Ok, for those who are interested, here's an update. This morning, I finally left the house; I'm no longer snowed in. And I'm really kinda relieved to be back to work. I seriously am just not very good at being a New Englander, although just this morning, mom told me that given my personality, I'm possibly better suited to New England than to California. I guess I can see what she means. And it's not that I dislike New England. There are many wonderful, wonderful things about living in Vermont. I actually like having real seasons, although the bitter cold is getting to me. I guess it's that New England just doesn't feel like home; Bakersfield is still home. I know that many people think Bakerspatch is really icky. And it certainly has its faults. But for me, that hot, dry, dusty central California valley is home. And it's like I feel this whole love-hate thing for So Cal. When I see L.A. on TV, I feel oddly nostalgic, not that I actually want to live there. My deep, dark secret is that I have this longing to live in Orange County. I can hardly believe that I'm admitting that. But south county is appealing to me lately. Maybe all this snow is just getting to me. There are 100,000 problems with California, but it just feels like home.

It's cold; I'm cold. And, I don't know, for like the past 10 days, the highs have been only in the teens, maybe the 20s. And I'm not sure that I can even remember what warm feels like. And late tonight through early tomorrow, we're supposed to get a foot of snow. I miss California. I'm not cut out for all this cold nonsense. I'm just tired of it. I guess it's not so bad if I can just stay at home and not have to actually get in the car and go anywhere. But it's still just cold. Everyone says I'll appreciate spring more, when it FINALLY arrives, and I'm sure that's true. But right now, I'm just miserable, cold and dry and miserable.

Hey, I Made the MLA

OK, I know this is kinda silly. But I just looked myself up in the MLA database. And there I was! Well, there my diss was, anyway. It all seemed pretty exciting. I feel like a real professional now, not like I'm just masquerading. "I'm not a real professor; I just play one on TV." Well, that's how I feel sometimes, like I'm standing in front of all these 20 year olds, playing the part of Dr. Drennan. But seeing my name, the title of my diss there on the database makes it more real somehow.

The Perfect Tea

I do want to say that I've discovered, or rather Dolce Carina discovered, what I believe could quite possibly be the perfect tea. It's Adagio's (see www.adagio.com) Valentine's Tea, and it's my new favorite smell. It's wonderful. They advertise it as chocolate strawberry. I'm not sure that I really taste the strawberry, but I just love it. It's not too sweet and is delicate and perfect. Hey, remember the TV commercial with "I'd like to buy the world a Coke?" Well, I'd like to buy the world a cup of tea.

A Note on My Title

Recently, someone suggested that "Drennan's Adventures Underground" is not an apt title for this blog. I completely disagree. And I feel that maybe an explanation / justification would be in order. So here goes:

First, in titling my blog "Drennan's Adventures Underground," I was thinking of Alice's Adventures Underground, the original title of Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. This, for me, created all kinds of interesting comparisons. In part, I so often feel like Alice, learning to navigate through a world, or maybe several worlds that seem to make no sense, that feel like nonsense. And like Alice, I so often feel isolated, lost, unsure of myself, as though I can't quite latch onto my own sense of identity.

Second, some months ago, I moved my blog. It was at this point that I chose the title "Drennan's Adventures Underground." Basically, I wanted to go "underground" with this blog in the sense that I was avoiding Crazy-Guy-From-Arizona, who had started reading my blog obsessively. He also e-mailed me obsessively; it began to feel like harrassment.

So now, here I am, having adventures "underground," if Small College, Vermont can be called "underground."

And really, isn't blogging about tea and books just as valid as anything else?

The Little Things

This is no big revelation. But today, I'm reminded that it's the little things each day that bring me satisfaction. It's not money or professional success; it's companionship and good books and a cup of tea. Today, I received from adagio.com, my favorite tea vendor, their special Valentine tea, a tea that D.C. introducted to me. And it's this great chocolate-dipped-strawberry-with-a-hit-of-rose flavor, and it's just perfect. And my mom called as she was brewing herself a pot of Adagio's cream tea, and D.C. IMd me while sipping her own cup of cream tea. And maybe I can believe that in spite of all the pain and grief and loss, maybe the world can still be OK because we're all sipping Adagio tea, even though nearly everyone I love is in California, while I'm stuck in the Great White North. Maybe because these connections, these shared experiences--tea and Lot 49 and prayer and love and loss and the BBC and bad "reality" TV--because they exist, maybe meaningful relationships are still possible. So I'm headed back upstairs for one more cup of tea and maybe some Top Chef or The Real Housewives of Orange County before bed. It is the little things: tea and movies and books and friends and family and dogs.

Procrastination

I'm really, really good at finding creative ways to procrastinate. I'm not so much a procrastinator by nature. However, when I want to, I can think up all kinds of things I "have" to do in order to avoid, say, typing up a syllabus. For example, I spend nearly an hour this morning dowloading Gwen Stephani ring tones onto my new cell phone. BTW, about a month ago, I got a new RAZR phone in metallic pink; eat your hear out Cheri! So now when you call, the phone plays "If I Were a Rich Girl," except for when A. calls and then it's "Wind It Up." This is very funny, if somewhat adolescent. Gwen Stefani kicks ass, by the way. After finding cool, hip ringtones, I spent quite a lot of time reorganizing my files. I'm still working on it. Come to think of it, I'm really big on reorganizing things that I've already organized like five times. Maybe it's an anxiety thing. I mean, sometimes I find myself unable to sleep until I reorganize my socks or my sweaters or whatever. In a minute I'll procrastinate further by picking up all the random books lying around my office. For some reason, I'm a great one for having piles and piles of books (all organized piles) lying about. And it must look like a mess to everyone else, but it all somehow makes this organic, whole sort of sense to me. I don't pretend to be able to explain it, but it all works for me. And yet, my Intro to Lit syllabus still isn't getting done. I've read in some self help book that we procrastinate out of fear. I wonder what it is about writing up a syllabus that I'm fearing. Maybe my fear is that the class is WAY overenrolled. This cannot be a good thing. Ahh. . . well, back to creative procrastination.

Hello Blogosphere

I know, I know. It's been a month since I last posted. And have you been wondering where I've been? I rather hope someone's wondering what's happened to me, because that would show that my existence somehow matters. I suppose I could say that, really, I've been up to a whole lot of nothing. I mean, I've been doing this and that, but none of it is especially interesting to tell about. I think that I'll hit some of the random highlights (or lowlights) as they occur to me. Blah, blah, blah. I don't have all that much to say; only I do want to start posting again regularly.

Ok, so I was in CA for 10 days over the holidays. I had a wonderful time with my family. My neices E. and L. and perfect and beautiful and wonderful. If I ever have children, I hope they are just like E. and L. I also spent time with my two bestest, favorite friends, Cort and Carina, in CA. And, I don't know, on reflection, being with both of them seems somehow emotionally nourishing. It seems that's how friends should be. In talking with both of them recently, I've come to realize that many of us are facing similar difficulties. I tend to think that anxiety and perfectionism and depression are this whole epidemic, package deal among intelligent, motivated women of my generation. I'm convinced that it is, in part, the fallout of feminism. And while it makes me sad to know that people I love hurt sometimes, it's also somehow reassuring to know that I'm not the only one. So here's to sisterhood and girl power and all that.

I've been consuming Iris Murdoch novels with great zest. How is it that I've never read Murdoch until now. Her writing is wonderful--modern and thought provoking and engrossing all at the same time. So here I am, facing British modernism yet again. It's like this refrain that I almost accidentally keep returning to. On that note, I continue to believe that V Woolf will somehow see me through.

I'll spare all of you the details, but my other bit of big "news" is that I'm dating A. and am suddenly happier than I've been in a long while. It's been like this big epiphany, like I suddenly what's been wrong with every other (failed) relationship I've had. It's like this whole gestalt kind of thing. There are 10,000 things that I appreciate about him. I could gush and gush about the whole thing, but I know that no one really wants to hear all that.

I'll keep posting. Look forward to more on Iris Murdoch. But for now, I really, really need to get my office organized before it gets too out of hand!

A New Therapist

Ok, I'm posting today as part of my renewed committment to post more regularly. I think that I really do have something to say most days, although it may not be anything especially profound. But I think there's value in writing regularly, and I do keep a journal, but this seems like it's helpful too. I tend to think of blogging and journaling as a way to sort of communicate my hopes and dreams and frustrations and joys to the universe. And so to that end, here's the story of my visit to a new therapist:

Yesterday, I saw a new therapist for the first time. It didn't go especially well, and I feel not very optimistic about the whole thing. D.C. says that I should have asked her if she knew Virginia Woolf. And maybe that's a good way to go. Maybe the therapist that understands Woolf will understand me. Now that I've typed that, the full ramifications of that statement are starting to hit me. I mean, we all know what kind of end VW met. And still, I have to admit that reading VW is somehow satisfying on this intimate level; it's the sense that here's someone who really understands how it feels to be me. (Hey, do we all remember the Tom Petty song about "You don't know how it feels to be me"?) But in all seriousness, this new therapist didn't seem to get me. And at the end of the session, she told me that she wasn't sure she really understood what was going on with me and, thus, wasn't sure she could help me. This is pretty discouraging.

But the best (or at least the funniest) part of this whole thing was when she suggested the possibility that Attention Deficit Disorder is at the root of all my emotional problems. Seriously, I think I have whatever is the opposite of ADD. And as I replay this scene, which becomes increasinly like a bad SNL skit with each successive replay, I see her saying "Maybe you have ADD." And then I say something like, "Yeah, right. That's why I finished my dissertation. That's why I have a PhD. That's why I'm the resident expert on young adult fantasy. It's because I have ADD and can't concentrate. Right. People with ADD finish PhDs" I should add that I don't take the whole I'm-a-PhD thing very seriously. As is evidenced by the neon pink name plate on my desk that reads "Drennan, PhD," but it's bright pink, which says a lot about me. And my mom sent it to me, which says that she "gets" me, even if new therapist doesn't. Carina says I should trade in the new therapist for a new model. I think I should just take enough pills that I feel better. OK, that was tongue-in-cheek, but only kinda.

Hey, I'm listening to Johnny Cash. And it strikes me that he's rather like VW. I mean, I love the song "Sunday Morning Coming Down." There's something so true about it, so authentic. And I totally think that VW would understand about Johnny Cash. And hey, wouldn't they both be brilliant at dinner parties? When Cort and I were in college, we used to play the Desert Island game, but can't the Dinner Party game be a grown up version of the same thing? I mean, instead of "Would you rather be stuck on a desert island with Mike Piazza or Eric Karros?" it's now about "Who would you invite to the perfect dinner party?" And clearly, I want Cash and Woolf. Which probably just means that I'm looking for people I can sit around and be all melancholy with. Oh, and I'd throw Salman Rushdie in for good measure. Now I've completely diverged from the stated focus of this post. But really, planning fantasy dinner parties is much more interested than incompetent therapists.

Journals

I'm suddenly, oddly obsessed with decorating journals. I suppose that part of the neurosis is that I'm oddly obsessed with having about 5 different journals going at once. And I feel like I need to carry them all with me at all times. They're all categorized, and I know that Carina is thinking that I sound like what's-her-name in The Golden Notebook, and I know that she's right. Not that I've actually read The Golden Notebook. But I wanted to show you the cute, fun journals that I've been decorating.

Since I'm posting pics anyway, here's one of my backyard, as seen from the dining area:

Guinnie and the Stove

It's been pretty darn cold since Wednesday or so. And poor Guinnie can't seem to get warm enough. She spends most of the day parked in front of the stove. There's a little ledge where, as you can see, she rests her front paws in order to be as close to the flame as possible. Sometimes she growls when Polly gets too close!

Foucault's Pendulum

I'm all in this big Eco frenzy lately. And I finished his Island of the Day Before about ten days ago. And on Monday, I started Foucault's Pendulum. So here's my assessment so far: it's like the intelligent reader's DaVinci Code. Not that I've actually read The DaVinci Code, but I've seen the movie. And I have actually purchased Brown's book; I've just not gotten around to reading it yet. But Eco, at least so far, is dealing with the same kind of topic--the Knights Templar, the grail, the crazies who think that they can reconstruct some occult history of it all--but Eco seems to have this great sense of humor about the whole thing. I mean, it's like he's laughing at all the people out there who've read The DaVinci Code and are all saying things like, "Wow! It really kinda makes you think that all that could be possible." And they read this piece of fiction, of fantasy really, as though it were an indictment of the Catholic church and such. And as I'm reading Eco, I feel like Eco and I are somehow snidely feeling smarter and funnier and more savy than everyone on the DaVinci bandwagon. And yes, I realize that I'm being all snobbish and uppity and smarter-than-thou here, and yes, I realize it's not such an attractive quality. But this is so how reading Eco is making me feel. It's like I'm secretly playing this really smart game, and I'm winning. And although it's far less interesting to blog about, this whole Eco kick is even making me read more theory and more about semiotics and even more feminist theory (Not that Eco is particularly interested in or informed by feminist theory. It's just that suddenly Kristeva is appealing. I suppose it's the whole semiotics connection, right?) I don't quite know how to put it. I'm sitting here, in my lovely periwinkle-coloured office, sipping oolong tea, and I somehow feel so pleased with myself all because of Eco. He's just so smart. And he knows so much. It's almost like this elaborate in-joke for literary and medievalist types. And, to be honest, literary, medieval types are my favorite types, I think.

Ok, I realize that I've not been posting lately, and I'm really not even sure why. But I should make a point of posting more often, because I really do think it's somehow good for my emotional health. Wow! "Emotional health" seems such a sterile term for something that feels so non-sterile. Isn't there a better, more accurate term I could be using? I mean, "emotional health" seems so void of any connotative meaning, and it seems like there should be some sort of connotative sense associated with such a term. But there isn't, at least not for me.

I logged on intending to post something about Rider Haggard's She, which I finished reading yesterday. First, how is it that I've not read this novel before? I don't know what to make of it. And most of all, why is it that so many writers and thinkers that I am interested in (Tolkien and Lewis, for example) find it so important? I mean, there has to be something about this novel, a popular adventure novel, that moves readers on some deep level, but I can't get at what it is. And I keep thinking about it. I suppose that there's something uncanny and even threatening about She-who-must-be-obeyed. But why? Is it simply that a beautiful, powerful women is scary? Or is it more than that? Maybe it's Ayesha's near-immortality that makes us uncomfortable. I really don't know. This discussion isn't going anywhere, I realize. I suppose that I'm working through it all but just don't quite know where to go.

I should be working, so I'll keep this brief. In case anyone's interested: I'm markedly less depressed. Things suddenly feel normal. This is a big improvement!

Things I Like. . .

1. Over-the-knee socks

2. Bubble baths

3. Boston Terriers

4. Brothers

5. Nieces

6. Pie

7. "Friday I'm in Love"

8. Autumn

9. Inspector Morse

10. Stripes

11. Make-up

12. The sky

13. The Beatles

14. NPR

15. Harry Potter

16. Pigeon Pose

Ok, so I'm increasingly depressed. And I can't seem to get anything done, and I feel really stupid about it all. Just getting out of bed in the morning feels like a Hurculean struggle, and I'm normally pretty morningish. But my first thought on waking is something like, "I wish I could go back to sleep and pretend that today isn't happening." Only today is always happening. And I'm not anxious so much all the time, just really depressed. I'm like a slug, although I practiced Yoga for an hour yesterday. Still, it's like nothing's getting done, and I can't even make myself WANT to get things done. And, to be honest, I'm starting to worry about myself. I don't know. Maybe this post is really just my cry for help. Or maybe I'm being over indulgent, somehow.

I just realized, about an hour ago, that I hadn't posted in a while. So, here's my big news: I just dyed my roots pink. Now, those of you who have known me for any length of time probably know that I seem to have more than my fair share of hair color disasters. This I attribute mostly to my propensity to decide, without much real consideration, that my hair NEEDS to be a funky color (or just something different) right this very second ("immediately, if not sooner"). And sometimes, it just doesn't work out quite the way I had planned. For example, there was the time when I decided that my black wasn't black enough, was too ashy or brassy or something. So using blue "Fudge" seemed like a good solution to, you know, cool off the color somehow. And I used it, rinsed it off in the shower, and while my hair looked good, my skin was tinted blue for the next week. While this is maybe not strictly a hair color SNAFU, some claimed that I rather looked like a Smurf. Now that I think about it, I wonder if I looked like the black-haired, evil Smurfette, because really, I always thought that although evil, she was kinda sexy. SIDE NOTE: I don't subscribe to the blondes-have-more-fun theory; I think brunettes and red heads are often prettier. Then, there was the time, not too long before I moved to Vermont, when I tried for pink streaks. That didn't work at all. And apparently, I didn't learn from that mistake, because I used the same product tonight. However, I must say this: My method was different. Apparently, it's all in the method. And I guess, really, that I can't be so terrible at this hair color stuff, because Carina let me color hers once. Wait. She ONLY let me do it once. Oh, and then there was the time I bleached my brother J's hair. Only, I didn't apply the bleach very uniformly. It resulted in his being dubbed "Patches" at summer camp.

Ahhh. . . so many colors, so little time!

Overheard Conversation

"I just want to be able to go out into the woods and drag something back and be like, 'I killed this with my bare hands' or 'I found a rock and sharpened it'"

I Blew Chunks

Ok, on Saturday, I had a "rather unpleasant, unclean experience." And I know that most people would feel great embarrassment if this had happened to them. But I just keep thinking that it's somehow funny.

On Saturday morning, I left for a day trip to Salem, Massachusetts; yes, home of the infamous Salem Witch Trials. In between memories of The Scarlet Letter and The Crucible, I learned that John Lennon had made a point of visiting Gallows Hill, the site where 19 of the accused witches were hanged. And I had this great day, visiting The House of the Seven Gables, among other stuff.

However, just after lunch, I started to develop a headache, and it got worse and worse. I get these headaches that I call migraines because, among other things, they make me feel nauseated. Anyway, by the time we boarded the charter bus to return home, I was feeling pretty sick. And about 15 minutes into the 3 1/2 hour drive home, I threw up (yes, I blew chunks, yawned in technicolour, up-chucked, puked, barfed) on the bus. It was all over my clothes and the seat where I was sitting. And there wasn't all that much cleaning up I could do, aside from what can be done with dry paper towels. And so I had to ride home in my own vomit.

I know this is all really gross, and I realize that I'm forever branded as "The Professor who Puked on the Bus in Salem," but all I can think is that it's just really funny somehow.

I Heart Umberto Eco

I've just started Eco's The Island of the Day Before, thanks to my dad. And there's so much that I want to say about Eco and semiotics and medievalism and postmodernism and narrative theory. I wish there were someone appreciative to whom I could say these things. And although I've avoided it and repressed it all these years, maybe it's time to give in to my urge to study and read and write about contemporary literature and postmodernism and popular culture. And did I tell you that I'm planning to teach The Muppet Show in my 20th century class next semester?

Stalled

It just hit me: I'm feeling stalled. In fact, I dare say, I AM stalled. It's like I somehow can't get going, but am not so distressed about it as I would imagine. Is this merely the antidepressants? This worries me. I'm not getting as much done as I'd normally like to be getting done, but at the same time, I'm not so upset as normal about not getting things done. It's like I'm not making progress somehow, but it's just not grating on my nerves the way it normally would. And I have to ask myself: is this who I want to be? I know that maybe this doesn't make sense. I tried to explain it to J. the other night, and I realized that it's all pretty darn complicated, and it's near impossible to articulate. But it comes down to this: I'm suddenly afraid that I won't be me anymore without stress and anxiety grinding down my psyche. Really. I'm afraid that I'll be stalled forever, that I'll never amount to anything, but that I'll just never care. This is not at all how I perceive myself, at least until very recently, nor is it the way I want to live my life. I want to commit myself to my work and to crafts and to books and to people, and I want to do all these things passionately. Lately, my greatest passion seems to be physical comfort. And so, I find myself stalled. And I don't know what to do. I am wondering if living with anxiety, however debilitating it sometimes became, was preferable to this. I mean, often the anxiety got in the way of my peace and satisfaction, but at least I was getting stuff done. I was knitting and reading and scrapbooking and thinking and reading. Now, it seems that I'm content watching Law and Order, my not-so-guilty pleasure, all night. And more than ever, I'm content with being alone. Contentment is certainly good. But can't I have balance? Can't I have contentment and still work the way that I want to be working?

I consider this post a shout out. . .

. . . to Dolce Carina and the rest of the fidfam, who are on their way to Europe today. And I'm so thankful that Carina and O. are joining M. in Europe, because to me this says that maybe all is still right with the world, you know? I mean, I so appreciate that there are healthy families out there, making healthy decisions. So, this could easily turn into a paean of praise for Carina, but I'm afraid that would embarrass her. But really, I just so appreciate the strength she has to seize what's right for her and to do what works, even when other people don't necessarily understand. This, to me, is quite inspiring. And so, even though I don't take the time to tell her so nearly often enough. Carina is such an encouragement to me; she's the kind of friend who doesn't come along very often.

NOTE TO SELF

Cold sores and orange juice don't mix.

I'm Sick

I think that anyone who knows me (the real me, not the blogosphere me) knows this about me: when I get sick, I'm a really big baby about it, and I get really depressed really quickly. I woke up with a cold this morning. And in addition to looking like crap, I don't feel so hot. And all I really want to do is to drink a cup of tea and crawl back into bed. (SIDE NOTE: As what I want out of a relationship is this: someone to make me a cup of tea once in a while. Dolce Carina knows this; it's not some big epiphany that I've had. All I want is someone to make the tea. I say that, but I suppose that's not totally true; that's not all I want. Still, at times like these, it seems important.) What I don't want is to have to stand in front of a bunch of 19 year olds and try to act perky for 50 minutes, although once I get into it, class will just go, and by the end of it, I'll be thankful for work. I don't know; I'm sick. And I'm already annoyed with having to be sick. I'm already anticipating all the things I'll have to miss out on because I'm sick. Goodness: this is not how the Buddha would handle feeling sick, of that I'm sure!

Hello, my name is Drennan, but I also respond to "Festering, Moldy Rat Ass."

I love pasta, chocolate tea, feta, bleu cheese, C.S. Lewis, Inspector Morse, my friends, my family, my dogs, Law and Order, funky fashion, the Beatles, Hello Kitty, boys, bad pop music, brown ale, Zinfindel, word play, Beowulf, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Johnny Depp,body art, to fit in and pop tarts.

I hate snakes, the oppression of women, high heels, Led Zepplin, "white" Zinfindel, Two and a Half Men, boys, bad pop music, The Old Man and the Sea, backstabbers, to fit in, and belligerant 18 year olds.

I want another tattoo, a pint, to go to England, to write, a boyfriend, another dog, purple hair, a raise, to find a church, to fit in, and to stop thinking about my weight.

The Tattooed Professor

Ok, the funniest thing just happened. This is right up there with the time that I got invited to join some student's D&D group. This guy from the campus paper just came by my office and interviewed me. He's doing a story about tattoos on campus and had interviewed a bunch of students and wanted to get a faculty perspective. So apparently I'm like, I don't know, a side show freak; I'm the Tattooed Professor. So, I talked to him, of course, told him why I have the tattoo that I do. But really, is this what I want everyone to know about me? That although I masquerade as a professional, I secretly have this nerdy tattoo?

Procrastination

I know that maybe I should be working. I should be grading or reading or even preparing my sexy lecture on Little Women. Funny: Little Women isn't sexy in the normally accepted sense of the word "sexy," but I assume that all of you know that I use "sexy" to mean exciting, fun, attractive, and Drennanesque. It's like, "Hey, that pink eyeshadow is sexy!" or "Hey, your paper on the grotesque in Wicked is supersexy." But what I really want to do right now is to write. Well, I want to write and eat the new Buffalo and Ranch Doritos, which are super sexy.

I've been thinking a lot about my brothers lately. Although I know they'll never read this (Jake doesn't "believe" in the internet, so I assume that he doesn't "believe" in blogs either), I just want to say that I love both of them so very much. But more than that, I think both Jake and John are wonderful, interesting, admirable, fascinating people. And having them as brothers has so much enriched my life. This morning on the way to work, I was listening to The Specials and thinking about John and how I think he's super sexy and how I know about The Specials because of him. I don't know; I'm not articulating this very well. Jake especially is so different from me, just as a person. Jake knows about and is competent at all these wonderful, amazing things that I just don't get, but I love that he has enthusiasm for his job and his life. And I feel like I better understand the world and people and all of it because I can sometimes, for a second, see the world from his vantage point. He has such a happy disposition; he's so good with people. He's really so many things that I'm just not. And then there's John, the Goose. John and I are certainly more alike; only I wish that I had even half the talent that he does. I'm so in awe of him. He's just this smart, interesting, artistic, analytic, intelligent young man with superfly fashion sense. I like to think that he gets the fashion sense from me. I don't know; I'm getting all sentimental and sappy. I just really love them both.

"You Just Put Your Lips Together and Blow"

I should totally be grading, but this seems ever so much more interesting. Last night, I watched To Have and Have Not, because I'm onto a whole Humphrey Bogart thingy just now. But I liked the movie a whole lot, and I've decided that when I grow up, I totally want to be Lauren Bacall. I think she's so wonderful and beautiful in this powerful way, you know? She's like, I don't know, pre-feminism, anti-Marilyn Monroe, transcends-Sex-and-the-City feminity. And that's so what I want to be. She rocks. Whatever she does, she makes cool. I saw her with Bogart in The Big Sleep not too long ago, and that was good. But To Have and Have Not was even better. So where am I going with all this? I don't know right now. Only I know that she seems to be the kind of woman that I so want to be.

Hello Blogosphere,

Not much time, as I'm off to class in just a few minutes, but I thought I'd check in since I've not really been posting much lately. There's not too much to tell about. I've been watching Humphrey Bogart films lately, and that's kinda interesting. I think Lauren Bacall kicks ass. I'm all in favor of all this October baseball madness, but I rather miss House. I bought these great red cowboy boots that I'm wearing for the first time today. That's about all there is to say about me. Oh, I saw Flags of our Fathers on Sunday and didn't like it at all; maybe I'll write more about that later. Oh and P.S. 18-month-olds in lumberjack gear, playing with pumpkins are just the sort of thing that makes life worth while, don't you think?

MySpace

Ok, I think that I'm the only one under 35 in my family who doesn't myspace. Seriously. Brother, sister-in-law, cousins, they're all doing it. But I'm not. For a lotta reasons. (OK, and writing in fragments shows just how distracted and bothered I am about this whole thing.) So really, I'm I the only one who doesn't have a myspace account? Is this why I feel so disconnected from everyone on the left coast? Are the rest of you out there, posting, reading, commenting, connecting without me all because I don't myspace? And can I even use "myspace" as a verb? (Side bar: "I don't know the difference between nouns and verbs. I don't understand. I'm not saying I was never taught it in school. It just didn't take." ha, ha--this is Jake and Weiscracker.) So really, I don't want to give in to the whole myspace craze, in part because I don't think I want to make myself public to my students in that forum, not that they really are all that interested, but still. And yet, I feel like I'm missing out.

Homage: Two Words, Five Times, Twice

Ok, I'm getting all meta and intertextual here: This post is my homage to Dolce Carina. I'm going to list five two-word phrases to explain why I've disappeared the past week:

mother visiting
movie watching
Jerry Orbach
painting wall
eating out

And here are five two-word phrases describing all the fun, wonderful thing in my life right now:

dogs cuddling
fire burning
soup simmering
friend visiting
wall painted

It's up to you to make the Jerry Orbach connection; it has nothing to do with Beauty and the Beast.

Arrrrrrrr!

I'm back to work after a week's break. And in my 19th Century Children's Lit class, we're reading Treasure Island, which has me thinking about pirates. Yesterday in class, many of the female students informed me that they really didn't like because female are largly absent. The males, however, said that they liked it because pirates are just "cool." I conceded that I like it as well because pirates are "kick ass," and Johnny Depp, of course, proves it. Is it passe to be in like with Johnny Depp? But really the point that the narrator of Treasure Island makes is that the pirating life and the lust for treasure is dangerous at best, even deadly. Yet, it seems to me that we, as readers, don't really take that away from the book. I mean, by the end of it all, we still think pirates are kick ass, and we still appreciate adventure. Ok, I want to make a plug for the Muppets Treasure Island movie, which I really love. Tim Curry plays Long John Silver, which is brilliant. Oh and another thing about Treasure Island: it represents what is best about the boys' adventure novel.

Ok, so I know I've not been posting lately. I AM alive and am just fine. My mom's been visiting for the last week or so, and I've been busy with her, hence the lack of posts. There's not much to tell. When things settle down a bit, I'll post a pic of my newly painted dining area. Mom helped me paint it, and it looks lovely.

The weather is suddenly cooler, and I guess that's nice. I mean, that's what weather is supposed to do this time of year, right? This time of year, my thoughts turn to nesting, winter time reading. Alas, I can't find Jane Eyre, which seems like exactly what one should be reading just now. Recently, I read The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield, who is apparently a first-time novelist. And it wasn't terribly literary or deep but was a good read. And it reads in some ways like a 19th century novel, which may be part of the point. Still, it made me rather long for Jane Eyre, which it references several times. In the absence of Jane Eyre, I could turn to Jasper Fforde's The Eyre Affair, which is a spectacularly fun read! Dolce Carina described it as being something like Harry Potter and good detective fiction all in one, and she's right, as she so often is. I highly recommend Fforde. He's just lots of fun. Lots of literary in-jokes.

OK, last week, T. asked me if I wanted a copy of Kerouac's On the Road. T. is teaching a class on beat poetry next term, and the publishers had sent him extra desk copies. Well, I almost never turn down a free book, and since I've never read Kerouac, it seemed like a good opportunity. And so on Sunday, I started On the Road. I read maybe the first third. And that was enough. It generally annoyed me. And it somehow seems trite, overdone, self-involved, and all kinds of other icky things. But my question is this: am I a washed-up, old fuddy duddy if I don't LOVE Kerouac? Seriously. I mean, I want to be all hip, and so I'm supposed to like his brand of drivel, right? But I just couldn't do it. I wanted to like it; I really did.

And now I'm back to P.D. James's Inspector Dalgleish. I'm rereading the first Dalgleish novel. And it's grand. And I remember why I liked James in the first place. I think that the Zoloft has made me even more enthusiastic about reading that I'd normally like. I mean, I'm always all for a good novel, but I'm really having this sense of reveling in my reading lately. This is a good thing.

So I'm not going to bother to proofread before posting; please excuse the inevitable errors!

Ok, so I don't really know what exactly I want to say, only that the Zoloft seems to be a good thing, at least for now. And really, I don't like the idea of being on meds, but I suppose that it's worth it if I feel better. It's like suddenly, I feel motivated to do all the things I'd been putting off. And I'm feeling less worried, less upset. In fact, I'm even relatively unfazed by the mouse problem I'm having. I just sorta feel like I can deal with it and like everything will be OK. This is how I should feel, right?

Ok, I think it's just best to be really honest and open about this: I am depressed. Yes, I've diagnosed it myself. I've also put myself on Zoloft. You see, I'm a doctor. Well, I'm not that kind of doctor. But I know myself well enough to realize that things aren't so OK, you know? And I'm sure that if I knew how to use the whole DSM thingy, I'd find that I'm suffering from depression, accompanied by an anxiety disorder. But for me, anxiety just seems to be part of life. It's like it's part of my make-up or something. Doctors, "real" doctors, say that there's a genetic component to this sort of thing, but my mom insists that she doesn't know of anyone on either side of the family who struggles with anxiety. And this all makes me wonder, what did we call panic attacks, say, 100 years ago? I mean, I assume that panic attacks, anxiety disorder, OCD, and all the rest are not recent developments, new conditions. Or maybe they are; maybe these are just symptoms of societal post-modernism or something. Or maybe it's all just some sort of post-feminism, I-can't-do-second-or-third-wave-anymore kind of affliction. Seriously. I feel like we Gen-X women, we 30-somethings females are under all this pressure to be all things to all people. And I know that so-called third wave feminism is supposed to be about having choices. But I feel like society (yes, that nebulous, non-personal "society") is telling me that I'm supposed to be Super Mom, to have a fulfilling, stellar career, to spend six hours a week at the gym, and to cook like Julia Childs all at the same time. And I'm convinced that most of us can't do all those things. I know that I tend to rant about this too frequently. But it bothers me.

And so, I am, at the end of the day, depressed. I keep going, keep getting out of bed, keep going to work, keep paying the bills, keep answering e-mails (well, I answer most e-mails, anyway), but I'm tired, and there are days when I don't want to keep going. I want to stay in bed and pretend that it's not happening, not like this. I feel, again, like I'm in Wonderland, stuck in a life that I couldn't have imagined, a life filled with nonsense. I'm stuck in relationships where communication breaks down, and we're all finally alone.

I really don't have a lot of time to sit here and write. But I wanted to say that I'm just tired, tired mostly of always doing what I think I "should" do. There's something in me that wants a month or a week or even a day off of all the "shoulds." I want to lie in bed all day and eat ice cream. I want to think only of myself, of what I want for a while. I want to be able to relax. I want to stop concerning myself with what everyone else thinks. I want to walk away from the stacks of essays and papers.

Beowulf

I feel like I need to say this out loud:

I LOVE Beowulf, love it, am excited by it, adore it. But I'm finally admitting it: a book can't keep me warm at night.

Ok, I'm plagiarizing here, but lately I feel like "House of No Momentum." Seriously. (Side note: I'm way overdoing the "seriously" in my own writing--I realize this.) I don't know what my deal is lately, but I'm having a really hard time getting anything done. I shouldn't say "anything;" it's more like I'm having a really hard time getting professional stuff (and laundry) done. It's like all I want to do is read, write, crafts, cook, whatever. But my teaching feels sucky, and grading just isn't happening. This is unlike me, and it rather concerns me. First, I'm not a procrastinator by nature; I'm just not. I don't like to let things pile up, even first-year essays. Second, I'm not one to wait around until I feel "motivated" to do work. I firmly believe that action begats motivation, that if I work at something, eventually momentum gets built up, and that's where the feeling of motivation comes from. Still, it's like nothing is getting done. And really, part of it's this whole weird anxiety / perfectionism thing: I feel like I can't get down to working, to grading, to even reading for class until I get my desk and my office area all neat and organized. Maybe that's a backwards kind of procrastination, or something.

I feel sluggish. And I keep telling myself that I'll be OK if only I do more yoga, which I somehow seem to never get to either. And all I really want to do is read popular fiction and threaten to read Virginia Wolf, although serious reading isn't really happening for me either. I want to knit and crochet and make soup and take photos of everything interesting that comes my way. And crafts, paper crafts especially.

OK, so now that I've turned this post into a big, whiney rant, I might as well go for it. I also feel like sucky teacher lately. I'm only teaching three classes this term. One is loads of fun and is going reasonably well, although the students aren't always as responsive as I'd like. This may be attributable to the 8:00 time slot. And another is going mostly OK, although I'm drowning in grading that just isn't getting done. The third is painful. And I can't figure out what the deal is. It's a class that I've taught at least four (I think more) times before, and I think I've been succesful in the past. I waltz into class each day with my usual enthusiasm, give my usual song and dance, and the students just aren't into it. They don't answer questions, don't even seem to pretend to be interested. And I don't know what to do about it. I'm sure that part of it has to do with the actual, physical classroom. The class is overenrolled, and there aren't enough seats if everyone shows up, which is kinda a problem. And the students are all kinda squished in, and there's this derelict looking TV and VCR on a cart in the corner. I don't know; it's just not, apparently, super conducive to learning or something. And so there I am, putting in my three hours a week, play acting in front of an audience that positively exudes apathy. Ah well, only eight more weeks of class, and then it all changes.

And then there's the loneliness. The more that I think about relationships and such, the more I come to believe that companionship is really what I want, you know? Someone to share the silences and empty spaces with, someone who's somehow willing to play along with popcorn and BBC adaptations of murder mysteries. Does that make sense? And really, "a little conversation," provided its with the right people would go a long way.

And what is it about Virginia Wolf? Why do I keep coming back to her? What's going on there that I think I can identify with? I can't figure it out. Kinda makes me think that what I really need is a good psychoanalyst. I mean that only half-jokingly. What is it about VW that I want to embrace or even to be? I can't figure it out. I'm spending my life as what Julia Cameron calls a "shadow artist," always loving words, images, writing, yet not being brave enough to produce art of my own. And maybe that's it. Maybe I want to be VW (sans, the insanity, of course). Or maybe I just believe in the power of words, that reading and writing can somehow save me, can save us all.

Girl Seeks Bliss

Ok, I'm reading (just started) this book: Girl Seeks Bliss. And I'm so excited that here's this book about practical Buddhism for trendy 30-something women. And I'm certainly no expert, but I think that at least some aspects of Buddhism really are compatible with Christianity. Recently, I've been struck by the fact that it's so helpful to simply accept what is, rather than being sad or angry or disappointed over what I think should be. And I don't see this as at all counter to Christianity.

My other big thing, at the moment, is Kimberly Wilson's Hip, Tranquil Chick: www.hiptranquilchick.blogspot.com. I just LOVE her podcasts. And she's totally what I aspire to be, in some ways. The hip, tranquil chick is someone who practices yoga, practices mindfulness off the yoga mat, and still appreciates cool clothes and fun lip gloss. Plus, Kimberly is all about pink. I totally feel like she could, in different circumstances, be my best friend or something. I just really like what she's all about. And, in fact, Girl Seeks Bliss, is a book she recommended in one of her podcasts.

So, I'm no expert about any of this. But I'm enjoying reading what I'm reading. And it's all making me realize that I want to be more committed to practicing both yoga and meditation, not that those two are clearly separable. And maybe I'll post more on this later, but I've also been reading about contemplative prayer as meditation, and that's fascinating too, although I'm not sure that I'm quite ready to incorporate it.

I don't know. I guess that I think it's good to think about being all Zen and accepting and in the moment. I certainly need more if it in my life right now.

Blog, Blogging, Blogged, Have Blogged

Sometimes, I can't believe that I actually use "blog" as a verb. And I know that I haven't posted anything ("haven't blogged") in a while. I think there's a lot that I haven't been keeping up with lately, the last week or so. And it strikes me as especially funny in that weird post-modern kind of way that to blog about not blogging is so "meta," if you know what I mean. But here I am. I'm waiting for my new super-sexy printer to initialize, and I'm using the time to blog about why I haven't been blogging. And seriously, I hope I can handle installing this new printer myself. I'm no techno-wiz; kinda wish I were. But if I were all techno-inclined, I wouldn't be me, right? Isn't it all part of my charm? Maybe not. I hope the printer works like it's supposed to. This sort of thing makes me anxious. But I'm here to say that despite the lapse in blogging, I'm alive. I'm well. Well, I'm getting by at any rate, and maybe that's the best we can hope for.

"Hellow Goose!"

Ok, so this one's mostly for Mom, because it's all rather an inside joke:

This morning on my way to work, I looked over my shoulder at the window in the back seat. And the sun and moisture were just right that I noticed that someone had written "Hellow Goose" with his or her finger on the window, obviously written from the inside.

I giggled and cried.

More On Pretending

Ok, so my method for coping is to pretend. I always think that if I pretend to work, then eventually, actual work will get done. And if I get up in the morning and pretend that everything's OK, then someday, everything will, indeed, be OK. So one of the weird / silly / neurotic ways that this pretending thing plays itself out is in my appearance on any given day. Often when I'm feeling upset or anticipating a difficult, stressful day at work, I try to somehow cheer myself up by dressing in a way that I think is extra cute or extra interesting, which in the eyes of the rest of the world, may just translate into "interesting" or just plain weird. Nevertheless, it's my method, and as Dolce Carina recently said to me, "You do what you have to do to get by, and that's OK." So I'm OK with all of it. Except this morning I think I got a little carried away with the eyeshadow. So I had this outfit all picked out that I thought was cool and hip and a little bit retro, and I had this cool, trendy skinny scarf, and it was all good. But I decided that blue and pink eyeshadow would be the way to go with it all, right? And the blue, which I applied in this kinda dramatic wash, mid lid to eyebrow, was really darker than I realized. And while my fashion sensibility allowed me to approve, it really wasn't terribly appropriate for work. But really, when is my appearance terribly appropriate for work? Seriously. And of course by the time I realized it, there wasn't time to wash it off and start over fresh. So I went to work, pretending as always, with a pink stripe of eyeshadow nearer my eye and irridescent blue all the way up to my eyebrow. And pink shimmer on my cheeks (not my "cheekies;" there's a difference). And I know that it wasn't terribly professional. And I wonder if my colleagues were like, "What's with her today?" or if, instead, they were like, "Hey, there's that 'interesting' Drennan again!" Either way, it made me feel better about my day, my self, about being in Vermont in the fall, in the rain.

I wanted to say that tonight is, like, my dream-night when it comes to TV. And I'm watching more TV than ever before in my life, and maybe I need to just be OK with it. But really, tonight at 8:00 is House and at 9:00 is Grey's Anatomy, which by the way I like less and less all the time. Then at 10:00 is Dog: The Family Speaks which is some special thing where the Chapman family weighs in on Dog's, Leland's, and Tim's recent arrests. Really, House and Dog--what could be finer. Good thing I have good ice cream in the freezer. This is how we know I'm getting older--TV, rather than going "out"--is super exciting.

Confession: I Heart Dog the Bounty Hunter

Ok, I'm just going to come out about this. And my family already knows. Seriously. I think that Dog the Bounty Hunter is Kick-Ass. Really. And for a while I was afraid to admit it, you know? It's like not wanting people to know that you read the Weekly World News (aka "The Paper"), but I've decided that I should be open about it and confess that I think that Duane "Dog" Chapman is a wonderful human being. Really. He's turned his life around, after doing time. But what I really love about Dog and his "posse" is how they are all tough when they go out on a bounty. They talk really big about how they are gonna kick ass and bring the guy to justice. But (unless the guy is beating on women), Dog and Tim and Leland and the rest turn out to be big softies. They get these addicts and sit them down and try to actually help them. Really, I believe that the Dog, despite appearances to the contrary is really this kind, caring guy. So here's a good Dogism: "This is the second chance business and we are good at it because we are second chance people." And that's what I love about Dog; he's really so about helping people. And I really believe that he connects with his clients because he's been there. Plus, I love it when he talks about being the vacuum salesman. I think he's super smart. And I'm protesting his recent arrest, because really, didn't he do us all a favor by chasing down the so-called Max Factor Heir? Isn't the world a better place because Dog's in it? When I first saw his TV program on A&E (and A&E itself is a rant I'll save for another time. Suffice it to say that A&E is no longer the A&E I knew and loved.) . . .oh yeah, when I first saw his show on A&E, I thought it had camp value, and I'm down with that. A little camp every now and then can be a good thing. But Dog's beyond camp. He's the real thing. And so, let us not forget that "This Dog bites, but only when he has to."

Frustration

So one thing that really annoys me, really frustrates me is when students make appointments and then just don't bother to show up. I realize that things come up at the last minute, that people get sick, whatever, but it seems to me that the least one could do would be to phone or even e-mail to say, "Sorry, I won't be able to make it after all."

Today, for example, my only class is 8:00-9:15, which is really quite a nice schedule. I have one advisee who's been saying for the last two weeks that he really needs to see me. So I made an appointment to see him at 10:30, just before his 11:00 class. Now, I know from past experience that he's kinda flakey, and all morning, I had a creeping suspiscion that he (we'll call him "A), that A wouldn't show up. And I was tired this morning. After class, all I really wanted to do was to go home and rest. I hadn't slept well the night before, and I knew I'd have to be back at work at 3:30 and would have to stay until into the evening for a long meeting. So I really just wanted to go home, get some breakfast, and rest. Of course, I didn't. I waited around for A. I didn't get much work done, but I was here. And guess what--A didn't show up. No phone call, no explanation, nothing. He just didn't show up.

This kind of thing really annoys and frustrates me. I'm just trying to do my job. And I just want to do a good job of everything I do. And I really care about my students, don't mind taking time for them. But I guess that I expect a level of maturity that they just haven't reached.

Note to self: in the future, be more realistic in your expectations.

Weighing In on House

OK, I'm at work, pretending to work, which I'm pretty good at, but not really getting much done. And I realized that what I really want to do is to weigh in on last week's season premier of House, M.D. And I know that I've already had this conversation with at least one person, but I feel like I need to get this on record or something.

So here's your warning: PLOT SPOILER. STOP READING NOW IF YOU DON'T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT LAST WEEK'S EPISODE.

First, I don't necessarily watch a lot of television, with the exception of Law and Order, which in its various incarnations seems to be on all the time. But I really, really love House, or I did until last week. In fact, tonight, I'm planning to go to a poetry reading at 7:00, but I'm really tempted to skip it so that I don't miss the new House, and this is unlike me--to plan my schedule, my social life around TV.

Second, Hugh Laurie is, in my estimation, absolutely brilliant. And I LOVED him in Jeeves and Wooster; I cannot recommend it highly enough. But his role in House, so utterly different from Bertie Wooster, proves that Laurie is this brilliant, wonderful actor.

All that said, I was kinda disappointed in last week's season premier episode. I have to say that last season's finale was kinda dumb. So House is shot by the crazed ex-patient guy, right? And he hallucinates. I found it all to be a let-down; it just wasn't what I'd come to expect. (Side note: don't get me started on the thin, beautiful women that work with House--so unrealistic. And has anyone noticed that Cuddy's necklines get lower and lower? Oh wait, House himself commented on that, didn't he?) So in the premier, House is back to work, thinks he's fully recovered. And, apparently, his leg is fine; he's running several miled each day. He's also off of the Vicodin. And of course, without the Vicodin, he's bored, not himself, engaging with the world in a new kind of way. There was just something wrong about it. And so, at the end of the episode, his leg starts bothering him again, and he writes himself a perscription (on Wilson's pad????) for Vicodin. I don't know. There's just something depressing about it all. I mean, as a viewer, I guess that I don't really want House to recover and be healthy and well-adjusted. That wouldn't be any fun. But to see a partial (and not very believable) recovery only to witness his spiral back into pain, cynicism, and Vicodin just isn't very satisfying either.

Tonight's episode promises to be about a boy who claims to have been abducted by aliens. This seems like a weird stretch. I'm expecting Fox Mulder to show up at any moment.

P.S. Love it when House rides a motorcycle.

Favorite Postmodern Moments

Since posting about Paul Anka this morning, I've been thinking about my favorite recent postmodern kind of moments. And I'll give you a list in a second. But does anyone remember that episode of The Simpsons where Moe redecorates his bar? So there are all these crazy things in the bar, like these weird rabbits running in those hamster wheel things attached to the ceiling. And there's a comment from one of the patrons (Moe's is suddenly really popular with the hip, young set) about it only being OK to watch football if one is being ironic. Anyway, Homer and Lenny and the other guy think it's kinda crazy, and they are like, "Moe, what's the deal?"

And Moe says, "It's Po Mo." Homer looks at Moe strangly, and Moe explains, "You know, postmodern." And when Homer still doesn't get it, Moe further explains, "Weird for the sake of weird."

So I really love that analysis. Anyway, here are some of my very favorite recent post modern developments:

1. Paul Anka singing Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit"

2. Audrey Hepburn dancing to "Back in Black" in the new Gap commercial

3. The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales (Ok, ok, that's not such a recent development, but it's too good to leave out)

4. Anything pertaining to "The Donald"

5. A book becoming a bestseller overnight, just because Oprah says it's worth reading

6. Oh, John Karr's being a big celebrity, all because he's obsessed with poor JonBenet; of course, we, the viewers, must be obsessed in our own way to have latched onto the story the way we have.

7. The mandate that requires Cookie Monster to cut back on the cookies and eat more fruits and veggies. This seems, to me, to be this weird, postmodern conflation of this pop icon with political correctness in a way that just makes no sense. Seriously. Does he now sing, "Celery, celery, celery starts with C"? This is beyond stupid in my book.

8. Having to refer to Prince as "The Artist, formerly known as Prince." Again, not such a recent development, but it's all so ridiculous that I think it's worth mentioning.

9. Does the development and coinage of the "prequel" count? Because isn't there something postmodern about the concept of a prequel, not something that comes before, but something that's constructed after the fact to be as though it came before. And really, not that this has any bearing on anything, but for the record, I kinda liked JarJar Binks.

10. Stephen Sondheim's Into the Woods. Ok, really, I think Into the Woods is really a brilliant show. And I'd say it represents the best of postmodernism, to my way of thinking. I really love the song that Little Red Ridinghood sings after her encounter with the Wolf, where she observes that "Nice is different than good" and that having all this new, adult knowledge is both wonderful "and a little bit not" so wonderful. I can't say enough about how smart I think Sondheim is in his analysis of the fairy tale. Any while the show is quite entertaining, I think it's powerful.

So, if all this stuff were in a novel by Thomas Pyncheon and hadn't actually happened, what would we say? Would we be like, "That's too crazy. That could never happen?"

What are your favorite postmodern moments?

9/11

I'm working very hard to ignore all this 9/11 rememberance stuff. I just don't want to get all emotionally caught up in it; I feel like I can't afford it right now. And besides, I remember. I remember that day, what I was doing, who I was with, how it felt, how I felt in the weeks following. And, I don't know, people die every day, often tragically, in accidents, murders, and they deserve as much rememberance, right? I don't know; although I'm quite studiously pretending it's just another day (and defiantly listening to The Proclaimers to emphasize it all), I feel terribly alone. Life is so short, and I want to live. And I don't want to spend the rest of it alone, I suppose, but each day, I'm more and more OK with the aloneness. And that's a good place to be, right?

Re Paul Anka and Guns N Roses

A couple of months ago, I heard an interview with Paul Anka on NPR. Apparently on his new album, he also does a cover of some Nirvana song (I think it was "Smells Like Teen Spirit," but I confess to being one of those geeks who thinks that all Nirvana songs sound alike. And I'm convinced that the only lyrics go like this: "Come as you are, as you are, however you are, just come like that. . .a mullato, an albino, a mosquito, my libido. . .come as you are, as you are. . ." and so on.)


So Saturday afternoon, we had this teriffic thunderstorm, and I spent nearly an hour listening to "November Rain" over and over and gazing out the window. And I know it's only September, but it all seemed appropriate somehow. And I spent way too much time creating a playlist in iTunes, a playlist titled "Sad, Broken Relationship Songs;" it's cheezy, I know. But it all felt like what I needed--cathartic somehow.

But maybe I do need the new Paul Anka, as someone suggests. And is it really true that Axl Rose is some crazy recluse who's spent, like, the last ten years working on the perfect album and that his old band mates won't work with him anymore because he's all obsessed with perfection and can't get along with any of them? Any information on Axl Rose would be appreciated.

Hair Bands

OK, I've been feeling nostalgic for the late 80s and especially the 90s. And that means that I'm listening, almost obsessively, to that kind of music. And while some of it (Guns N Roses) might be considered OK musically, I have to admit to enjoying really marginal pop music, notably Poision and Def Leppard. Bon Jovi is good too.

Singing A New Sgt. Pepper Song

And so last night, my favorite best friend called around 8:00, and since then, I'm singing a new song. She listened to all my worries and said all the right kinds of encouraging things. I think that you know you've found a really good friend when you tell her all the stupid decisions you've made, and she doesn't make you feel like you are so stupid after all. And so now, I keep thinking, "I get by with a little help from my friends."

I Love You, Billy Shears!

Ok, so I woke up with this crazy headache, which I was sure the perfect cup of coffee would cure. Incidentally, I've a new favorite coffee; it's Green Mountain Coffee Roaster's Harvard Blend. And I'm pretty sure it's only avaliable in New England. But it's this great blend of light and dark roasts, not too bitter. It, however, did not completely cure my headache. And the weird part about all of it is, I can't stop singing the Sgt. Pepper album to myself. You know it's like I'm walking down the hall, hearing "Woke up, fell outta bed, ran a comb across my head." And later: "We're Seargent Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, we hope you will enjoy the show." And still later: "And it really doesn't matter if I'm wrong, I'm right, where I belong I'm right, where I belong. See the people standing there who disagree and never win and wonder why they don't get in my door."

And another thing. . .

I'm rather fed up with Sophocles. One can only read the Oedipus cycle so many times before losing interest. It's hard to teach as though one is excited about something that's become "old hat." Now, Hans Christian Andersen, on the other hand, is infinitely fascinating at the moment. And this morning, I made what I thought were interesting, maybe even brilliant (OK, so brilliant is probably over-stating it) observations about Andersen's "Little Mermaid" and "The Snowman." Oh yeah, so if you ever are assigned to read Andersen's "The Little Mermaid," don't think that you can skip the reading just because you've seen the Disney movie. WARNING PLOT SPOILER!!!! Andersen's story does not "end happily" with "Ariel" and the prince "getting married." Should you be asked to summarize the story, don't try to fake it by assuming that Andersen's story ends like the Disney movie. And, whatever you do, don't say to your instructor, "It really kinda pisses me off how Andersen messed with the Disney movie. I don't think he really has a right to take a good story and mess it up like that with a dumb ending." These are just helpful hints from my own observations and experiences.

And one more thing: if you are in a class in which Andersen is being discussed, please don't bring up all kinds of crazy urban myths surrounding the Disney movie. That's just not helpful to anyone.

A Quick Note on Susan Howatch

Recently, someone posted a comment regarding Susan Howatch, and I feel compelled to reply. I'm actually not sure who posted the comment, but I'm guessing it must have been L.C., because he's the only one I can think of that I know has read Howatch's novels. So I just wanted to throw out a couple of observations:

First, I agree that the Starbridge novels seemed to explore the masculine psyche, generally speaking. I would note that the one in which Venicia has the affair with the married guy (was he Argyle? I don't remember), seems to be an exception, in that Venicia's point of view is dealt with there, specifically her tendency to fall in love with an older, father figure type.

Second, I've read Wonder Worker and the next in the Nicholas Darrow series--was it High Flyer? And I agree that both seem to explore the woman's experience in a way that the Starbridge novels (and I think I've read all of those) just don't. But what I find really interesting is that mysticism and the miraculous are explored more deeply in Wonder Worker and High Flyer. Although Darrow's father certainly has mystical experiences in the Starbridge series, it seems that the mystical element of Christianity, the mystical possibilities are dealt with more directly in this series that deals more directly with the female experience. And I don't know what to make of this. Naturally, because I'm me, I automatically think of Margery Kempe and especially Julian of Norwich, where mystical Christianity becomes so much feminized (We all remember the whole Jesus as Mother argument, right?) So is there some necessary connection between the female experience of Christianity, feminism, and mysticism?

Third, I want to publicly acknowledge that Howatch is not "high" literature in any sense of the word. In fact, I think she's a pulpy romance writer who turns to Anglican settings and characters. That said, her novels are good reads, provide an interesting way into different brands of Anglicanism, but are, in the end, rather soap opera like. Forgive me if I'm making too much of Howatch. I just suddenly felt interested and thought I should sound off.

This Morning

Trying not to cry. . .trying not to cry. . .trying not to cry

Can I still be a feminist if. . .

I decide to take up papercrafts?

I make a really kick-ass apple pie?

I think that crocheting is a lot more exciting than activism, marching for peace, or recycling?

I still think that stay-at-home moms are the biggest heroes in the world?

I love C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien?

I'm in love with Inspector Morse?

I wear glittery eye-shadow?

I actually WANT to live in traditional gender roles, at least some of them?

I have to call my dad every time I have a problem with my car or my yard?

I worry about my weight, about looking "interesting," about all my grey hair?

pink is my favourite colour?

I cry every time I watch You've Got Mail, mostly because I don't have any interesting "mail"?

although I say I want a career, I secretly envy all my friends with toddlers and houses in the suburbs?

I still believe that an intimate relationship with a man will necessarily make my life more fulfilling?

It's not quite 8:00 am, and I'm at work. And class starts at 8:00, and thank goodness I can teach this one with only a tiny sliver of brains, because most of my energy this morning is taken up by simply trying not to cry.

Father Brown and "Only Connect:" This One's For Dolce Carina

Ok, so I'm reading Chesterton's Father Brown stories. And I'm all super excited about it for any number of reasons. But what I'm noticing most right now is that everything I'm reading (Chesterton and everything else!) is reminding me of all kinds of other stuff I've already read. It's like it's all connected, and knowledge, books, reading, thinking, all of it seems to become this matrix in which to live and work and think and love, you know? And this is good, right, because we know that insanity is compartmentalizing our lives, trying to separate the professional from the personal, the work from the reward. And Father Brown, who so reminds me of C.S. Lewis, is both the work and the reward right now. And this makes me happy.

And C.S. Lewis read and liked and appreciated Chesterton's work. But Father Brown himself says things that Lewis's characters, maybe even Lewis himself, would have said: "Reason and justice grip the remotest and loneliest star. Look at those stars. Don't they look as the they were single diamonds and sapphires? Well, you can imagine any mad botany or geology you please. Think of forests of adamant with leaves of brilliants. Think the moon is a blue moon, a single elephantine sapphire. But don't fancy that all that frantic astronomy would make the smallest difference to the reason and justice of conduct. One plains of opal, under cliffs cut out of pears, you would still find a notice-board, 'Thou shalt not steal.'" This could totally be Lewis's Ransom; in fact, this very idea is maybe what Lewis's entire Space Trilogy is really about.

But Lewis, Tolkien, now Chesterton, even Inspector Morse (had a date with Morse last night), all these these writers, these characters, they seem to be doing the same kind of thing somehow, not just with morals and Christianity, but with cultural identity, what it means to be English, what it means to have a medieval cultural heritage. So here I am, right back at medievalism, right back at my dissertation. And it all makes sense. And suddenly the dissertation itself feels like more than just a hoop to jump through, more than just an exercise. It's become a foundation, a foundation to do and think other kinds of things. It's led to, or maybe it's created, this nexus, this matrix. And now I can say for sure that I'm a better person for having finished it.

So I hope that at least some of this made sense. It's what I needed to write just now. The important thing, at least for the moment, is that I'm reading Chesterton, and Chesterton means something to me. And Chesterton will connect back to Lewis, to Tolkien, and someday will connect to Dalgleish, to Morse.

Peeps!

Ok, so my friend A. just gave me the coolest, best gift ever. It's for the Labor Day holiday, and guess what it is. Go ahead. . . guess. So, you want me to just tell you? Ok. . .wait for it. . .wait for it. . .it's a make your own Peeps kit. It includes "colored sugar packets" and a "surprise mold inside." Isn't that the greatest thing ever?

Livin' on California Time

So yesterday morning, I was teaching, and I tend to glance and my watch often. Because, you know, once I start talking, it's hard to stop. So I have to keep glancing at my notes, which by the way are usually meticulous because I'm me, and in my notes, I have everything all timed out. So I'm teaching, watching the minute hand, realizing that there's only about 10 minutes left in class, and there's still so much more I want to say about early printed works for children, because that's the topic for the day. And I notice that my watch is still set for West Coast time, three hours earlier than what it really is. Maybe I hadn't worn this watch since I'd been back from California. I don't know. In class, when I realized that my watch was set for California time, I nearly cried then and there! And maybe it's fitting, because I think about California time all the time anyway. I'll look at the clock and think, "Hey it's 9:30 here; that means it's 6:30 in California. Dad is probably on his way to McFarland to check out the grapes." Or, "Hey it's 10:30, so I should go to bed, but in California, everyone's finishing dinner and settling in for the evening." You know, that kind of thing. It's like having this sense of some weird sort of dual consciousness.

Saving My Sanity

I want to publically acknowledge that writing here and reading speckedmavens and the fidfam blogs are saving my sanity. Or at least, these things are making significan contributions. I suppose I shouldn't discount yoga, reading Proverbs, or tea.

A Pirate's Life for Me!

Is it OK if I take up scrapbooking? I've avoided it on principle for so long, but lately, I've forgotten what the principle was. And hey, when you were a kid, did your mom tell you that you could remember the difference between "principle" and "principal" by remembering that the school principal is your pal? Did your mom say that too? Did she ever say, upon getting in the car in the evening, "Let's just try to have a quiet ride home"? Did yours say that too?

So here's a pic of me and Polly. And I like this one a lot. I just think she has the cutest, funniest little face that I'v ever seen. In the words of some, "She's just a little bit too goosie!"

Really Good Coffee Maker

I'm posting this, in part, because Dolce Carina requested a review of my new coffee maker.

I've been thinking about coffee quite a lot lately, and it seems to me that if one is going to bother with the time and expense and hassle of coffee, it ought to be a really good cup of coffee. I mean, I can't stand bad coffee. And for some reason, I get really annoyed with what I call Coffee Posers. OK, so really, that's not my coinage, but it works. So in the pursuit of really good coffee, I decided it was time to upgrade to a nicer coffee maker. And I bought this great Cuisinart coffee maker. And it's totally cool. The flavour is much nicer. And it doesn't have a carafe, but all the coffee is kept hot inside the thingy (there's a technical term, "thingy") so it doesn't get all burnt tasting or bitter or anything.

So, I was hoping I could write this really smart review that would let you all know exactly how in-love I am with this new coffee maker (Hey, aren't I always claiming to be "in love" with this or that? Let's see. . .there's the coffee maker, cream tea, Inspector Morse. I really sound unbalanced! Or maybe my priorities are just all crazy.) And it isn't a smart review at all. But I guess it does answer the question, you know? Maybe simply answering the question is good enough.

Why do these things happen to me?

So here's the long-version of the I-got-mooned-and-I'm-too-old-for-this story. All weekend, I was working at first-year orientation. And it was mostly anything but fun. So I'm teaching this First Year Seminar in which, in addition to the academic portion of the course, I meet with new students and talk with them and we do activities designed to help them successfully make the transition to college. For example, we'll have presentations about, say, study skills and time management. Anyway, on Saturday night, we had this presentation on "Equalogy," which already bugs me because it isn't even a real word. But the so-called Equalogy deal is this skit-type thingy designed to get students thinking about the evils of acquaintance rape. Now, I think this is an important topic to cover because acquaintance rape is such a wide-spread problem on campuses. I detest even calling it "acquaintance" rape, as though the fact that the victim knows the attacker makes it less horrible somehow. Or as though the attackers actions are somehow mitigated by knowing the victim. Anyway, the presentation was really bad, offensive on so many levels. Last year, I remember walking out about 1/3 of the way through the presentation, because I found it objectionable. It's this skit, right? And it opens with this scene with 4 college students at a party, drinking and telling all kinds of sexist jokes. The sexual innuendo abounds, and naturally, we, the audience, are enouraged to laugh. I mean, in something that's supposed to open our eyes to the sexist attitudes that lead to the perpetuation of rape and rape-myth, we are supposed to laugh at sexism. Nothing is done to problematize it. This goes on and on, with the students behaving increasingly disturbingly. And by "students," I mean our students, my students, not the actors on stage. They are laughing, asking off-color questions during the question time, and finally, cheering during the final rape scene. I was horrified, horrified, I tell you!

So afterwards, we're supposed to have a sort of talk back session with our groups. Each faculty member teaching a FYS, has 18 first-year students. So only about 2/3 of my group shows up for this mandatory activity. You can imagine that my mood is getting increasinly bad, irritable. I'm angry at having to sit through such an offensive presentation, angry that my students had to sit through it, disturbed that some students clapped and cheered during the rape, yadda, yadda, yadda. My mood, however, begins to improve as I discuss matters with my students. Many of them display remarkable maturity and insight. And many, without prompting, express concern that some in the audience reacted the way they did. So this is going on, in the classroom, and two students are outside the window--we have these large picture windows, and the room is at ground level. So the guys outside walk by, real obvious like. They walk by again. Then a third time. I'm certain they are simply wanting attention, so I studiously ignore them. Until they pull their pants down and press their backsides against the window.

Seriously, should I have to deal with this? Is this what my life has come to? Is this why I got my PhD, only to be "mooned" by a pair of unruly 18-year-olds, when I'm supposed to be discussing acquaintance rape? Seriously, how does this kind of thing happen?

And I Got my PhD for This. . .

So last night, while I was having a follow-up discussion with my students about acquaintance rape, our class was mooned. Seriously. Is this why I'm teaching college instead of high school? I'll post the full story later.

I'm not sure what it is I need to say just now, only that I need to write something. Have you ever felt like you don't know who you are anymore, that lost feeling? Like you used to be someone definite (or have at least a definite sense of self, or maybe just a persona to project to the world), only that person got lost somewhere along the way? I know I'm not articulating this very well, but recently, I hear myself saying things, even thinking things, and I think, "Is this me? I don't remember being this sort of person, someone who says this sort of thing. When did this happen?"

Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night, and for a few moments, I think I'm in Riverside, living where I live there and that I'm still with J. And for those few moments, I'm happy, and I think I know who I am and where my life is headed. But, of course, it all comes crashing down, when I realize that I'm the new me, the post-J me, doubtlessly a sadder-but-wiser-me, a less hopeful me. I can't quite decide if I like this new me. I liked the person I was at 19, the young woman who could see hope, who wanted a future. Now, most of the time, I just try to make it through the day without crying too much.

Oh, and One More Thing

Can I just give a yip of joy that, at long last, leggings are again fashionable? Seriously, this open a whole new vista of interesting fashion possibilities that I would never have thought possible. My current favorite being the fashion possibility of wearing a cute micro-mini over leggings. I mean, I get the fun of a mini without the potential immodesty, not to mention embarrassment, that could result from such a fashion decision. And yes, I love the whole dress-over-leggings-or-jeans-look. It seems fun, interesting, yet totally wearable. So hooray for leggings.

P.S. Bought the cutest knee-highs at Old Navy today. I'll have to take a picture soon. I think that I need to get back on the Sock Project Bandwagon.

Susan Cooper's King of Shadows

Last weekend, I read Cooper's King of Shadows. I think her Dark is Rising sequence is just great, so I was excited about this title. It wasn't as wonderful as I was hoping, but it wasn't bad either. So it's the story of a boy, he's maybe 12, who's playing Puck in a production of A Midsummer Night's Dream in 1999. But one day he wakes up, and it's 1599, but he's still playing Puck. He meets Shakespeare and what-have-you. What I did think was interesting about the book was the way in which Cooper depicts Elizabethan society, specifically the politics surrounding Shakespeare's theatre. Shakespeare and Richard Burbage are shown having to walk a fine line between appearing to support Essex and still really supporting Elizabeth. It just seems to me that this and so many other cultural elements are forgotten in our misguided attempt to present Shakespeare as high culture. Shakespeare was pop culture, and it seems to me so important to think of him that way. He wrote to make money, writing what he believed the people wanted to see, would pay money to see. None of this art for art's sake business. OK, so enough rant. I make no claim to being a Renaissance scholar. Still, Cooper is saying, especially to young people, something important that it seems that we so often forget about Shakespeare.

I know that I've not been blogging much lately. Isn't it silly that I feel like I need to create a specific post to apologize for not posting? Really, I don't know why I've not been posting much. I think actually that it's something that, for the sake of my mental health, I should do more of. I think I've just been distracted by one thing and another. Not that any of it's all that interesting, mind you. I've had plenty going on, but none of it is that exciting to tell about. Mostly, I've been reading a lot. By that, I mean that I've been reading more fun stuff (as opposed to stuff that I see as necessary for work) than I might normally read. Maybe it's that it's the summer. Anyway, I used to try to do at least a quick post on every book that I read. But I haven't been for the last couple of months, and I rather miss it. I think that posting something, anything helps me think through whatever it is that I need to say about whatever I'm reading. So it's certainly something that I want to do more of, especially as the new school year is starting (my fall semester starts on Monday!)

The other thing I haven't been posting about is my ongoing affair with Inspector Morse and 20th century British mystery generally. So I think that maybe, possibly this is my new academic, research interest. If I were all paranoid, I wouldn't let my ideas get out, for fear that someone would steal them. Seriously, I'm suddenly obsessed with 20th century British detective fiction. Specifically, I'm interested in the ways in which Christian and specifically Protestant understandings of human nature allow the detective characters to be effective. I see that, at least for some of the detective characters, especially P.D. James' Adam Dalgleish, their Protestant understanding of man and of the universe generally allows them the insight that they need to somehow crack the case. Dalgleish is my new favorite, BTW. Wanting to work on this as a research project has given me the conveninet excuse to read all this stuff. So I'm thinking this tradition starts not with Holmes but with Chesterton's Father Brown. This is all rather vague right now, but it's an idea that I'm suddenly excited about. Really, I wonder if the 20th century British detective is this modern (and I mean modern, not post-modern) reincarnation of King Arthur and the Grail Knight and all that.

And I do realize that I've posted far too many pictures of John Thaw as Morse already on this blog. I guess that my only response would be that it's my blog and I can do what I want. But that's rather juvenile, isn't it? Clearly, in the absence of a "real" (don't you love the phrase "in a very real sense. . ."???) oh yeah, in the absence of a "real" relationship, I'm compsentating in silly ways. And, you know, I'm OK with that. If anyone was wondering my last "date" with Morse was Sunday night when I watched the "Infernal Serpent" episode.

I just realized, as I signed on, that I haven't posted anything in over two weeks! In case anyone's worried, don't; I'm just fine. I was out of town for a while, and I guess I have just been busy and distracted with one thing and another. I wish I could say that interesting (or at least funny!) developments in my personal life had been sucking up all my time. But alas, no such luck. I guess that puppy dogs and planning for the fall semester is sucking up my time, or maybe it's just a way to pass the time.

Wow, so I wish I had something really interesting to relate, but I don't. Is that sad? Or is it just OK? I don't know. I'm doing well, I think. I've been enjoying and making the most of time off school: staying up late watching movies, sleeping in, soaking in the hot tub. It's nearly enough to make me not want to go back to work. I say that now, but truthfully, time off seems to have the specific effect of making me appreciate having a job to go to, having structure to my day, having something productive to do each day. I thrive on that sort of thing.

I wish I could think of something more exciting to tell you, but I guess I'm just boring these days. Maybe boring isn't so bad, however; at least I'm happy. Well happy-ish.