.... [awkward silence]
For once I don't think I have anything to say.
Watched Napoleon Dynamite commentary tonight with my brothers and Mom, had milkshakes. Didn't think much all day, therefore the lack of reflection in this blog post. Read about 700 pages. Discovered that I love Lloyd Alexander, but his gollum-esque character irks me. Very much a Tolkien rip-off. Quiz meet this morning was fun. The B quizzers are so cute.... Everyone give a collective "awwwww...." Discovered that, as a spectator, quizzing makes me feel weird - should probably analyze why but don't have the energy.
Actually, I don't even seem to have the energy to talk in full sentences.
Goodnight all.
Saturday, March 05, 2005
Friday, March 04, 2005
Seating Issues
I'm here! Home safe and sound! Yay for home! Must go to bed now because of quiz meet early in the morning.
The best and funniest part of my trip: between Cincinatti and Huntsville I sat in the wrong row, directly behind the seat I was actually supposed to occupy. No one noticed. I didn't notice until halfway through the flight. Is that not hilarious?! I feel like I should make a funny dramatization of it.
I can now say that I sat in the wrong seat for an entire flight.
[uncontrollable laughter]
Should that be this funny, or am I only slap-happy from being home?
The best and funniest part of my trip: between Cincinatti and Huntsville I sat in the wrong row, directly behind the seat I was actually supposed to occupy. No one noticed. I didn't notice until halfway through the flight. Is that not hilarious?! I feel like I should make a funny dramatization of it.
I can now say that I sat in the wrong seat for an entire flight.
[uncontrollable laughter]
Should that be this funny, or am I only slap-happy from being home?
The Plan
Today I'm headed home. I was up till one last night packing and doing a load of laundry so I have underwear to wear today (I thought that was kind of important). And.... I was bad and skipped my first class this morning so I could pack and clean up before I leave. I feel like that's pretty important stuff to do though, and we were only going to be sketching small objects again, which I can do very well on my own over break. So, I skipped. I have some errands to run yet, and I need to eat breakfast sometime, but I'm pretty much set I think. I leave at about 4 pm PA time, and my flight leaves at 5:20 pm PA time.
It's so ironic that my body is finally on a schedule this week, and now I'm going home where I'll mess it all up again by getting too much sleep. = )
I should arrive home about 11 or 11:30 PA time, 10 or 10:30 AL time. I'm sure you'll hear from me after that, considering that I have become a compulsive blogger. Do you realize that I've been blogging pretty much every day for five months now? That's a lot of words! If anyone ever tried to catch up on the happenings of my life by reading the back issues of my blog they'd have their work seriously cut out for them.
I have to swim over spring break.... why on earth do the life fitness people not give us a break? OK, if they expect me to work out for an hour, they are seriously mistaken. Frankly, if they expect anyone to actually work out, they are ..... well, that word's not polite. But you get the idea.
Ok, I'm going to stop compulsively typing now and go eat breakfast. Good-bye everyone! [waves hand wildly at computer screen] Bye!
It's so ironic that my body is finally on a schedule this week, and now I'm going home where I'll mess it all up again by getting too much sleep. = )
I should arrive home about 11 or 11:30 PA time, 10 or 10:30 AL time. I'm sure you'll hear from me after that, considering that I have become a compulsive blogger. Do you realize that I've been blogging pretty much every day for five months now? That's a lot of words! If anyone ever tried to catch up on the happenings of my life by reading the back issues of my blog they'd have their work seriously cut out for them.
I have to swim over spring break.... why on earth do the life fitness people not give us a break? OK, if they expect me to work out for an hour, they are seriously mistaken. Frankly, if they expect anyone to actually work out, they are ..... well, that word's not polite. But you get the idea.
Ok, I'm going to stop compulsively typing now and go eat breakfast. Good-bye everyone! [waves hand wildly at computer screen] Bye!
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Stupid Essay
Well, that was a speedy resolution to one of my problems. I have a roommate for next year. One who sleeps at night and everything! = )
And.... the poetic identity crisis is still going strong, only it's been joined by an all-around academic identity crisis, or at least an all-around ability-crisis. I feel like I can't do anything, I don't want to do anything, I'm sick of trying, I can never be the best or even good, I hate everything, I just want to go home. Someplace where they already know how incompetent I am and they love me anyway!
Can I just say that I hate Bible papers really a lot? I mean really really really a lot. I keep thinking (with the procrastinating half of my brain) that if I leave it long enough, it will write itself just as easily as the roommate question resolved itself. And then my perfectionistic half starts screaming and wailing and saying, "It won't be any good! I know it won't be! I don't want to turn in anything that sucks!" And my evil half (Yes, that was three halves) says "Hey, I wonder if you can get someone to tell you the answers?" And then the other two halves start beating it with sticks. After which the fourth half shouts for them to all shut up, and of course they don't. It's like a dual-personality shouting match in my head. No wonder I can't write the stupid essay.
Alright then, I'm going to go write the stupid essay.
And.... the poetic identity crisis is still going strong, only it's been joined by an all-around academic identity crisis, or at least an all-around ability-crisis. I feel like I can't do anything, I don't want to do anything, I'm sick of trying, I can never be the best or even good, I hate everything, I just want to go home. Someplace where they already know how incompetent I am and they love me anyway!
Can I just say that I hate Bible papers really a lot? I mean really really really a lot. I keep thinking (with the procrastinating half of my brain) that if I leave it long enough, it will write itself just as easily as the roommate question resolved itself. And then my perfectionistic half starts screaming and wailing and saying, "It won't be any good! I know it won't be! I don't want to turn in anything that sucks!" And my evil half (Yes, that was three halves) says "Hey, I wonder if you can get someone to tell you the answers?" And then the other two halves start beating it with sticks. After which the fourth half shouts for them to all shut up, and of course they don't. It's like a dual-personality shouting match in my head. No wonder I can't write the stupid essay.
Alright then, I'm going to go write the stupid essay.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Crisis - AGAIN
The verdict is in: I am not an RA. Ah well. The frantic search for roommates begins.
Another verdict is in: I'm having a poetic identity crisis.... Why does hearing good poetry always make me feel so ... inadequate, if not downright inferior? I went to a poetry reading tonight by one of the faculty. Matthew Roth, to be exact. Professor Perrin introduced him, and she was positive enough to make me very biased in his favor, and then I heard the poetry.... And I was captivated. I remember little of the actual sense of his words - it was probably all very modern - but I can still hear his voice and those music-smooth words echoing in my head. And now I feel inferior. How did I even dare to dream of writing poetry?
I had a rant planned - actually I wrote it out and everything - about how art is not a below-par way of glorifying God (and, coincedentally making a living), but I'm too tired right now to make it coherent.... So you'll just have to wait, or else you might never hear it. You could try provoking me into ranting, but I might just burst into tears at this point. I want it to be spring break so I can be at home with my family without all these frighteningly brilliant people making me feel all uncomfortable and motivated. I no sooner feel slightly at home with my abilities and my calling and then suddenly there comes a storm, other people's brilliance and my own inferiority complexes combining to make me extremely uncomfortable with myself, my talents, and.... well.... everything in general.
So.... I think that means it must be time for bed. Just as soon as I finish my anthropology reading....
Another verdict is in: I'm having a poetic identity crisis.... Why does hearing good poetry always make me feel so ... inadequate, if not downright inferior? I went to a poetry reading tonight by one of the faculty. Matthew Roth, to be exact. Professor Perrin introduced him, and she was positive enough to make me very biased in his favor, and then I heard the poetry.... And I was captivated. I remember little of the actual sense of his words - it was probably all very modern - but I can still hear his voice and those music-smooth words echoing in my head. And now I feel inferior. How did I even dare to dream of writing poetry?
I had a rant planned - actually I wrote it out and everything - about how art is not a below-par way of glorifying God (and, coincedentally making a living), but I'm too tired right now to make it coherent.... So you'll just have to wait, or else you might never hear it. You could try provoking me into ranting, but I might just burst into tears at this point. I want it to be spring break so I can be at home with my family without all these frighteningly brilliant people making me feel all uncomfortable and motivated. I no sooner feel slightly at home with my abilities and my calling and then suddenly there comes a storm, other people's brilliance and my own inferiority complexes combining to make me extremely uncomfortable with myself, my talents, and.... well.... everything in general.
So.... I think that means it must be time for bed. Just as soon as I finish my anthropology reading....
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Prolific - Good or Evil?
Ok, so, it was a mistake to post before the end of the day. When will I learn that some of the funnest stuff happens at dinner? Never post before dinner! And quite a bit of my thinking happens at work! Never post before work!
I was thinking today (at work of course) that I write too much. And I mean way too much. I write at least 500 words a day in one venue or another, and that's on days without essays to write. I blog every day. Who in their right mind is going to read that much print?! It's depressing to think that I write so much not even my closest friends could possibly motivate themselves enough to read all of it.
We say "prolific" with awe, as if it's something good. But what if it's not? We never stop to ask ourselves if being prolific is a trial or not! We just assume it's a gift! But who wants to write if nothing good comes out? Or if no one reads it?
I've decided that I have some serious blogging ego issues. I like to see my words in print. Sad thing is, I'm not likely to stop blogging either, unless my readers cry out for it to stop (if this describes you, comment already! Oh wait. You won't have read this. Nevermind.). Otherwise I might keep pontificating in my little sector of the internet forever.
I dedicate this post to the few people who actually read my blog. Faithfully or not.... at least you read it. I even forgive you if you skim. I can't really blame you after all.
Today's favorite memory: Walking to dinner behind a group of (apparently attractive) girls. I noticed, about the same time they did, a large snowman off to the left of the Lottie entrance, and some random guy videotaping it. At that instant, the snowman spoke.... Something about "icy hot snowman is available".... Yes. They actually built a snowman around a guy. And he actually stayed in there for, I hear, several hours. Now that was funny performance art.
I was thinking today (at work of course) that I write too much. And I mean way too much. I write at least 500 words a day in one venue or another, and that's on days without essays to write. I blog every day. Who in their right mind is going to read that much print?! It's depressing to think that I write so much not even my closest friends could possibly motivate themselves enough to read all of it.
We say "prolific" with awe, as if it's something good. But what if it's not? We never stop to ask ourselves if being prolific is a trial or not! We just assume it's a gift! But who wants to write if nothing good comes out? Or if no one reads it?
I've decided that I have some serious blogging ego issues. I like to see my words in print. Sad thing is, I'm not likely to stop blogging either, unless my readers cry out for it to stop (if this describes you, comment already! Oh wait. You won't have read this. Nevermind.). Otherwise I might keep pontificating in my little sector of the internet forever.
I dedicate this post to the few people who actually read my blog. Faithfully or not.... at least you read it. I even forgive you if you skim. I can't really blame you after all.
Today's favorite memory: Walking to dinner behind a group of (apparently attractive) girls. I noticed, about the same time they did, a large snowman off to the left of the Lottie entrance, and some random guy videotaping it. At that instant, the snowman spoke.... Something about "icy hot snowman is available".... Yes. They actually built a snowman around a guy. And he actually stayed in there for, I hear, several hours. Now that was funny performance art.
Ah, Dr. Cobb
"You can commodify anything," said Dr. Cobb, belaboring his point about American consumerism. I could barely contain the urge to shout (yes, right in the middle of anthropology) "You can food anything if you eat it!" As it was, I contented myself with mentally berating Dr. Cobb: "Get Fuzzy, man!"
After all, he's always telling us to practice cultural relativism! Get Fuzzy is an irreplacable culture of its own, made to be treasured and passed down to future generations of slap-happy students.
*sigh of contentment* Get Fuzzy. It makes my life so much more fun.
After all, he's always telling us to practice cultural relativism! Get Fuzzy is an irreplacable culture of its own, made to be treasured and passed down to future generations of slap-happy students.
*sigh of contentment* Get Fuzzy. It makes my life so much more fun.
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