Why can't I write emails? or make phone calls?
Today's list of Things To Do is made up entirely of emails that need writing and phone calls that need, um, calling. I've managed to get through most of them, but it seriously took me all morning, with little rewards in between (I'll just send that one email to set up lunch with my friend, and then I can have breakfast!). There aren't even all that many--like 4 emails and 3 calls--so the length of time it's taken me to do this is totally unjustified. And none of them are scary. The phone calls have been, so far,
1) to tell my landlord that I forgot to leave him the rent and will give it to him on Monday when I get back in town (and since I'm never late with the rent, and am a very good tenant, there was no chance that he'd be mad about this), and
2) to ask how much doctoral regalia costs and when I can come in to order some.
The third call is slightly trickier because it's about an apartment for next year. But seriously. This is so pathetic. And that's the only thing left on my list for the day. Maybe I'll eat a sandwich and then make a new list of things I want to ask about when I make that call? And then actually call? And hope that I get voice mail and can redirect the entire conversation over to email?
Yes, I am that lame.
More productively, I've been revising my article like crazy this week, and I think that it's much better. I can't finish up until I'm back in HomeCity, though, because I don't have all the books I need. Still, I think that I'm very much on track to get it done by the end of next week, which is quite satisfying.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Regression
On Friday afternoon, the Class of '97 seemed a respectable lot. A handful of Ph.D.s and advanced ABDs, some lawyers, several MBAs doing arts administration and nonprofit organization, public servants of various stripes, and a surprisingly large number of people working at animation studios. Nearly everyone seems to live in Brooklyn, DC, and San Francisco--nice, grownup cities where they presumably pay rent and do all those usual adult things. And evidently the early 30s are not only the age of perfection, but the age of reproduction, as well: babies were EVERYWHERE. Their presence is partly attributable, I think, to my college's alumni's habit of intermarriage; entire family units were plainly in evidence.
In the beginning, we seemed civilized. Ordinary. Even dull. And yet, by Sunday afternoon, the dorm where we were all housed was--there is no other word for it--trashed.
Some of this, such as the cracker crumbs embedded in the hall carpet, may have actually been due to the presence of babies. But overwhelmingly the trashing was the result of plainly regressive behavior on the part of the reunion attendees. The floor of the lounge was covered--covered--in chocolate sprinkles and spilled beer. Coffee tables were scarred by rather inept efforts at uncapping beer bottles without benefit of an opener. Folding tables sloped to the floor, their legs buckled underneath them. Furniture had been dragged outside and left there. Fireworks of sketchy provenance had been fired into the outer walls of the building (in all fairness, I should say that they weren't actually aimed at the building; they just went--directly and with force--in that direction). At one point late on Saturday night, the cushions from all of the many sofas in the lobby were gathered and made into an enormous pile; one couch, denuded, was drawn up to the edge of the pile and used as a diving board. I'm sure that some of its springs were broken--surprisingly, no necks were--and only some of the cushions made it back onto the (wrong) sofas. The entrance to my hall had developed a stench so awful that one had to hold one's breath when passing through it. Other, older reunions had been repeatedly raided for beer, and empty bottles littered every public area. Clouds of marijuana smoke drifted across the quad. And one of the many old campus bands reconvened for a performance of their "hit single," whose name I don't know but whose chorus is "Fuck you, fuck me, fuck everybody; you suck, you suck, you suck big time."
What happened?
Perhaps it was the heady combination of escape from adulthood (we didn't have to clean up our own messes) with escape from studenthood (we couldn't be punished for anything that we did). Our age was showing, though. Even the childless had a hard time making it through the days without a nap, and I found that sleeping from 4am-12pm really doesn't work for me anymore.
Fatigue notwithstanding, I had a great time. I roomed with a really good friend that I'd been out of touch with for a while, and, in the manner of actual roommates, we spent pretty much all weekend together. My college, a small-town SLAC, generates a strong sense of loyalty and community, so going back there was--for everyone, I expect--a real mixture of pleasure and nostalgia. So much is the same: the smell of the mailroom, for example, took me right back to Orientation week; the steel drum band still wears ridiculous costumes and gets the whole campus grooving; and the comedy improv troupe doesn't make any more sense than it did in the mid-90s.
But a reunion is not a real recapturing, and there was an undeniable difference between my memory of college and this brief reconstruction thereof. Because we're not the same, despite the weekend's shenanigans. There were moments when I felt kind of sad, intensely aware that that time in my life--a time which I remember with intense fondness, when I was often very happy--is absolutely over. And yet, I know that I couldn't go back to it; I--the I that I am now--could never have that experience again. Would I want to? If I'm honest with myself, I know that no, I wouldn't. I like the self that I was in college, but the self that I am now is, in many ways, so much better off--more confident, more wisely restrained (most of the time), less desperately anxious over every little drama--and the thought of having to relearn everything that I've gathered in the last 10 years is, frankly, exhausting.
Even so, it was undeniably fun to catch a few glimpses of the past. And I found myself reassured by the fact that the students look more or less the same as they did when I was there. A friend of mine, spotting a few of them crossing campus, said, "That's what I came here to see. A big-ass beard, a tee-shirt that doesn't make any sense, and totally ironic light-up sneakers." It's good to know they're still out there.
In the beginning, we seemed civilized. Ordinary. Even dull. And yet, by Sunday afternoon, the dorm where we were all housed was--there is no other word for it--trashed.
Some of this, such as the cracker crumbs embedded in the hall carpet, may have actually been due to the presence of babies. But overwhelmingly the trashing was the result of plainly regressive behavior on the part of the reunion attendees. The floor of the lounge was covered--covered--in chocolate sprinkles and spilled beer. Coffee tables were scarred by rather inept efforts at uncapping beer bottles without benefit of an opener. Folding tables sloped to the floor, their legs buckled underneath them. Furniture had been dragged outside and left there. Fireworks of sketchy provenance had been fired into the outer walls of the building (in all fairness, I should say that they weren't actually aimed at the building; they just went--directly and with force--in that direction). At one point late on Saturday night, the cushions from all of the many sofas in the lobby were gathered and made into an enormous pile; one couch, denuded, was drawn up to the edge of the pile and used as a diving board. I'm sure that some of its springs were broken--surprisingly, no necks were--and only some of the cushions made it back onto the (wrong) sofas. The entrance to my hall had developed a stench so awful that one had to hold one's breath when passing through it. Other, older reunions had been repeatedly raided for beer, and empty bottles littered every public area. Clouds of marijuana smoke drifted across the quad. And one of the many old campus bands reconvened for a performance of their "hit single," whose name I don't know but whose chorus is "Fuck you, fuck me, fuck everybody; you suck, you suck, you suck big time."
What happened?
Perhaps it was the heady combination of escape from adulthood (we didn't have to clean up our own messes) with escape from studenthood (we couldn't be punished for anything that we did). Our age was showing, though. Even the childless had a hard time making it through the days without a nap, and I found that sleeping from 4am-12pm really doesn't work for me anymore.
Fatigue notwithstanding, I had a great time. I roomed with a really good friend that I'd been out of touch with for a while, and, in the manner of actual roommates, we spent pretty much all weekend together. My college, a small-town SLAC, generates a strong sense of loyalty and community, so going back there was--for everyone, I expect--a real mixture of pleasure and nostalgia. So much is the same: the smell of the mailroom, for example, took me right back to Orientation week; the steel drum band still wears ridiculous costumes and gets the whole campus grooving; and the comedy improv troupe doesn't make any more sense than it did in the mid-90s.
But a reunion is not a real recapturing, and there was an undeniable difference between my memory of college and this brief reconstruction thereof. Because we're not the same, despite the weekend's shenanigans. There were moments when I felt kind of sad, intensely aware that that time in my life--a time which I remember with intense fondness, when I was often very happy--is absolutely over. And yet, I know that I couldn't go back to it; I--the I that I am now--could never have that experience again. Would I want to? If I'm honest with myself, I know that no, I wouldn't. I like the self that I was in college, but the self that I am now is, in many ways, so much better off--more confident, more wisely restrained (most of the time), less desperately anxious over every little drama--and the thought of having to relearn everything that I've gathered in the last 10 years is, frankly, exhausting.
Even so, it was undeniably fun to catch a few glimpses of the past. And I found myself reassured by the fact that the students look more or less the same as they did when I was there. A friend of mine, spotting a few of them crossing campus, said, "That's what I came here to see. A big-ass beard, a tee-shirt that doesn't make any sense, and totally ironic light-up sneakers." It's good to know they're still out there.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Away
I'm leaving for my reunion in the morning. Back on Monday! Maybe! (By which I don't mean that I might not come home on Monday, but, rather, that I might not choose to post anything here until later in the week. I'll cross that bridge when I get to it, as they say.)
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Stupid Liquor Store!, or, Disconnected Ramblings
Last night I went to my local liquor store for some beer. Standing by the cooler, I was distracted by a young pair at my left: the male was enthusiastically telling his female companion that, because they would be eating goulash, they should purchase a German beer. While I was contemplating how (or whether) to tell them that goulash is in fact Hungarian, I selected what I thought was a nice, ordinary Brooklyn Ale. However, due to my lack of focus, I evidently selected Brooklyn's Black Chocolate Stout instead. What's the problem? Well, it's a whopping 10.7% alcohol (yet conveniently priced at only $8.55/six-pack!). So tonight I had one beer, but then I really wanted another beer (in order to prolong the overall drinking experience), and thought, Hell, I'll have that other beer, why not? But of course now I'm only halfway through beer no. 2 and a little on the tipsy side. Which was decidedly not my intention.
You know what I hate? I hate it when, in movie trailers, they splice up the characters' dialogue so that it sounds like they're responding to the voice-over for the movie commercial. Like the one I just say for the new Pirates of the Carribean movie, where Johnny Depp says "Ooh, I like that," after the voice-over guy says something about seeing the movie right when it first comes out. It's irritating. And they aren't kidding anybody.
Speaking of movies, they're filming part of a movie right around the corner from my house! It's very exciting. The Costumes trailer is literally in front of my building--like, I could step from my front door into the trailer, if I had extra long legs, or something. Today I watched them shoot a scene where two of the main characters rush into a hardware store, and then some people walk back and forth in front of the store. (After three takes, I'd pretty much had enough; I think that the interesting part of the scene was happening inside.) It's kind of cool--they totally created this store out of an empty shop in about 3 days. I actually thought there was a new hardware store in town when I got home from my travels last week. And apparently the star of the movie (the one I watched rush into the store a couple of times) was on "Gray's Anatomy," but I've never seen it, so I don't know anything about her.
Well anyway. It's kind of a nostalgic week for me. On Friday, I'll be heading to my 10th college reunion, where I'll be rooming with a really good friend whom I haven't seen in a long time. The prospect has me thinking a lot about days of yore; I've even busted out some old diaries. Damn, college was crazy times. I do not feel at liberty to disclose exactly what about college was so crazy, but I'm sure your collective imaginations can fill in the blanks. Also, because I finished the sweater I was knitting (pictures forthcoming--I'm very proud!), I decided to resume work on my photo albums from last summer. Which inspired me to look at some other albums from the last six or seven years. It's kind of scary to find a picture of myself from 2002 and think, Damn, I look so young. Shouldn't that not be happening yet?
Okay. I think it's kind of a good idea not to drink and blog, so perhaps I'll stop here. Good night, one and all....
You know what I hate? I hate it when, in movie trailers, they splice up the characters' dialogue so that it sounds like they're responding to the voice-over for the movie commercial. Like the one I just say for the new Pirates of the Carribean movie, where Johnny Depp says "Ooh, I like that," after the voice-over guy says something about seeing the movie right when it first comes out. It's irritating. And they aren't kidding anybody.
Speaking of movies, they're filming part of a movie right around the corner from my house! It's very exciting. The Costumes trailer is literally in front of my building--like, I could step from my front door into the trailer, if I had extra long legs, or something. Today I watched them shoot a scene where two of the main characters rush into a hardware store, and then some people walk back and forth in front of the store. (After three takes, I'd pretty much had enough; I think that the interesting part of the scene was happening inside.) It's kind of cool--they totally created this store out of an empty shop in about 3 days. I actually thought there was a new hardware store in town when I got home from my travels last week. And apparently the star of the movie (the one I watched rush into the store a couple of times) was on "Gray's Anatomy," but I've never seen it, so I don't know anything about her.
Well anyway. It's kind of a nostalgic week for me. On Friday, I'll be heading to my 10th college reunion, where I'll be rooming with a really good friend whom I haven't seen in a long time. The prospect has me thinking a lot about days of yore; I've even busted out some old diaries. Damn, college was crazy times. I do not feel at liberty to disclose exactly what about college was so crazy, but I'm sure your collective imaginations can fill in the blanks. Also, because I finished the sweater I was knitting (pictures forthcoming--I'm very proud!), I decided to resume work on my photo albums from last summer. Which inspired me to look at some other albums from the last six or seven years. It's kind of scary to find a picture of myself from 2002 and think, Damn, I look so young. Shouldn't that not be happening yet?
Okay. I think it's kind of a good idea not to drink and blog, so perhaps I'll stop here. Good night, one and all....
Aesthetic Decisions
There! Isn't that better?
The old template was just too, too busy. It bothered me. I tried not to let it bother me, but it did. Now I'm happy.
In other news, here is an International Reply Coupon.
I was admiring it the other day, and then I noticed that little guy in the upper left-hand corner. The one in the feathered headdress:
What's up with that, exactly?
The old template was just too, too busy. It bothered me. I tried not to let it bother me, but it did. Now I'm happy.
In other news, here is an International Reply Coupon.
I was admiring it the other day, and then I noticed that little guy in the upper left-hand corner. The one in the feathered headdress:
What's up with that, exactly?
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Praise me!
--for today, I read one whole article! Like, a 30-page one! From start to finish! In a single sitting, no less!
Celestial trumpets sound....
Celestial trumpets sound....
Monday, May 21, 2007
Active/Passive
So I've been revising my novel manuscript for the past couple of weeks, and I'm struck, as always, by how interesting revising can be. I never used to revise my fiction very much, which is probably why it wasn't all that good, but one thing that the dissertation process taught me was that first drafts are never finished drafts. Revision works.
Anyway one of the comments that my SignifOth gave me when he read the MS was that the main character seemed too passive. I agree; a lot of things happen to her, and she thinks about them and reacts. SO found that this made it harder to relate to/sympathize with her. I can definitely see that. And I didn't want her to be passive; it just sort of happened. So that's one thing that I've been trying to fix in my revisions.
Passivity, shyness, submissiveness--these are things I've tried to overcome throughout my life; they're things a lot of people (maybe more women than men, but I won't get into that) struggle against. And what's interesting is that the changes I've made to the way that my protagonist behaves could actually be a sort of instruction manual on how to be less passive. I've added a few incidents to the story which give her the chance to be more assertive, but the systemic changes that I've made are all actually pretty minor. Mostly, they're a matter of just deleting certain verbs. Here are some of the things that my character is not doing anymore (or not doing as much):
1) shrugging, sighing
2) smiling
3) thinking/considering/pondering after someone else says something
4) agreeing with things she doesn't really think
5) pausing, hesitating, looking away, looking down
6) noticing the strength/power/whathaveyou of other people
7) not asking questions about interesting things that other people say
Once I noticed how pervasive these actions (or non-actions, in the case of #7) were throughout the MS, it really seemed that I'd been consciously constructing her as passive, even submissive. Which I wasn't. But what's particularly interesting, to me, is how just removing most of the instances of points 1-6 (and adding some follow-up dialogue to get rid of 7) totally changes her character.
Hm.
ETA: Another one: looking at people "gratefully." Yuck!
Anyway one of the comments that my SignifOth gave me when he read the MS was that the main character seemed too passive. I agree; a lot of things happen to her, and she thinks about them and reacts. SO found that this made it harder to relate to/sympathize with her. I can definitely see that. And I didn't want her to be passive; it just sort of happened. So that's one thing that I've been trying to fix in my revisions.
Passivity, shyness, submissiveness--these are things I've tried to overcome throughout my life; they're things a lot of people (maybe more women than men, but I won't get into that) struggle against. And what's interesting is that the changes I've made to the way that my protagonist behaves could actually be a sort of instruction manual on how to be less passive. I've added a few incidents to the story which give her the chance to be more assertive, but the systemic changes that I've made are all actually pretty minor. Mostly, they're a matter of just deleting certain verbs. Here are some of the things that my character is not doing anymore (or not doing as much):
1) shrugging, sighing
2) smiling
3) thinking/considering/pondering after someone else says something
4) agreeing with things she doesn't really think
5) pausing, hesitating, looking away, looking down
6) noticing the strength/power/whathaveyou of other people
7) not asking questions about interesting things that other people say
Once I noticed how pervasive these actions (or non-actions, in the case of #7) were throughout the MS, it really seemed that I'd been consciously constructing her as passive, even submissive. Which I wasn't. But what's particularly interesting, to me, is how just removing most of the instances of points 1-6 (and adding some follow-up dialogue to get rid of 7) totally changes her character.
Hm.
ETA: Another one: looking at people "gratefully." Yuck!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)