") or "quality." And how can you say it can't be taught if you aren't sure what you're not seeing?

Let's talk about the Picasso again. Its great qualities were its control, the obvious mastery the author showed of his medium, the perceptiveness toward form and spirit that allowed the author to choose so few lines to describe his subject so vividly, and the expressiveness of the lines (both of the author's state of mind and the spirit of the subject).

Can those things be taught? By your own arguments throughout the book, mastery of a medium's technique can absolutely be taught in an art academy or college. Control can be taught and perceptiveness can be taught ala the Bauhaus's methods (which you, oddly enough, seem ambivalent about). Expressiveness is a little bit trickier -- you can teach someone what marks express certain things, you can teach them to recognize certain forms of expressiveness in various media, and you can foster expressive mark-making and expressive work when you see it, but perhaps you cannot teach expressiveness entirely. The responsibility for that may lie primarily with the student and not with the teacher.

So why can't art be taught? You can't teach depth of thought? Witness liberal arts colleges. They do their darndest to teach depth and creativity of thought in every discipline (and in large part succeed). Do we lack engagement with the world beyond our ivory academic towers (which you claim is one thing holding us back from making quality art, i.e. art which expresses some part of our larger contemporary culture)? That's something that can be modeled by teachers and so taught to those that are willing to learn. Look at families raising children who are social activists, or the ways in which children are strangely aware of the unwritten rules of their community through observation and modeled behaviour. If students are taught to pay attention, then they are being taught to engage with a world that doesn't revolve around art history or self-reference.

The other thing you have not addressed in your book is the partnership between student and teacher that must be formed in order for effective teaching and learning to take place. You describe teaching as if it only happens in one direction, although you do make a nod to the fact that some students are unreceptive, and others more teachable, indicating that they must have some place in the process of teaching other than as a passive vessel.

So all the elements of good-quality art can, in fact, be taught. Why do I not go on to simply say "students can be taught to make good art"? As it is, I sound like I fall neatly into one of your categories.

Well, here it is: teachers and students can teach one another how to make good art, but it will inevitably be a strange hybrid between the teacher's style and the students's attempts to internalize that style in a way that makes sense to them. It is in a post-academic atmosphere in which the student seeks to harness all those elements of good art in service to their own voice, that indefinable element of good art as we understand it in the modern & postmodern age, and which is not really effectively taught.

And if that's all you're worried about teaching to students, take some lessons from Peter Elbow and Paulo Freire, who have pioneered pedagogy aiming to give students their own voice and hence empower them. . . .

Does that make sense?

Sincerely,
Mackenzie Martin

so you thought you were done with academics, eh?

Crazy, bizarre, insane -- all these things run through my head as I realize that the most interesting thing I've read all summer is written by James Elkins, and furthermore is titled "Why Art Cannot be Taught." (an idea I at least 75% disagree with.)

James Elkins is one of the very, very few contemporary art theorists in the United States (in fact, he's the only one anyone could name off hand, as the rest are primarily artists or professors rather than theorists). He's been a staple of my art curriculum here at Messiah, appearing in my intro to art history course first year and my senior seminar course this past year. Usually he's ridiculously academic and I fervently disagree with him. And I swore I would never read him again.

Until I picked up this book in Borders and flipped to the end, where I began to read his critiques of classroom critiques. Fascinating!

I've tried to get my hands on the book ever since, but I believe our library's copy is currently checked out by a professor, as it has been missing for months without going overdue. So I interlibrary loaned a copy. I'm only 1/3 of the way through at the moment, just past the dry historical summaries of art education before the late 20th century, but already I can see it will be a worthwhile read. . . .

If nothing else, Elkins always pushes me to define what I think in comprehensive, concrete terms. And what could be more perfect for me to read than a book all about the current mode of teaching in art academies (keep in mind 'current' for this book is 2001) that forces me to define what I think about the purpose of art education? Since I want to be an art professor and all. I'll need to define the ways in which I think art can be taught, the ways art instruction is most effective.

Studying under a lot of professors caused me to evaluate the characteristics of deportment which make one an effective professor, or at least the ones I want to emulate. I feel like this is a good book to argue back with, to begin determining the purposes of curricula that I think are worthwhile and the ways in which they can be most effectively structured.

And since critiqueing is one of the key elements in any studio course, I'm particularly eager to read his analyzation of critiques. It's the crux of studio learning in so many ways -- it contains elements of brainstorming, discussion of formal elements, forces students to analyze and react to artwork as well as articulate their purposes and refine the language they use to communicate those purposes (both verbal and visual). If a professor could develop a consistent pattern to their critiques that maximized teaching of all those things, they might just be a really freaking awesome professor.

This is what I'm hoping to learn from -- ironically enough -- James Elkins. I'll keep you updated. I can already feel some point-by-point rebuttals percolating in my brain, but I'm waiting to see what his conclusions are, first. I never thought I'd say this, but. . . there's an Elkins book out there that might be worth owning. (?!)

Does anyone else have recommendations about pedagogical reading? Preferably about pedagogical methods used in other classrooms than the English classroom (although Peter Elbow, Paulo Freire, and James Elkins would probably have quite a good pedagogical -- I can't help it, I love that word -- conversation together).

do you want to read something amusing?

Check it out.

Peary Manilow visits our office.

Today I have a few great things to bring to you. One is Dan Custer's latest blog post, which is full of puns I happily aided and abetted.

The second is a website called The Morning News. It's a widely varied online magazine -- some things funny, some things wildly inappropriate but funny, some things serious, some personal essays. Very interesting. The kind of thing that makes me want to write a lot of profound or funny things, which makes it a sort of success.

Summer strikes me as good practice for being out in the real world. It's a normal 8-5 job. I'm practicing those skills that will hopefully allow me to keep making work even when I'm grown up and am no longer prompted by project deadlines set by professors. The only thing regulating my development is my own internal drive for either balance or perfection -- equilibrium or change. Weird.

"My little show in July," as I'm calling it (sounds so anti-climactic after "senior show"), is just that -- a cafe in Lebanon, PA, in partnership with the Lebanon Arts Factory, hosts solo exhibitions of local artists every couple of months. They were looking for participants, so Greg & I volunteered to jointly produce 10-15 pieces, which we're hoping to install July 3. We'll have a reception on July 10, but I won't be around because I'll be on family vacation.

I'm taking my ideas about senior show and doing a little twist -- I've been wanting to do figures, lately, I liked printing on clear things, and I found these amazing old photographic slides on glass. So I'm combining all these things at the intersection of shadow boxes -- glass in wood frames about 2.5" from the wall. I'm doing portraits (with Greg as my model) in a really linear fashion in linoleum cuts, and printing them in various shades of transparent colors & grey. Does that make sense? I'll post more information as I have it available. I already have five of them mapped out, which is a great relief. Now I just have to get a move on and produce a lot of things. We'll see how that goes.

And now, I'm off to my regularly scheduled programming (I mean work schedule).

today i learned that some people book their honeymoons through costco.

It made me chuckle a little, but actually made a weird sort of sense. Sort of. Maybe I'm just becoming used to costco's weirding ways.

Andrew & Meredith got married! Wooh! Congratulations again, guys! I feel like we will probably be congratulating you for months. Maybe we should aim to congratulate you for as long as you've been dating? =)

Also, OUCH. Summer is in full progress, and I am subsequently the owner of a painful sunburn. Not the worst I've ever had, but pretty bad. While my face, shoulders, & arms got a little burned, it's my legs (which never, ever see the sun) which fried. I guess that's what I get for wearing shorts to mow the Forsythe's lawn. So today I'm all about the aloe vera gel and wearing a skirt to avoid the added friction of jeans or even slacks. And vowing never to let the evil sun near me again.

Also, I am vowing to NOT STRESS OUT. NO MATTER WHAT. I spent too much of the school year stressing out. Now I'm done. =) It helps to not stress out that I have now started making things for our little show in July! Yay! So has Greg. So that's a good sign, a very good sign.

Hmmm. . . maybe I should've investigated the BBC for something fun to share with you before I posted. =) can't think of anything more to say. But it's OK. I'll do better next time.

The End.

yesterday i found out you can order coffins online from costco.

I just laughed a lot, although maybe I should have been appalled.

Greg & I were having a discussion the other day about what things make us feel like we're living a healthy life. For him, healthiness involves a lot of exercise. And I do mean a lot. Walking a mile every day is just the beginning. For me, eating well (taking my time cooking and trying new recipes, using fresh ingredients), sleeping a lot, and having enough time to read, digest, and reflect equal healthiness. Summer is affording us more time to do all of that and even play some video games besides. . . unfortunately it isn't very motivating to me to work on the show pieces for July!

Stephen King, in "On Writing," describes how when he was teaching English his novel-writing nearly came to a halt because so much of his creative energy was taken up by teaching. Whereas when he worked in factories he would write like a fiend in all his spare time. To a lesser degree, I sympathize with him. I like my job at the publications office a lot, but it certainly uses up a lot of my creative energy. It is hard to motivate myself to work on artwork in the evenings, although if I could impose a regular schedule on myself it would probably be better.

Maybe I could steal a sandwich from Lottie over lunch and walk down to the warehouse to spend 45 minutes or so every day working. That would at least help.

Does anyone have suggestions about how to get yourself into a routine, how you slip your work into the cracks in your actual job?

Stephen King's "On Writing":

Turns out the parts that are actually about writing are a lot more boring than the parts that are about his coke addition or alcoholism or in-general-crazy early life.

Does that sound bad? That sounds bad. Let me start again:

It's summer. I'm house-sitting for a very pampered cat and very pampered gardens in a large and beautiful house. I'm trying to plan a wedding, which is turning out to be both less and more complicated than you'd think. I have a wedding dress (sort of, in the way that you "have" anything you've ordered that will not arrive until September) which is not very bride-like but which suits me perfectly. I have not updated in a long time. I have been tackling that gigantic, 73-page (12 pt font Times New Roman) reading list I received from Writing Seminar.

Stephen King's "On Writing" is the first from that list to make it into my hands. And. . . I'm not impressed.

Possibly because I've realized that at heart, I will only ever be a dilettante (dabbler, trifler, amateur) writer. (A trifler makes me think of someone who eats lots of flan. Because a flan is the closest I could ever come to envisioning a trifle.) Sure, plenty of people have said I'm good at it, and I've learned to work hard at it, but. . . I'm always thinking of ideas for artwork. All the passion and enjoyment seems to be on the side of art.

Do you think that's OK? If I'm never any more than "good at writing in college," will I regret it? But I suppose I can always write my first novel at fifty if I decide I want to do that instead of teaching art (which is hopefully what I'll be doing). I still intend to write, on occasion, but I think it's time I 'fessed up and went whole hog for art -- and quit beating around the bush and trying to be perfect at everything.

Sometimes, you've just got to say no to something really beautiful and important, to get to the thing that really suits you. Maybe?

Pontificating, even though I am merely 21, makes me chuckle a little. But I'm also serious.

The rest of summer seems. . . nice. Nice in the way that it's too quiet and I sort of expect it to leap out and strangle me right around the next weekend (I mean bend). I guess I'm still used to the semester. =) So far, though, summer has kept its hands in the air and refrained from making any aggressive moves.

Which I'm OK with.

Well, then. The last few days have left me absurdly happy. It's amazing what a difference a few days of relaxation with no deadlines and no rush makes on my psyche. It really is really, really amazing. My mind isn't broken after all. It just needed a little more breathing room.

It's also turning out that Greg and I are ridiculously organized thinkers-ahead. At least, I would like to think so. Barely more than a week after we got engaged, we've decided things! How great!

And. . . yes, it's also been raining for three days straight.

Oh, and I also found a bike at a yard sale. Kind of beat up, but not too bad. And not too expensive. Whee!

Well. Welcome to May. Everyone is graduating in exactly a week (give or take a few daylight hours). I'm getting married (date yet to be determined due to extremely complicated circumstances like my massive amounts of indecision). 'Nuff said.

Oh, also, I have every assignment for this past semester completed. Wooh! Time to start on the summer homework. . . ?

in which i say lots of bad words (in my head)

Oh. No. I've become one of those people I despise, who keep a blog but only update once a month!

In my defense, it's because I have a crapload of work that I don't like. That means most of my energy is taken up by work. The other portion of my energy is taken up by whining and acting melodramatic about how much I don't like doing this work.

My senior show piece almost fell down today. I need to think of a great way to thank Daniel Finch for keeping an eye on my piece every day and for calling me when something was wrong and for keeping it from falling down until I got there. And then fixing it while I just sort of lended a hand.

Oh man, talk about drama. Next time I do a sculpture, I will find a less maintenance-intense way of hanging it. Or else I will just make something that hangs on a wall. (I'm starting to say that without any real conviction. . . I might consider doing an installation again.)

Tomorrow I have a paper due, today a copy of my honors project is due to the English faculty so I have to quickly finish revising and then send it to Professor Perrin, Monday my portfolio and resume are due for senior show class, next Wednesday I give my poetry reading, then it's just my research paper, modern art history final exam, dis-assembling the show, and finishing my writing seminar paper. I think. I hope I didn't forget anything.

So. Whew. Keeping my show alive. . . . good times, good times.

I did it! I made a fried egg/egg sunny-side up/dippy egg without breaking the yolk!

This is my good news for the week.

finally the weather's turning

I just realized: I haven't posted since before senior show. Wow! That is a long time. In fact, I haven't posted since before spring break. If you want to read my immediate post-show reflections, you can catch up here, at my Messiah College blog.

I'm just trying to touch ground again now. The whole week before show, busy with installing (I only made it to one class period that entire week), I realized that there is a sort of purity to those days when you are so focused on a demanding project that you completely lost yourself. There is no more time to prevaricate, to distract yourself. The piece must be finished, it must be finished now. And if you are lucky, the piece is worth pouring yourself into until it's done.

Making it to church the day after show opening surprised me. One, that I was able to get up in time surprised me. Two, liturgical churches have a season of Easter, not just one Sunday. So the entire liturgy was again a celebration of Easter and resurrection, full of delight and loud, triumphant hymns. You can imagine how appropriate it felt to me! I came out of a long night, whose labor was worthwhile, into a celebration.

Now, after living in the gallery for a week, I haven't been to see my show in a couple of days, and that's alright. I've stopped worrying that it might fall down. I've never done something so ambitious, so risky, so hard, or so worthwhile (and yes, I'll admit that the fact that so many people really loved it helped make it worthwhile!).

Maybe that's why I'm letting it go without any of that post-show depression some people are feeling. I can't imagine doing anything differently, trying any harder, and in the wake of it all I'm exhausted, but things like stealing 30 minutes for video games, the sun today instead of the predicted thunderstorms, the taste of tomatoes, the sound of the Flaming Lips in my ears -- everything has a little more savor, a little more delight taken in the fact that I am taking time to notice them.

It sounds dramatic, but it's true. There's still a lot to do, but one gigantic load is gone from my shoulders. And I'm a little sad that there are no more nights of camaraderie in the gallery working, but mostly it is all very good.

"he who drove out the cold"

Oooh, look. Before I freak out because my rough draft is due in two days and my senior show keeps changing every critique period, I'm taking a deep, deep breath and grabbing a cup of coffee. And I'm evaluating. Aren't you proud?

I had my last critique. Nobody can offer me any more suggestions now, not unless I ask them. Deep breath. There's no way I can fail to complete the project. There's a way that yes, it could fail to be lovely and dramatic and captivating, but right now, I can't help that. Its effect on viewers will vary by temperament anyway. It's between them and the work, and at some point I need to at least pretend to let go.

I have a rough draft of the paper. The minimum-of-20-pages paper. It is not the correct length, yet, but neither is it utterly incoherent. And as of Sunday at least one person in my class hadn't even opened a word document for it. So I am not hopelessly behind. And Professor Perrin says that I've "figured out a way to outsmart the project," so that's good. Initially I was not in the least interested in the project. Now I am, mostly because I am talking about artists in it.

I've decided, though, that I don't want to be Daniel Finch any more when I grow up. There are a lot of things about his teaching style that I love and that I would like to borrow, yes, but I would rather be Professor Perrin when I grow up. Because she understands criticism very well (she's one of the most perceptive critics I know, which means I end up changing the most when she critiques my work) and she also understands encouragement (so even though I end up completely changing everything, I'm getting better and she always takes care to let me know that and that the seed of what I really wanted is coming through, somewhere).

And actually, maybe I just want to be me when I grow up, except perceptive and encouraging and critical all at once. And fun. Don't forget fun. And maybe eccentric like none other (I'm apparently well on my way to achieving that one).

As of now, my tentative plan is to leave on Sunday, March 16 for home. Get up horribly early, drive like a maniac (by which I mean perfectly safely but for a long period of time), get home, and then probably start doing more homework. But at my house, which is an important distinction.

how i forgot daylight savings. twice.

Read on dear reader, and I'll tell you a tale of woe. A tale of a multiplicity of stupidities, which will shock and dazzle the mind and hopefully delight your sense of humor. For, lo and behold, not being content to forget daylight savings once, I forgot it twice.

Yesterday Greg and I arrived at St. Luke's, having made heroic efforts to leave on time for once, to find that the doors were closed and no one was handing out bulletins any longer. "Oh, well," we thought, "We're only three or four minutes late." So we walk in, find a seat, and lo and behold, they start singing. But they're not singing the first song listed in the bulletin, oh no! I take a glance at my neighbor's hymnal and realize they're singing the recessional. You know, the one that comes at the END of the service. We're crazy confused. Then Greg realizes that this weekend must be daylight savings. We leave without having been at any kind of church service.

After church, we go to Greg's family's house in Lebanon for lunch, then I do homework all afternoon, and we eat dinner with some friends of his later. I do not go back to my apartment all day. I go back to my apartment around midnight to go to bed, because I've got class in the morning.

I wake up this morning, look at my watch, and realize that although my alarm says 9:25, it is in fact 10:25. I forgot to change my alarm clock. I miss swimming class.

The End.




In other news, this is the most awesome internet video I've seen in a while. . . and no, don't mock me if I'm coming late to internet trends. I've got better things to think about than internet movies all the time.

so that's where sci-fi movies get their laser noises from

Small brown birds in the trees next to the Union today were yelling back and forth at each other. Their three-note calls sound exactly like really cheesy laser beam sound effects from low-budget video games.

So you know your experience of nature is mediated by technology when. . . .

Hmmm, apparently I am depressing when I worry about life after graduation. Well, since this isn't required reading anyway, I don't apologize.

Yes, that is me being combative. It is an epidemic. I try to temper the combative with good listening skills when I talk to my professors and during critique. Other times? Maybe not so much.

In an attempt to here temper my depressive with something else, I'm reduced to talking about the weather. It has largely been AMAZING for the past few days. Yesterday, when we went to Washington, DC, it hit 60 degrees. I was going to say "no sweat," but I'm pretty sure that people who didn't check the weather before the trip did, in fact, sweat.

It was the best field trip I've ever been on, I think. Megan and I hung out for a long time, and Greg came down. So there was a small group of people that I like who all wanted to go the same places anyway and who wanted to eat lunch around the same time. And Megan and I both like making fun of art history. So. That satisfied my combative side for the day.

But next time we take a day trip to the city, if we're not on a bus with like fifty other art majors for a sponsored field trip, I think we'll use mass transit. Seriously.

A little more good news on the western front (get it? It's like almost a pun on the title "all's quiet on the western front" except not really): I have written fifteen pages! Granted, it is fifteen pages of utter crap, but it is only 5 pages away from the total word count of my final draft. Oh frabjous day, caloo, calay! Or something along those lines.

In not joyous news, I realized that I cut the wood wrong for the base of my project and the proctor doesn't really know how to use a router bit and there are a zillion other people wanting to use the table saw, which, ironically, the proctor feels more comfortable with. Hmmmm. . . .

way too self-aware, or maybe that's a form of defensiveness, to trick myself into authenticity

Does anyone have any tips on how to avoid having a nervous breakdown?

They say that when you're uber-stressed, you're only functioning at 75% of your brain capacity. I think that could well be true. I certainly feel like at least 25% of my life is missing at the moment (my favorite 25%, the part including fun books and movies and time with friends and happy days where I don't hate consciousness).

I have been reading a book called The situation and the story about writing non-fiction (specifically memoirs) which states that one must ruthlessly examine oneself in all one's complications and implicit-ness with events in order to write good non-fiction. It also states that you cannot describe a sitation and have it be good writing; you must engage with the situation at hand and make something out of it, work hard to come up with some kind of wisdom from it, or insight into oneself, that you can then offer to the reader. Otherwise you might simply be whining and boring your audience to death.

So in this blog post I'm practicing: How do I engage with the stress at hand and make something out of my interaction with it? According to Vivian Gornick (author of the book mentioned above), this cannot be done facilely or quickly. One must mine oneself for truth and invent a speaking voice which is above all a truth-speaking voice.

First I'll probably have to implicate myself in my situation of stress: on Sunday I read a fun book instead of simply working my brains out. This simultaneously made me happy and miserable, because I escaped for a few hours and then came back to a world where two less hours remained between me and the deadlines of doom.

Implicating oneself isn't hard, in my opinion. Of course, maybe the implications I ought to be discussing are more along the lines of Do I want to complete these projects at all, let alone on time? Because maybe I don't. At least I'm comfortable with and cognizant of all the difficulties of my current projects and assignments. When they're gone, more will replace them. When I'm done with this semester, there will be another semester.

And when I'm done with that semester, there's a real grown-up life that I'm certainly nowhere near ready to handle, involving finding a real job, owning a car, finding a place to live, and things like insurance.

So is my driven, perfectionistic work ethic being sabotaged by myself?

And theoretically through examining yourself thus you reach wisdom. Of some kind. Mostly the examples Vivian Gornick gave were extremely depressing sorts of "wisdom." And I sort of refuse the adolescent ease of writing about unrelieved despair or bitterness. I refuse the adolescent impulse to write something that will simply be worth looking at because of its shock value.

So maybe that means I have to end this blog post writing about something lovely. Like the package Grandma Beulah sent me last week full of delicious foods (we've eaten all the butterscotch brownies already!) or the Diana Wynne Jones book I partially read last week.

Or maybe, to complicate things further, I should write about how much I love the printing process and my studio, how at home and centered I feel when I am there working, even though I am afraid this project will not be worth 8 or 9 months of my life, even though I am afraid it will not be done on time, even though I am afraid nobody will like it.

I should talk about the words painted on the floor under one of my newly-white walls: "THIS IS THE MEASURE."

"to letter," yes, a verb

I realized that I haven't posted since Febrary 5. Eighteen days ago.

In those 18 days, many things have happened. Thank goodness I can't remember most of them, because otherwise I might be completely overwhelmed and unable to move forward with tomorrow.

Senior show, my writing seminar capstone paper, my poetry project, my research paper, everything is pretty much ungodly. I've taken to lying on the floor and wailing "EVEN JESUS WOULDN'T DO THIS MUCH HOMEWORK!"

Whether or not Jesus really would submit to this much homework, I don't know. Probably he'd be alright at staying motivated.

Luckily, I am surrounded by people that are hilarious. So things are mostly alright.

oh, mackenzie. so angsty about the semester. also titled "a definite independence."

One of my art professors, Ted Prescott, talked in our senior show class yesterday about "breaking away." Basically, he said he was interested in seeing work that we cared about. Even if that meant work that wasn't approved of by the faculty. Eventually, every artist needs to break away to make what they care about. He even went so far as to say that breaking away is a healthy thing, a necessary step in the life of an artist.

It made me happy, because that's been my whole year so far. I've spent it feeling combative when people try to direct my work in directions I don't care about, I've answered back with definite negatives, and I've spent this year figuring out exactly what I do care about and setting my priorities accordingly.

Nobody can find your artistic path for you. It just isn't possible. For that matter, nobody can teach you how to be organized or how to be successful at what you do. Every person has to find their own way around to whatever goal they really want. I feel like that's why graduation is so hard for so many people. Finally they're spinning their wheels, trying to get to their goal (or to even find their goal) but the path isn't set out for them and nobody can really give them advice or help them to get there. It's up to you.

Even with individual projects this is true. Nobody can tell you how to get to the end of a particular poem. You just have to work through the poem until you know what you want and what it needs. And then you have to work through several methods of getting to the goal you've determined. Then determine the one you like best or that best achieves your goals.

That's one of the things I learned over J-term break when I researched Elizabeth Bishop. I went to Vassar College to see her manuscripts and poem drafts and some of her artwork. In her poem drafts, I discovered a mind struggling with breaking away, not just from conventions or prior training or the expectations of professors, but a mind struggling to break away from the previous drafts of a poem until it met her interior criteria for approval.

The least number of drafts I ever saw from Elizabeth Bishop was five, and in most cases the number was closer to 15. With every new draft of the poem she was breaking away from what she thought she had to write to find something that was more truly hers, that was more truly what she wanted or needed or meant to write.

I also learned that she was obsessive and painted with watercolors and has terrible handwriting.

But in any case, this week my manifesto consists of this: avoid histories. None of this "When I started the poem I intended. . . " or "When I was five I liked to write. . ." or "This professor gave me this feedback and so this is how to piece got to be this way." No. One must break away. One must say, "This is the object. This is what it means." And then whatever audience happens to be near can critique as they like. But I reserve the right to politely ignore what they're saying and do what I feel the pieces need.

Maybe that is erroneous thinking. But nobody can show me my own path, so it's at least my own mistake. That makes it a step further along the right path -- my path -- than anything else could possibly be.

i hate senior year. basically.

I officially have six weeks until my senior show.

WOW.

I've felt so combative ever since finding that out that I insulted every single person in my senior show group and went on to insult other friends of friends for "being good at everything."

Not to their faces or anything. But I definitely yelled for hours. How am I supposed to complete my senior show and my 30 page paper for writing seminar and my senior honors project all in the same semester? That is the question at hand. It's not a very happy question. Hopefully it's one that has an answer.

Anyway, since then, I've just been punchy beyond belief. I forgot where the toilet-flusher-lever-thing on my toilet was, for instance.

Basically all this goes to say that I am thoroughly unhappy with starting spring semester and I can't handle my life. And if I had to go back and do the double major all over again, I would have argued and fought until I got to take the senior writing seminar in my junior year.

And on my desk are two fun books I got for J-term break and didn't finish. . . they're looking woefully at me, and I know I won't see the inside of a fun book for the next three months.

and then there were two semesters left. . . .

I've sat and thought and thought about what I should say about my trip to Vassar College. I did, in the end, learn a lot about Elizabeth Bishop. But I had to first learn to decipher her horrific handwriting. No joke. It's worse than mine, even. It's worse than my brothers'. It's worse than anyone I know, except maybe my anthropology teacher's. His might have been on par with EB's.

The weekend really was fantastic. I got used to the general splendor and made fun of everyone who looked posh in my head, so that was alright. Poughkeepsie is kind of a sketch town, though, at least the part of it that we found our way around. The waterfront is lovely, though. The weather was awful. We checked out the surrounding countryside, which seems to include a lot of wineries/vineyards (I learned that they are not exactly the same thing) and ethnic food (mmmm. . . indian and japanese food!).

Ooh! And on the way up to Vassar, we stopped in Scranton. Yes, Scranton, Pennsylvania, home of the Office. We found Poor Richard's Pub, actually, which resides in a bowling alley in a mildly sketch part of Scranton. Those of you who are wild Office enthusiasts will remember that they're always going over to Poor Richard's for drinks or mentioning it and once it actually appears in the show. Unfortunately, it was closed. But we still got a picture of the sign.

Yes, we're nerds. But the funnest kind of nerds, in my opinion.

Of course, I might be biased.

And now? The first day of classes. It feels like the first day of the rest of my execution. Except that my execution will last for another semester after this one yet. Sigh. Hopefully this semester will be calmer, though. . . . hopefully.

OK, loves! Have a good day! Learn lots! Make good choices!