badgerbag: messy, surly, full of books

slacky-good

Today! I will clean the house a little bit for the party. I'll go buy beer and soda and napkins. Maybe I'll make ch1cken cutlets, a whole bunch of them, for party-food. And a huge pot of plain rice.

I'm in the perfect bustling mood where cleaning for the party becomes the excuse to make everything nice -- rather than a boring chore.

Maybe I'll tackle my office. The plan is that I'll remove everything that isn't books and put it in some boxes. Then I'll organize the books. Then I'll go through the boxes of crap. And I will buy the armchair-futon thing that will go in there. My fantasy armchair-futon is mission style so that I can perch a drink on it. The office also needs a good lamp for its bookshelf labyrinths.

Exciting! There is no writing deadline! There is no Giant Project!

In the afternoon I'll whisk Moomin off perhaps to do the beer-buying and then go to a park somewhere.

cloud cities

I took Moomin to the Staffnord ranch to pet the horses and have a 4pm picnic today... we discussed how you tame a horse and what the different gaits are.

He's so pleasingly odd... as we played our Bufffy rpg he was in bed with socks on his hands talking to himself... I went and cuddled him hoping to get him to relax and go to sleep. "Close your eyes Moomin... try to sleep..." "I forgot how to close my eyes Mommy." I could feel his body sort of tense and thoughtful and obviously unsleepy. "I'm thinking of horses running fast and cities that are in the clouds."

A little alien... tiny windows into his world every once in a while... he's so reserved.

He took my hand and put it on his forehead and very strongly made me pet him as sometimes I go and smooth his hair until he falls asleep and how Rook used to very often when he was a baby. But tonight he insisted on holding my hand and sort of being in control of that.

He gnashes his teeth at night while he's sleeping.

Today he asked me about once an hour if it was closer to christmas yet. He's getting excited about it!

I worry that he won't have fun at our party tomorrow, it will be too raucous and drunken and crowded. I think after the present-exchange part I might take him off and put him to bed in Peanut's room? I'll have to lock our cats up anyway so we could leave the door between the houses open. Can't stand the thought of him lying awake and lonely hearing boozy loud grownups being incomprehensible. Not that I will be boozy or have anything against it but from the point of view of little kids it's just too weird how everyone shrieks and rumbles with laughter.

I'm an open book

Virginia Woolf: Orlando. You are a challenge, for
outer events, the outside world, the time etc.
play no importance to you. Your focus is in
writing, in gender issues, and inside your own
head. Self-analysis and exploration of yourself
as well as the outer world hold great
importance to you.


Which literature classic are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

space fun

I scored 2 t-shirts from scrounging off my ex-girlfriend's wife the other night. I just thought I'd briefly celebrate and mock one of these shirts. I think that Masha, Zonami, and possibly P.C. thought it up and designed it in that ubiquitous act-up font (Futura Bold, I think - force justified...) just before I started going out with Masha and Zonami. All I know is I was wearing and selling the things for the next couple of years... It was good to wear because all the right people would come up and read the fine print as a form of flirtation. And it had a lot of fine print, as you are about to see. Oh dear, typing it is making me giggle.

So here is the shirt:

COMMUNITIES COMING OUT,
TAKING PRIDE IN OURSELVES.

D Y K E
F A G
S P A C E

We, as members of sexually marginalized communities, understand that race, gender, class, age, religion, geographic origin, physical/mental/emotional ability, HIV/AIDS status, and affectional orientation are constructed by dominant culture to maintain power and privilege. In reappropriating the notions of dyke/fag and reclaiming our space, we empower ourselves, create positive identity politics (the foundation of coalition building) and resist/challenge/oppose dominant culture.

I also scored some imported tins of foie gras, some wine, something in a jar, mysterious and french, that looks like.... prunes? prune wine?
And, sweetly, masha's giant chain dog collar (worn spikes-in, with choke chain) which made me feel incredibly sentimental. I swear every time I see it I sit there for a few minutes smiling foolishly.

momentary glamour

Last night was a blast. The readings at M0dern Times were good but it went a really long time. I had figured earlier in the evening I wouldn't bring my notebook -- why carry it around, I'm always doing that just in case I must suddenly barf up an epic poem in the midst of actual life, or need to write a 3-page to-do list in fit of neurosis. But I left the notebook and then wished MIGHTILY that I had it in the reading. Sometimes for good tangential ideas or criticism-thoughts for an essay but then also for the moments of fingernail-filing boredom or when I just need to check out of reality and paying attention to other people's intense thoughts out loud which is hard for 2 hours straight.

I was v. tempted to buy some cheesy books that are part of a series. The first one was "Giraffes? Giraffes!" and had me snorting with laughter. The world needs more silly books like this.

I also took a look at Joshua Norton's story in Zyzzyva. Good job J.! I felt so proud, somehow! Huzzah!

Then we were off to the Center for Sex and Culture, changed, hung around watching other people change into lovely ridiculous sexy outfits and across the street to the DNA Lounge for the Good Vibrations party. It was fun... packed witih people... everyone was nice... there was that thing where you are talking to someone but it's really too loud to have a conversation and their eyes keep sliding away to the distractions of lights and music and an endlessly parading mass of dressed up people who you might know and would be so glad to see a familiar face like an anchor. I like to flit around and talk with people but equally well enjoy sitting and just observing. Everyone wondering am I cute enough and who is this person in relation to me and what will happen? will we bump together and stick? Then the comfort of being part of a loosely associated group of people so no one feels like a herd animal on their lone, and dancing around. The pursuit of fun. I did meet a ton of cute nice people and I'm sure I'll keep running into them and perhaps part of the point of such an event is that you meet them and have the real conversations later when you are scruffy and sweaty, but you can mentally superimpose the glamorous moment on that person so hopefully they will edit out the superficiality of the drunken clubbing moment, and substitute the deep conversation of later; and edit the holey sweater over the unmatching 3 shirts and scuffy sneakers out of the conversation on the bus. I don't really mean that, as I like people being scruffy and scuffy and unmatching and not thinking about fashion all the time. And yet. It's still so much fun to dress up and I'm not going to say it's utterly pointless.

We ran into C.D. and I felt a sudden benevolent surge of friendliness towards her and remembered all the times I saw her vulnerabilities and bravery and felt sorry for times that I have thought more about her annoying flaws. I flirted heinously with R. as I always do because I love how wholesomely filthy and appreciative he is which makes one feel like a glamorous goddess and like he is helpless prey. then the photo booth thing was fun and if the cute photo of us goes into On 0urr Backs I would have a tiny thrill from that. and I must say re: helpless prey, Chula. was remarkably, remarkably, stunningly splendid in her ass-short red vinyl chinese dress with matching tail, devil horns, and fire-engine shiny insane, insane platform shoes. Walking up the stairs behind her was like winning the lottery. In a giant club full of splendid outfits people were doing double takes and gawking at her uncontrollably.

The burlesque trapeze acts were GREAT.

I was cute too in my pink ripped fishnets and ludicrously fluffy 80s prom dress. i felt cute as a bug despite being covered in nasty pms acne. When you are going around showing your underwear to everyone you forget your embarrassing acne and all self-consciousness disappears. I am such a filthy exhibitionist.

clorox earthsea

A great interview with Ursula Le Guin about Earthsea -- not the statement on her web site. She's so great!

oh day!

Day! You are half over and yet so fresh and new-feeling. Vim and vip and vigor! (Vip?)

I sent off my dorky essay to the just-past deadline. Here's hoping they don't mind and that they like its flaky audacity. It wasn't very scholarly. I could rewrite it easily for somewhere else if they reject it.

And a few stolen moments with the bad-ass mamas at Thurs. coffee - witnessing the miraculous shreds of Squid's sanity tenuously hanging onto existence - Suddenly shooting off mouth with Jo Spanglemonkey about reality and textuality and feminist social ways of being and writing, about reality TV and fundamentalism. We swim off into the distant stars and get wacky. Are we still communicating, even? Or in our odd little space-habitat bubbles? We will write manifestos! Yes! I like this plan. Feminist Blogging Manifesto, here we come. I will put it on wikipedia! and messy fingers will meddle with it and muddle it.

nowhere to start

There's nowhere good to start about this evening but I have to at least put it on record that Masha's mom is one of the most deeply fucked up human beings I've ever met. Jesus I forgot what a cruel, wicked bitch she is. Tonight was like being in some insane movie about how fucked up old people can be. It's hard to believe anyone in the world could shake Quilty's rockstar competence and kickassitude. Or, despite all my spazzing, who could really make me feel like a lowly worm? Yes. Masha's mom. She is evil incarnate. She's so skillful. She could wound anyone to the core in about 20 seconds flat. I felt so sorry for her as she is also one of the more obviously miserable, lonely people around.

I'm just sorry that Moomin had to be exposed to her even for a few minutes much less all through dinner. I swear to god. She started to GET to me. I made him taste a green bean, and the words, "OK Moomin um how about will you just taste it a tiny bit to make Vixy HAPPY?" And he licked it and then gave me sort of a look, like, "WTF Mom? And who is the fucking bitch? And why does she keep rudely commenting on what i eat and don't eat non stop and how short I am and how in china they make people get special operations where they saw their legs off and then extend them because they think short people are deformed?" for fuck's sake. As soon as she launched into the thing about sawing the legs off I started talking loudly to Moomin and got up from the table carrying him on the thinnest excuse of some kind and we just went in the next room for a while until she was done with her horrible story.

And that was just like, 3 minutes of the evening. I can't even BEGIN to describe how fucked up Vixy was to Quilty, who was dealing with last minute moving stuff, trying to consolidate a whole room full of stuff into 4 suitcases and leave some of it to be mailed or stored or thrown away, which is a very stressful thing especially considering she'd basically BEEN doing that for like 6 months and had to sort through all her years of accumulated crap and Masha's too. You know the sort of thing, we were staring stupefied at this giant cardboard box full of old inhalers and sharpie pens and binder clips and discount cards, batteries and bits of electronic devices and keyrings, and oh look there's my social security card in there! And we discussed how each time we move, there is a box like that, and it never gets dealt with, and then you move again and get a couple more boxes like that. Quilty laughed bitterly. "And I swear to god I went through 50 boxes like that in this move and got rid of them, it's so unfair I'm not getting any credit!"

dork dancing - the new break dancing

Last night -- messing around with music and finding the weirdest things online. Around a month ago I had a week-long obsession with DDR music -- it's so spazzy and tacky! I played "pink dinosaur" (possibly one of the most annoying, stupid, yet catchy songs ever) for Rook.

"Can't you just picture it!?"

He leaped up with a strange look on his face. "Why yes. Yes I can." and began totally ... um, whatever the dance equivalent is for air-guitar..... dance-dance revolutioning with wild incredible realism.

"Good! Perfect! Super!" I squeaked in imitation of how the DDR thing rewards you for hitting a lot of beats in a row. I was laughing so hard I thought I was going to pop. "Make it all like, rollin' with the homies style!" and he started super-break dancing flinging his arms around and leaping onto the floor while still keeping up a foot stamping thing. I thought he was going to have a stroke. Or maybe it was a sudden epileptic fit!

Such royal entertainment! Such strange, unexpected genius! From one so quietly typety typing on the couch mere moments before.

bottle rocket launcher!

This, eerily reminiscent of the scene this morning in the OB/GYN office down the street. Little Peanut watched in awe.

"So do you have any questions? You read the pamphlet?"
"No... well... yeah one question. What about fisting? "
"Oh! No problem. Noooooo problem. Should be fine! Pound away! Do anything you want in there!"
"Hahahaha great!"
"Hahahah! Ready?"
"Sure. Peanut, honey you totally didn't hear Auntie Badgery say anything about fisting, K?"
...
"Okay here's the speculum."
"Um. Yup."
"Now cough and this just clamps --"
"Ow! Jesus fuck! Ow! fuck!"
"... onto your cervix and straightens it out..."
"Ow Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!"
"so we can stick this cannula up there and then take out the tube..."
*pant pant pant* "Um, ouch!"
"There now we're done."
"Ow. No. It's not that. The speculum is pinching."
"Hahahaha sorry!"
"That was fast. Sorry about the yelling and cussing, that's just how I am."
"Oh whatever works for you, it didn't bother me. And so educational for the baby!"

I feel a little sad over the thought of really not having any more babies. I can still change my mind I know.

Maybe someone wants my eggs, I'd totally donate them if it were to someone nice.

I forgot to take Advil beforehand. I'm still having cramps but really getting waxed was about a zillion times more painful. Whew!

The IUD was very perky, white and sproingy looking with coppery bits. It's like coochie jewelry! It's like I have a new secret piercing!

comic book suggestions?

I need some suggestions for comic books for Moomin. He loves Ak1ko and is reading it right this minute to himself. Though it is a little over his head perhaps, he seems to love it and...well... he's laboriously going through it all by himself. He also like Naus1caa Valley of the W1nd (the color one based on the movie).

what else? I sort of wish for ... i dunno... mickey mouse-type comics, or tin-tin, but maybe a bit more modern? Tin-tin he liked but it required huge amounts of explanation.

studly

I am inspired with supergirl powers today.

scheduled dr. appointments!

Made giant packet of junk for Prof. Steed! Written summaries of all my work in every one of her classes and all my goals for the rest of my life! Filled out forms in my neatest handwriting and stamped every envelope for her convenience!

written course proposal for indep. study project! to be left under the doors or handed to various profs who might supervise it! someone had better agree to it. dammit.

I'm having nasty cramps but somehow they are just fuel for the fire and I'm like surfing them. "Cramps! I welcome you! Holy proof I am not pregnant! "

Off to school now to pimp my project. who will be the sucker who will take me on?

watch my dust

Vim and voom! I'm ready to do all the things that need doing!

- stalk the elusive prof I want to supervise my transl4tion of that E.H. poem

- packet of statements, transcripts, etc to Prof. Steed for final rec letter (late but they dont' mind) (jesus but she is anal, and wants more work from me than the original application almost but all in the name of being more effective in the persuasiveness of her letter and of not wasting her time, which is of course good. a nd i must say her super-detailed syllabuses and course requirments and things were very reassuring and comforting and made one feel that she was unfailingly fair and clear about communicating expectations... a model to follow...)

- 2 Lines deadline, "Bodies". whip something up. B3renguer? intruiguing. Agust1ni would be okay but I'm not satisfied with my translations, they're jumbly, maybe constipated...

- mail xmas present to mom in law (nothing for my own mom yet. ack!) send books to Dad and d.-in-law.

- put out call for subs for C0mposite, quick, now, jan. 7th or so deadline.

- submit poems to places (all this week and next)

- apply for Stegasaurusner, quick and dirty? seems easy after Borkly. Just in case. The long shot. Would I hate it? Stiill not sure. What if I did both at once, hahhaa, imagine.

I desperately need a day of solo wandering about. maybe crossing the GG bridge? with my bike? even if it's cold and windy and rainy. SOMETHING.

- tomorrow is hosed as I said i would help with the Peanut so that Pilot can finish her project. warring impulses of niceness and wanting time to self. Also, it is my last day to see Quilty before she leaves for Boston.

- schedule mammogram. ow!

- take Moomin this week to see h0rses. next week when he is off school: zoo, ponyride farm, beach, exploratorium, giant week of fun.

swap meet

The clothes swap was fun. Though i had not quite predicted that there would be these moments where everyone is hooting and laughing and pointing and shrieking "What fool! What idiot! What clueless ho-bag would EVER wear THIS!!" and then it's yours and actually you were considering not getting rid of it. Or it's not yours and then you realize one person in the room has gone all quiet and gotten very busy doing something else. I believe this may have happened to all of us in turn.

But perhaps mostly to me!

I took back 2 of my freakishly ugly housedresses. In the end I didn't really want to part with the weird green hippie ... dress? tunic? pakistani sari-sort of thing? with the meditating horned aliens hand-embroidered on it. it is just too strange. Someday it will make a good hippie outfit for halloween.

The whole back of my truck is full of bags of clothes!

I'm about to fall over from cold medicine... must bathe... must read something utterly trashy though I don't think I could fall any lower than the pern orgy of last night.

Do you think all those muscley, sweaty bronze dragon riders fuck each other senseless in a wrestly sort of way when the one bronze rider and the queen are locked in their timeless embrace? I am pretty sure that's how it happens. The books never say -- just all these coy references to their lack of traditional morality.

To the bookshelves, to the bath! and then to bed.

time on the hands, this is what happens

I'm sure it took you all about 10 seconds to figure this out for yourself but in case you haven't, I'll let on that typing "sex" into Google Suggest gets you nothing.

How priggish of them!

***
p.s. same for "fuck". Aw, maaaaan!

yay, done!

I'm so relieved. And my cold is not bad, just general sniffliness.

I just tried to put up xmas lights with Moomin and made a sad mess of it. I got allergies from the dusty lights and brushing up against the plants outside. I blew a fuse. I knocked over all this stuff in my office and made a huge mess. I broke a bulb on the pavement and all the lights went out and I had to get another set. In mid-untangling of set 2 of the lights that were in the dusty xmas things box, I lost it and explained sweetly to moomin that we were just going to hang the tangly lights up on the palmetto tree and maybe Daddy, who is good at these things, will untangle everything and make it all better. He just stared at me, huge-eyed, like I had gone utterly mad.

Mommy ruined Christmas!!!!!

Ah, sweet ambition. We came back inside and the lights were all off from the fuse blowing again and the clocks were blinking 12:00 12:00 12:00. Moomin has tied himself up in his bathrobe sash for the hundred millionth time and is whispering something about his New Different Movie About H4rry Potter, the New Death Star and the Swan Knight. Lord knows whatall is going through his mind.

My paper was maybe a little wacky and full of holes. I think I left out all the middle part of it because it was too tedious to explain everything. That's how it goes!

I'm so relieved school is over for now!

idea for next

Here is an idea. I think I need to plan for extra support when I have the end-of-semester. Next time I will get extra coverage for picking up Moomin etc. and for housecleaning, shopping and stuff. What I need is a wife for 2-3 weeks every semester. They will come for a couple of hours. No, hell, I could hire someone full time. I need a temp, because I can't make a clone. Because if I'm going to do this several times a year for the next few years there needs to be a different strategy. Too much pressure on me, which I don't want to put on Rook. Imagine it if someone takes that whole role off my back and I could just work on work. I coast through most of the semester fairly comfortably but at the end when I have to work hard... I have to work hard. and there are too many roles I am expected to play at once. I can stop and play with Moomin and have it be part of the relaxation, but not every single time and not on top of stopping working all the other times so that so many times I'm irritably and guiltily shouting "Whaaaaaat?! You can do it yourself can't you?" when he needs help untying a rope or finding his cowboy hat or whatever. Or Rook comes in and in what i am sure was a super neutral, non-judgemental, commenting, normal-life way, says, "We're almost out of milk" and my inner response is both to die of guilt and to want to kill him. No one needs that from me!

Also, giving up social interaction is not the answer (I have heard people's eyebrows raise as I go out, watch movies, etc.) But the harder I work the more I need emotional support and moments of fun and relaxation. Therefore my plan for next time is to hire a temp to make all the practical details of life work smoothly at the times when obviously I will be the most stressed and under pressure.

If I go on strike for a day or two, all that means is that I have 3 times as much to do when the strike ends. No magic fairies come and fix it for me that's for sure. those of you who are living by yourselves will not understand because maintaining one person is easier. it is a question of having the ingrained habit of constantly thinking "what needs to be done to maintain things? do we need food? what is here? what needs doing? what events are coming up? moomin's pants have holes in them." like the general of an army.

This is the "nice" spin on it all, I'm sure you can imagine the dark underbelly of my day today waking up at 7 and making tiny lunches and folding laundry and doing yesterday's dishes that went undone and thinking of the hours of housework I somehow did yesterday. (How?) I can't do the dishes and be in P4tagonia at the same time though i am heartily trying. I just did a whole new page of the paper sitting here at the kitchen table. Yet it is not fair to expect Rook to take up all my slack. He does that often enough when I get sick and he has his own dual roles to take care of and doesn't need the extra pressure which has become quite predictable. (and which I think makes him look at my going to school negatively). I look forward and think of paper-grading pressure on top of it for me and see that something will have to be different. Meanwhile the Pilot is under the same hideous pressure and needs extra time, support and babysitting. i wish I could do more for her but I can't. Perhaps she will share the "end of the semester temp nanny/housekeeper" person with me.

how does she put on all that mascara with no reflection?

Best potter-sues horrible badfic ever. I love it. Oh, the wonderful outfits! The plot twists! The touching scenes between Draco and Vampyre-Hermione! I like it when they have dramatic tension at the lunch table.

"Immortal Beloved"

Keep in mind the author has got to be what... 14 or so... maybe younger? I think it's incredibly cool that someone that young could get it together to write this. It's so cute! And despite everyone laughing at the badness that hangs out all over it, don't you think there is a core of promising goodness? Anyway, I couldn't write a parody this yukky-candy-sweet. Could you?

And so to bed.

oh no... dragons!

Oh no. Everything going well and I've been working all day and feeling fairly peaceful, but suddenly I am getting a cold. I think Moomin is too. Will he be able to go to preschool? Will they send him home?

I need at least 4-5 more hours on this and probably more but I'm just about falling over. Dizziness... (snot backed up to my ears?) Oh, god, let me not flake out on this paper with a mere 1 day to go. Tomorrow at this time I should be done. I wanted for a minute to say "why do I always leave everything to the last minute" but honestly I haven't... I haven't worked every minute possible, true...

At worst you know what I will fedex it or something. if I am too dizzy to drive surely I can still manage to write something and mail it.

I feel so dorky.

Just a cold.... surely i can do this.

Moomin was hilarious in the bath, all geared up to cry and then not having an excuse as I dind't get any water anywhere forbidden. He began babbling something I could barely understand. finally I got it that he was saying his hair was "picky and soaky" and then he went on to explain what picky and soaky meant at great length. Soaky means it's too wet and it's wet and he doens't like it being wet. Picky means it sticks out in all the wrong directions and in all different directions.

In bed there was some tenative rambling about the New D3ath Star and how he is on it alone. I suggested the stuffed animals were on it with him (friends were rejected as a possibility) I am allowed to visit briefly only if I wear a seatbelt made out of a dragon. This turned into a musical number between the dragon and the lizard.

The Song of Moomin's Dragon

I don't have skin,
because I have scales and sharp spikes.
Oh, I don't have skin!
Nope, I don't have skin!
I just have spiiiiikes!

[Moomin's mom's lizard: And I have spikes tooooo!]

And we are friends! [Friends!!!!!]
And we go into HYPERSPAAAAAACE!
really faaaaaaaast! [Oh yeah! really really fast!!!!]
and I can loop the loop with my tail....
Oh yeah Oh yeah! Oh yeah!

Sometimes I get mad at myself!
Because I get mad.
And I am a dragon!
I go so fast in the stars!!!!!
In my new different kind of death star!!!!
With Luke skyw4lker that is really MOOMIN!!!!!!

Often he sings this sort of thing very very softly and if you ask questions about it or refer to it he clams up furtively. Tonight was a good out loud song!

The end was dramatic with my lizard and his dragon having a friendly tail battle and singing a duet about how they were friends.

ooo, i want this book

Dictionary of the Khazars. Oh, my. this is a perfect present for 2 people I know! Rook, do not click through that link.

As usual, Banubula has nifty sounding recommendations and is always almost in the same place I am at the same time. Will I recognize him when I run into him eventuallly? I'll just know, right? and I'll go, "Telescope! Microscope! My pal!" and he'll crack up laughing.

now completely dis-norte-d

(dis-oriented)

Okay here's where I am. (Successfully no-place.)

Flat land is not romantic because you can wander over it and if you can wander over it then there is money and if there is money then there is the human mind and if there is the human mind there is neither romance nor human nature nor governments nor propaganda.
There should be none of these if the land is flat.
Flat land as seen from above.
Above what.
Above the flat land.
...
And government, no there is no government where the land is flat.
There should not be.
And there is not.
And why not.
Because anybody can wander and if anybody can wander then there should not be any human nature.
— Gertrude Stein, The Geographical History of America or the Relation of Human Nature to the Human Mind

Landscape is nudity and nakedness is another form of landscape.
It is valuable because it can be owned by SEEING.
(It can be owned by traversing by means of the divisions of roads and imaginary lines.)
[the 3 things above were the main point of my 1st paper already written] In the language of what it means to know a place, seeing is sperm that fertilizes the landscape.
The narrative of knowing through the senses creates and discovers "life." (Life on M4rs. Life in the Ant4rctic ice. Mylodons in P4tagonia, the secret of the beginning of life: evolutionary theory)
All the sensorium is narrated as a way of owning by impregnation.
Refusing to experience the sensorium in the correct equation of sensorium and narrative is an attempt at resistance to imperialism — or possibly resistance to globalization. Refusing to accept the limitations of geographic place and being-in-the-body (empirical reality?) is another strategy.
A focus of study on what is useless and valueless or on what confuses and doesn't make sense, what disorients is a continuation of the project of surrealism. (modernism was trying to get there with its "ineffable" and blank page, but did not)
Poetry (a thing generally agreed to be useless) is the fur teacup of literature.

That's what I was trying to say in class in less than 10 minutes the other day and it was totally a bust. I got to saying something about how seeing was sperm and everyone busted up laughing and I was just hosed.

hahaha.

I swear to god it all makes perfect sense and is firmly anchored in The Voyage of the B3agle and then dis-anchored in C3sar Aira. Really! I'm not nuts! I just like to go weird "places" like this rather than tamely scribble about how so and so is clearly using the aesthetic outline of Kant or something with a thesis proved and then repeated. Is that so bad? Is it necessarily cheating not to want to go from point a to point b and back again?

how i translate

I never know what I'm doing. I thought this might amuse someone. It always looks like this, but this poem is particularly fucking heinous and thorny. That is why I love it so much and want to work on it.

Letter from... on the road.. the Air... Letter from on the way.. travel letter... Postcard... Journey letter... letter of journey(ing) letter from the road (but it's NOT on the road that';s the point!) trip letter letter froma trip letter from in transit Transit notes transit letter HELL.

spiny d0gfish? shark common goes in packs ... is it lonfardo slang? political implic. ? why squ4lidae?
Look everyone(you/Ud.) the shark squall/storm that mounts (rises) mounting storm The shark
— the savage/inhuman/wild (metaphorical) figurative (so-important "gesture /posture of affected gravity or imporrtance) savage) [the shark is likea towering thunderhead, the airplane in the clouds]
beginner/(forerunner? prefigured) foregathering there/yonder/overthere rises
in my work witih fish [like she's fishing but actually maybe more like about to gut a fish]
piled up here [laid out on the counter/butcherblock]
astride (riding) this my fish
finflick and flop [flipping and flopping]
hobbled touching earth [mancornada is tied with horns together or horn to a stake to keep the cattle hobbled. the fish is tied to the eearth and crippled/clumsy now not in its element she is also not in her element in the plane riding the plane-shark)

that turned into a tenative and probably all wrong:

Letter, tripping

Look, the squall-shark I'm riding
- the figured savage -
(beginner/in the beginning) up over there
in my fishing work
piled up over there
astride of this my fish
finflick and twitch
hobbled touching earth

him hobbled
me armless

the storm-shark I ride
like meteor or hailstone
perching on the colossal tombstone / pedestal [?wtf??]
my magnificent insect
parks its paws in the airport tarmac
silences the control tower
rolls through the ladder of its teeth [rolling]
vomit and miracle [ leave out verb]

&

Robinson Crusoe acompanied/attended by Friday his days. He played
his game all week long. Me, no one accompanies me through this white land where dust is flour that falls from the sky.
My wheelbarrow(chariot)cart drags itslef/crawls along in vain.
The compass is sleeping. (gunsight/seacompass)
****
I come from the Country of Eternal Landfill, from the Temperate Aerosol, from the Pious Mountains...

The poem goes on for pages and pages like this and only gets more confusing and multi-layered. Once I figure out the multiplicities of meaning in all the rest of it then I'll have to rewrite the whole translation. As there is no fucking way to be true to a poem that's so jodido I will get to be super-intuitive and take huge liberties (like, i hope, putting in my "squall" or "storm" into the shark. but if not that, something else equally questionable. the title alone makes me squirm but i can say only "true to the spirit of the poem". maybe there is some phrase I'm not thinking of that's the equivalent of "postcard" or "love letter" that simply means a letter sent from a journey... but... I get enamored of moments of cleverness like "letter, tripping".) To do this right I will have to go spend hours with ch1lean dictionaries and also ask a whole lot of peopel what they think diff. things in the poem mean.

someday i will have my revenge and make her translate my poem "mother funkenstein" into spanish. that would crack her head right open. sweet, sweet revenge. no. actually. i know just who i would want to do it, B. h4usner would be ideal.

In theory this has somethign to do with writing my paper...? dammit.

on my honor, I will try...

Yesterday afternoon Eliz. was writing increasingly obnoxious oaths for Sophie to read and swear to. "You're going to have a ceremony, a sort of ritual, and you have to raise your right hand and say the oath I give you." Moomin was not quite getting it. I didn't pay all that much attention.

But this morning there are little piece of paper with oaths on them littering the house.

I, Sophie, will make a party for Badger and Rook and Eliz, and will be happy.

and then the ante is slightly upped.

I, Sophie, will help Eliz. with her contraptions, and will do whatever she says.

Moomin was extremely bewildered, but thought it was funny. He watched the ceremony with me. I couldn't quite figure out why Sophie kept getting suckered -- she's fairly worldlywise by now.

This one is my favorite. It deserves a frame of its own and a spot on the wall.

I will be nice to my sister, and I will eat a piece of dirt.

a good night

It was a great night at WWD tonight. And how cute everyone was, and how brilliantly funny Chula was tonight... I met nice people too and felt surprisingly social.

I had the strange feeling around K.S.R. that I wanted to download a huge amount of information into his brain and in fact rambled passionately to him about utopian bureaucrats (P. S1ple in Ant4rctica and John W3sley P0well who is best known probably for being one of the first people to go rafting or canoeing really down the Colorado River through the Gr4nd Canyon but whose book is mostly about his political and scientific ideals and how he started the USGS in the belief that creating a massive bureaucratic institution devoted to mapping the continent was going to make life better for everyone. He was utterly crazed -- Powell I mean, not S.R., who was too nice to be true and a good reader of his "transgressive" cold fetish story about McMurd0 and class and the nature of work, I guess. And, of course, about cold. "a bronze man in a bronze land" "Most people are not like that. So no revolution, no guillotine, no strike..." something or other "he gave up all hope of bringing down the heartless aristocracy..." Quite lovely prose and a good story... Of course one could listen to him read about "staring at a rock for 12 hours" and it would be awesome. I am sure when you're a superfamous writer people come up to you and tell you books you Must Read all the time and probably most of the time they are just so random, like getting bad presents from distant great-aunts --- but if books were kittens I would totally know just which ones would become compatible cats for him. I also suddenly was dying to get a look at his bookshelves and see what was there and what was not (history/travel/sciencey stuff, not SF). Does that make me a rabid fangirl? Yuck! Oh well! It can't be helped.

We went to the Lat. Amer. Club afterwards and whump amused the hell out of me by suggesting that there should be a parody called "Objectivists of Gor". It was hard to hear him but I think he was babbling about Ayn Rand waking up suddenly on this socialist planet where everyone was lesbians in skimpy outfits and secretly really liking it. Rand I mean, not Whump, who OBVIOUSLY would not be secretive about liking to be on the planet of lesbian socialists in lingerie. Chulita then went off about how there was going to be a special hell for Alan Greensp4n... I'll have to have this explained to me later...

Home to Rook taking notes on a Buffy episode with headphone on. Perhaps for game purposes? Or for some giant annotation project I don't know about, or a new brilliant work of Buffy criticism?

I still kind of don't know what I'm doing on my giant P4tagonia essay. If only I could stick to one topic! I wrote a bunch, but it still feel incoherent. I'm also trying to steer it all in this direction of going off about two-way tr4nslation and "planetarity" vs. globalization but since I know almost nothing about either of those things I'm so talking out my ass. I am sure Oct4vio Paz would have been too and it wouldn't have stopped him.

Really all I can think about is: I will obviously soon write a long weird poem about p4tagonia. And my pants are on fire to write the very goofy story about G1nsberg and his girlfriend Am3rica having a very horrible, mean, violent breakup fight where they scream at each other and have hot sex. I keep thinking of bits of it in the car and laughing hysterically to myself. But I can't write it until after I finish this essay. Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb! *slap* God, Alan, you fucking bastard, you always said you LIKED my atom bomb! I hate you! Why don't you go put your queer shoulder to the wheel you whiny-ass sissy!" "Fuck you! Stop pushing, I know what I'm doing! You're so hot when you're mad, America!" "Just get out of here! I'm sick of your fucking drinking! why don't you just go over to that bitch Canada's place, the little slut..." "I'm sick of your insane demands!" *mad hot fucking as they hate each other some more*

lemon jelly

I'm listening to Lemon Jelly as my paper-writing soundtrack. And shriekback and certain Modest mouse songs.

One more hour to go and then a wad of kids comes to swirl about the house leaving bits of plastic, cookie crumbs, paper snippets, glue, and juice in their mad wake. Perhaps I will try to keep working while they watch a movie? could it happen?

up in the night

I'm up at 5am. What to do? The world is comfortingly quiet and empty-feeling. A tiny urge to wander around in the dark empty clean streets. But no -- instead I'll have some warm milk and go back to bed.

At dinner I got excited about the thought of the weird multi-lingual group blogs i could start at Borkley. it would be fun to infect their seriousness with a little immediacy. Suddenly I long to make a quick midnight zine at the copy store with whatever I'm writing. The junk in my backpack for "graphics". I should be N3ttlebecking more and making some tinier things. What if the kind words of Prof. Steed in some ways were so much filthy orc-talk? And instead of feeling crappy that I don't do That Thing perfectly, just run with what I do well? (Though I would like to have help sticking to big projects and getting them done.)

Rook entertained me with a report on g4ming styles and trends in Japan (making transcripts of their games and publishing them in fanzines), Australia (the catharsis movement, where they try to LARP until they freak out and have genuine emotions) and Germany (where there are as many gamers as there are in the U.S. but all crammed somehow into Germany, making it dense with total dorks). "We shoudl have a grand international bulletin board! Wooo!" But no actually it's better what Rook already does, compiling information. I could write an article about it. Or really he should. I doubt anyone in the world has a broader view of what is going on in g4ming!

Then we went to see Kinsey. I liked it. I forgot that Kinsey was a total nerd! Lynn R3dgrave made me cry (again).

Why does blogging stuff make me feel so much better? Calm -- centered -- etc.

Nice emails from a classmate. "Why are we doing this?" I asked her earlier in email after her hysterical babbling phone call where her head seemed to be exploding. a sweet reply from a clear-minded poet who makes me feel old. "Because thank god some of us are saying no to the boring and complacent life of convenience."

plan for the morning: buckle down and translate a little of Hernandez, just enough to use in my paper. Write something.

What i need right now is a day writing poetry while loafing about in redwoods and the beach and some tiny cafe like the one in Montara that looks out over the ocean.

hyperventilation time

I played with Moomin at the park (duck feeding! leaf boats!) and read a jillion books to him in the bookstore.

I am now FREAKING a little bit.

Can't I just do my stuff quietly without fuss, like M4rcus Aurelius would? Noooo. I'm wigging. Oh my god. What if I fuck it all up? What if Professor F. hates my final paper that I haven't written yet? Why am I so loud about everything? How did I dare ask anyone to help me or write me letters?

A fat envelope from S.K. and I am all shaky. A copy of his letter.... he thought my crap i wrote for the application was excellent and provocative. I can't get away from the feeling that I'm hideously bogus and everyone is just sadly fooled. "They're crazy if they don't take you." duuuude.

On the other hand an equally horrifying whisper of what-if-I-am-being-seduced-by-assimilation-into-the-giant-Borg-machine-of-academia?

Aaaaa!

I swear to god i feel like i'm gonna crack under the strain of feeling like now i know that people think i should be doing something good or interesting or important and now I sort of MORE have to. I said yesterday i am sick of being a promising underachiever. But now i am terrified and feel like i have to live up to the suddenly articulated expectations. I remember my ex-girlfriend Masha and how right at the verge of some kind of success she would flip out the most and feel the most insecure. Wow. How to get over that? I was calm all day but I'm suddenly scared again.

I'm also still flipping over the audacity of the shit I said in that article for P.F. the west coast newspaper which will probably come out soonish. Again it is the public nature of putting whatever snark-ass polemic thing that usually comes out of my mouth and I only halfway mean it. But when you write it and publish it....wooooo a different thing entirely.

K.'s letter... i hardly dare read it... oh my god. Okay I'm reading it now.

No I'm not quite reading it yet. I have a trembly feeling like i wish someone were with me as if i had several children off at war and were about to open an ominous telegram. What if it's the wrong kind of praise, like getting an expensive xmas present that makes it clear the person completely misunderstands you? And no matter what it says how can i ever look t his person in the eye again? Why am i flipping out so hard?

***

overwhelmed

Yesterday I turned in my application -- how difficult and embarrassing. You'd think with the amount of boasting about myself I do already, I'd have no qualms about writing a bunch of stupid lick-ass college application essays. But no. It was tough!

Quilty made me feel better by describing her own struggles with her application a few years ago and her nausea at it and how it still humiliates her to think that some of her peers read that stuff (as there was a student committee for evaluating new applicants...) At least I am not alone.

And Minnie is right -- I am waking up with the "hot blush of shame" as I think about the dumb stuff I said in those essays, as if I got really really drunk and did imprudent things and woke up covered with lipstick in a strange bed. Bezerkeley, will you make me breakfast? Slut that I am, I brought my toothbrush.

Oh my god!

Professor F. talked to me for like, an hour yesterday acting like it was just a given that I get it. "I think this will be good for you! Now where will we find your funding!?"

Gaaaaaaaa! Can it be true?

I'm counting my chickens, hungover and still a little drunk. They're some damn fine chickens!

I got out of class and met Chula at the Jav4cat cafe. I like that place - very cosy. She took me out to celebrate the end of class and almost end of semester and finishing the application... for fancy sushi -- way fancier than we expected - I discovered I like monkfish liver sushi. Damn, that place was good. I can't remember the name but it was at around 17th and g3ary and started with a K. It is apparently always crowded. They had weird trendy yuppie things like fig quince sour plum jellyfish delight. Not really that, but something like.

My paper idea is in flux this morning. I think I'm going to go all meta on it and talk about the whole idea of the class. That's so cheating, but it would be fun. I hope.

Professor F. got right up in my face. "I'm going to be overbearing. But you need to learn the hierarchy and what's out there with these poets. Z.M. sucks. Do these other people. Lookit these zines. You need to meet the hipster feminist poets your age. No one under 50 gets into anthologies. Being in this program -- Bezerkeley! screw it! god! status! meaningless! look around you! What this is going to do for you is BUY YOU TIME. You'll translate better stuff and have back-up for it and your poetry will get better. When are you going to show me your poetry, anyway? Give me lots." (twist my arm.)

OH MY GOD it seems unspeakably weird if it all comes true. for fuck's sake. impossible!

effortless

I had a dream in several stages... in the first one I was in a co-op but it was all split into tiny rooms like a maze. Suddenly I realized I'd been eating dinner alone in the wrong room because no one had told me the custom of cramming into a basement kitchen in shifts. "We could knock out a wall and make a bigger room... then we could all eat together..." But no. They preferred having a lot of rooms and boasted about it. "What would we do with this couch if we couldn't put it against the wall here..."

Alas!

In the next part, Squid had invited me and a bunch of other people to an exciting party which was all secret and mysterious. We all wondered what kind of party it could possibly be! There were mysterious preparations and sly references. Then on the day of the party, Seymour came to pick me up in a big fancy limo with about 5 attendants in uniform who swiftly got me into the car with more than human speed and efficiency. It was strangely cool and impressive, but I was also terrified by how much it must have cost. We got to squid's house, which in the dream was all differerent in that dream-way. And it was weirdly crowded, if there was anyone in any room there was no room to move at all. People were always bumping into other people and knocking things over. "I thought we could watch the slideshow of our vacation to Methodist summer camp!" Squid announced brightly, all partied-and lipsticked-up, looking cute and perky. Whaaaa? (Where is the promised exciting party!) Sleeping children were everyone on the floor on little futons and mattresses. It was like hell! (I think I listened too much to the deaad milkmen in the car b/c they have a song "Methodist coloring book"...)

part 3 It was raining and there were floods. a wave would ripple by and when it receded people and cars would be uncovered doing all their normal things. Fish were flopping around on people's heads. Rook's middle sister Jane was talking with me and for some reason we were climbing around the bottom sections of an enormous bridge's superstructure. and suddenly she dropped her baby way down to the bottom through all these tangly concrete beams. it landed smack on its butt in the mud. For some reason it was naked and a little younger than it really is (1 year). Being small and nimble I got there first and the baby was fine, not even crying. Jane looked mildly perturbed but let me carry the baby while she leaped across a wide ditch full of muddy water. I could never have leapt it. I waded across up to my chin carrying the baby. It was scary because of not being able to see what was in the water and the current was strong. I felt hugely brave about it but no one seemed to notice that it wasn't easy.

part 4 I was driving to Squid's party and i kept thinking "must be careful and drive slow in the rain. I don't want to get a ticket. I'll pay special attention to the stop signs." But somehow every stop sign whooshed by me. finally i made a huge effort to stop, got out and realized that my tires were in shreds and the car's brake system was messed up so that the power of your will, or mind, or something, had to make it stop.

part 5 somehow I was back at the beginning of wherever that was thinking "mustn't get a ticket!" but I had a skateboard. There were all these curvy things that I'd realize suddenly, "Wow, I could skate down that!" and magically I could. I was all strong and tough and muscley! The pavement was wet, the air was soft and misty and fresh yet not cold; it was nighttime; all around me were tall buildings and seedy gone-to-hell houses. The trunks of huge trees were lying around, very skateably, as if there had been a violent storm. I could do all sorts of fancy tricks with a mere thought. It was like some attractively scuzzy night-city-utopia. I got to the party and thought happily of how I woudl show Iz my skateboard! Then I woke up. Still feeling happy from all that

All the way through these dreams I had the song "V1enna" by billy joel in my head as Rook sang it to me last night very sweetly when I asked him to sing me something.

i'm an idiot!

I'm such an absent minded twit. I just opened this envelope from my school that was on my desk, thinking idly while singing "Cu4rto de Tula" at the top of my lungs, "Oh, cool, maybe it's that refund check".

and discovered i'd just opened my official sealed transcript that i specially drove to SF to get and that I must hand-deliver to Bezerkeley by tomorrow. FUCK. now must make an extra trip tomorrow morning to get another copy.

at least i do a mean Cel1a Cruz impression with my passionate belting out of cub4n folk tunes. I was swept away, it is Celia's fault!

ARRRRRGH.

next time, eavesdrop more thoroughly, bitch!

God! the stupidest thing just happened. Moomin's classmate's mom just utterly flipped out on me and started screaming at me in the parking lot as i was buckling him into the carseat.

She bugged me maybe a week ago about how her husband was going to do the nursery school website and I said I'd already started it and gently refused help. She was super pushy and irritating so there was no way I was going to work with her. I told her as I'd already done half the work it would be annoying to have it be for nothing and I might as well finish it, but it would be mid-december after my other deadlines. anyway, today she brought it up again while I was in mid-conversation with Jo. At the top of her lungs she launched into this whole thing about how her husband only had 2 weeks available to do it in and that is now. Or something. As I was trying to talk to Jo and also keep my kid from screaming and running on the forbidden holy lawn, I wasn't listening to her super closely. I think she walked off after about the fifth time I absently said "What? Yeah, I think I should just finish it since I already started it and did a bunch of work on it." and a couple of times I just firmly said, with what I hoped was a note of gentle finality, "I absolutely cannot work on it until after dec. 13th."

Then in the parking lot she got in my face and yelled that she was very upset and I had no need to see It all as politics. What "it"? What politics? "Look, Mory. I said nothing about politics. What are you talking about. The word never passed my lips!" "Yes it did! You rolled your eyes, you and Jo, and said politics! I am Very Upset! You are Dead to me from this moment, don't bother to talk with me or smile!" God, the melodrama. I tried saying I was sorry she was upset and it must be a misunderstanding, but that didn't wash, and then I ended up saying something rather huffily like, "I wasn't rolling my eyes then, but I AM NOW. What is your problem!? Do you not work or something? Why are you obsessed with this?" It continued for a pointless few minutes. There was somethign about how I never answered her email about it. Since I talked to her in person, why did I have to also answer her email? is this some point of Rumanian etiquette that I'm not getting? wtf. or whatever she is. I think she is from Micromanagia, wherever that is.

I had to explain to Moomin all the way home why Nan's Mom was mad at me and how grownups sometimes have a misunderstanding and then dont' want to be friends. Jesus h. christ!!!!! irritating.

I then realized that she had overheard me talking with Jo about "id3ntity politics" and the bezerkeely application and how irritating it all was and sort of embarrassing to write about myself etc.

What a fucking bitch for eavesdropping, interrupting, and then yelling at me! Wow.

My chances of being PTA president in future are decreased yet again! Oh no, can you hear me crying?
*dripping sarcasm*

So now I have to write some kind of damned disclaimer email on the parental mailing list, or else just take it in the ass from her inevitable backbiting gossip.

And i consider the height of stupidity to go "fine! TAKE the dumb website then!" and flounce off. I mean would that not be dumb? I already am half done. I just want to finish it with no fuss or fanfare. I already bought the domain name. god!

Not to mention- if that freaking bitch's "real computer programmer" husband wanted to work on the web site he could email me himself, or just DO it and show me up. go right ahead.

Never volunteer. why didn't I remember this?

wanting

what i want for presents...

ylang-ylang smelling things, or bay rum, clove, or mint.

an ipod. yes. i can't help it. i have no idea what kind. mini? or not? pink? cheapest one?

someone will come over andhelp me alphabetize my books and organize my office. this will take multiple days/people.

book gift certificats for abebooks or amazon

the big size molesk1ne notebooks, lined or squares

things like frou-frou barettes and armwarmers and underwear. you know the sort of girly crap that warms my heart.

I already bought myself presents, heinously. "poet/warrior sagas", black ruffle-butt underwear, and a set of fancy coffee mugs with sort of cubist scribble designs on them.

mighty!

As I sweat over this application and boast humbly in it about my amazing accomplishments and wax high-falutin' about how I'm going to strap on the ivory tower and fuck the poetry slam with it until everyone has translation-inspired screaming orgasms. And the ivory tower will thank me and adorn me with money and laurel wreaths. (no. not really. but that's kind of how it sounds.) I got this sweeter than cool email:

I am sorry to say I only recently sat down with your "Four P0ems of
Longing." Lord Almighty, girl, I had no idea trannslating was such a
lively art. I am totally in love with her. I must say I have been to
Uruguuay and saw nothing so vivid and gorgeous as Ms. Juana de
Ibarbooourou. You've done such a pretty job reviviing her. Really makes
translaating seem delicious. Suddenly I want to study languages and
translaate some goddamn thing.

What could be sweeter wine to me at this particular moment. yow! from a poet whose work I really like, too. so unexpected!

pardon me for bragging on my fan mail. i only get it like once every couple of months. it soothes the savage breast. and stuff. even if Bezerrkeley kicks my ass back to the gutter I will still be doing cool stuff on my own.

everyone should write fanmail once in a while! I do it and get embarrassed but i'm sure other people like it. well. this one poet i know says that she never wants to hear any praise because it insults her other work or makes her feel like she is supposed to pander what people like. but she must be the only one.

enough!

I just also realized I am doing the right thing in asking people like M.S. a nd Prof. Steed to talk with me and listen to me and give me advice.

Oh Pern! Where art thou! Come to me! And join me in the divine patchouli-scented waters from which i will rise anew! bubbles... I will be in you soon and we will Impress a dragon and roll around in the weyr sands in unholy ecstasy!

Nothing else can assuage my stress.. it must be Pern... all pern!

flake of all colors

Well... Professor Steed didn't quite chop me up into tiny pieces. But she pointed out that I'm always in tiny pieces anyway. seriously... that all the work i've done for her has been in little pieces: a long paper with a ton of subheadings, the encyclopedia thing, the little book with chapters. The planned anthology of a little bit of everything. That for example in tech writing you have the how-to manual and the reference: in the how-to you assume the reader will go through linearly and in the reference they can dip in anywhere. So I tend by nature and inclination to write the reference or the non-linear work. And that in a phd program I will have to write the other way. "Think of it as code-switching or writing in another language - and you don't quite know that language yet. you can do it, but you aren't doing it now." That was a really good point. "And writing your dissertation will be that times 10 as you will have to do it for 300 pages." Unless I'm able to persuade someone that it will be okay to do it the other way. But that could be quite unlikely.

And why i want to do it... and will it be the right fit of department.. should i do eng. or the main language or CW instead? (maybe on the eng. No on the Sp. and def. no on the CW though I did consider it seriously.) "Will it be like you're alwways trying to persuade the biology dept. to mostly let you do physics? Will it annoy them? will it be too much friction, or will alwatys having to argue about it energize and inspire you?" She was not sure and neither was I. But what a good question. and i mean.. to really listen to me and analyze everything with her huge incredible laser-like intelligence and give me cogent advice that miraculously also does not make me burst into pms-y tears or piss me off or get my back up. She is Miracle Prof. around her I feel uncharacteristically humble and embarrassed and aware of what an erratic annoyance of a human being I am and yet not in a bad judgemental way, more just like... improvement suddenly seems necessary, desirable, and possible. I guess good sports coaches inspire their teams that way. She is the coolest mind-coach!

When i got there she was on the floor in the hallway and her 2.5 year old kid had put pillows and blankets and blocks everywhere. "I was just tape recording Elin's narration of her event..." hahahaa. NERD. I was just doing that last night myself. Then 20 min of trying to talk while "mommy this is my rainbow thing" and blah blah phd program MOMMMY LOOK MOMMY THIS IS MY BLOCKS blah blah MOMMY blah blah OW WAAH MOMMY I BUMPED MY TOE ON THE CALCULATOR. Professor Steed is big into having a professional demeanor and she was sweating and annoyed yet trying to be all feministly cool about it. When the partner came home there was another funny vulnerable moment of attempted and failed hand-off of responsibility. "No, really. Take her." "No. really you need to take her out of the room." We retreated finally to the Room of One's Own and shut the door.

I don't know if I can ever express the gratitude I feel right now that she woudl take the time to pay attention and advise me. I know it's part of the job to give advice but this was really above and beyond the call of duty. I feel like I have to live up to it and I want her to think well of whatever I end up doing. yes I'm incredibly sappy. But it is like there is no way to repay that sort of thing sometimes. In part because being on different levels or something -- how to do it? You just can't because it's like kissing ass or it's inappropriate or something. thank you is completely inadequate. All hail the amazing Professor Steed, and worship her greatness.

endless waffling

Well. my other main prof just wrote me saying that she worries that I will not be a great fit for phd because of ... well basically being a huge flakewad and too far on the wacky creative side. Hmm.

I am just charging full steam ahead. for god's sake. Surely if it is that bad, I'll hate it instantly and drop out. Maybe my "it will help me be a more disciplined scholar" theory has its flaws but I was going with it. and with "they will let me get away with shit, probably" theory. Then the "personal mentor being important" theory.

Everyone saying "no they won't..." well... Aaaaaaaa!

M.S. -- I admire her from 4LtA -- nicely wrote me today too saying basically: "It hurt me that I don't have one. But I tried and just couldn't take the crap of it." "Too many hoops."

Am I making the totally wrong decision!?

I am going to drive up to my prof's house tonight to pick up some stuff and hear whatever advice she has time to give me.

got it

I just got it - everything fell into place. And I can stop writing about P4tagonia for a bit and go back to the application. I got it towhere I can stand up and give a talk -- i have the sort of diagram on the board level of understanding of what I'm trying to say. Here are the notes for diagramming on the board. It is all perfectly clear to now. And I was calling it "Imperial Epistemology" but now it's "Barren Mars, Pregnant Mars, Modern Mars". Thanks KSR.

wilderness / wasteland.

the potential for Life / presence/absense of life/ pregnancy/Cultivation.

P4tagonia: Darwin, Hudson, Aira, Verne, various whalers/sealers/Pigafetta
Antarctica: Siple, misc. encyclopedia, "Life in the Ice", Shepheard
Mars: Burroughs, (verne?) Bradbury, Niven, "Life on Mars"

strategies of Creation of disputed territories. Aesthetic, romantic, scientific. Modernismo and its ties to SF will be a sort of tantalizing ending tangent.

Have you all got that? Good.

If anyone wants to babysit for Moomin anytime this week or this weekend then step forward 3 paces, as I could definitely use the support. Anyone who wants to play with him or read to him in the late afternoon to evening? The bad thing is if he watches movies for hours, lonely and neglected.

I'm flaking off sat. night though...

too tacky for words!

I dared Rook to wear my new pink very tight (on him) "I'm for gay marriage - as long as both chicks are hot" tshirt next door in a casual way. Of course he can't refuse a dare. This means I have to wear it too. I hope everyone sees the irony quotes on this semi-anonymous gift I got in the mail today. But the receipt blew her cover.

squid, you are so outrageous and cruel! I know you meant it as a dare!

I'll wear it to the next RWCCMC General meeting! woooooop!

in between

That book whump gave me on landscape is incredibly cool and readable. I might have to give it to my dad for xmas!

and wildly useful for my paper.

I was thinking about the article C.'s partner Leann read at a past WWD. It was about cross dressing and infiltrating a Pr0m1sse Keepers rally but rather niftily had a whole other metaphorical layer of the uncomfortable restrictive ace bandages holding down her tits, binding, being constricted, the bare-breasted Les1an Avengers prancing through the crowd and then being roped off into a little area for "safety" or something and then the lovely moment when she leaves the rally and gets to take off the bandages. That was just sort of the back plot of it and it worked really well as a persuasive metaphor as if beckoning to the "constricted" female mate of the PK male and saying "come, come, wouldn't it be so much more comfortable not to wear that mental straitjacket?" so what could have been sort of... journalism that was just realistic... became literary and cool and so much more thoughtful. This quality is often missing from the kind of lame-ass memoir/personal statement I am hearing a lot of lately.

Anyway my point was to talk about P.S.'s book about landscape and how he is exceedingly good at that very thing. The intro is great as it seems very likely and realistic and is just 2 guys talking on a plane. But once you think about the 50-ish white guy who used to be a pilot and is now incredibly uncomfortable not being the one driving the plane, and the way they're in a plane in between everywhere else, and the ex-pilot gets drunker and drunker because he can't deal with not being in control... Then gets off the plane, befuddled, at the wrong stop and has to go back and endure more flight... "He stopped at the gate and looked back over his shoulder at me. He looked like a man on his way to the gallows." It's well done and very subtle.

Even cooler -- it connects perfectly to the "in transit" airplane poem by E.H. that I want to translate.

I could get into the style of academic writing he's doing too, the way he organizes everything is nice, comrfortable for me. I felt the same way about 1926, that H.U. Gumbrecht book I wrote about maybe 6 months ago. If I can pull that sort of thing off I will be okay in grad school. Is there a name for it? Wafflism? Creative Pontificationism? The Organization of Everything into Arbitrary Categories-ism?

loving the highway

I perked up immediately with coffee this morning (I'd run out...) and driving up 280 ... everything was grey but still beautiful. I listened to the Dead Milkmen very loud especially the Shanana song and this cheered me hugely. Their cheerful dissonance and harmony. Sometimes that kind of nasal singing and sophomoric wit can be irritating but in the right mood the Milkmen restore the balance of the universe!

Bureaucratic running-around was not so terribly bad. I will have to go back and was sent on ridiculous errands. I waited half an hour for my advisor but then he stuck his head out and said I shoudl come back in two hours. lunch with Chula ... it was nice... I poked around the little used-kitschy-crap store that never seems to be open and was magically open. Woop! cool presents for people! and something so awesome for the white elephant party!

My advisor DJ was busy again when I got back. I waited in the hall a long time and talked with P. who was in the Awful class with me until I dropped it... she had a cool paper idea. I might have been helpful but maybe not. Anyway DJ gave me a ton of very waffly advice on applying to school mostly like, "Well at Stafffnord this is how it was but every place is differnt and possibly, nay, probably, Bezerkeley has a different process and politics... so your strategy could be this and could be that or yet again this other thing." The result is that I learned something about dept. politics and thus what questions to ask or what to keep my ears open for. He is canny and stodgy and cool in a very odd mixture. I felt comforted that he thought I would do okay. he was full of warnings about how I might be expected to, like, learn French in depth or something which might sort of waste my energy on something I'm not interested in. Yikes. I am hoping i can kind of learn it at a low level, like, do 2 language classes or something.

He said 2 other notable things... 1) he can write me a good letter but not a perfect one as he has "not seen me write the Perfect Academic Essay" as I tend to bend the rules and get creative on it. Nothing wrong with that, he wishes he could be creative but he isn't. (how sad, as he seemed half bitter and half sarcastic) 2) This is the nice part, he uses my tiny tr4nslation magazine every semester and each time there are people in his undergrad class who get all excited about it and it blows their mind and they write a paper on it. <--- Imagine how nice that felt to hear! Also, that they look at the web site of it and whine that there is not a second issue. Oops. I had better get on it. Maybe if I sent out one more call for submissions and put a Jan. 10th deadline on it. I can make a new issue in 2 days if I get the stuff for it.

blogging too much?

I noticed last night that I have written around 45,000 words in the last month -- blogging alone. Not counting offline journal, poetry, essays, and email. Rook commented that his F0rge postings alone were... "Let me run my handy script that counts how many words I've written of F0rge postings..." something like 8,000 - 20,000 a month. "And C.L. has posted... let's run it on him... oh, 11K - 53 K a month, it varies wildly."

What's scarier! My constant huge output of endless blathering? Or the freakazoid who specially wrote a handy script to count the words in his bulletin board discussion posts? Let's not even think about the peculiar insanity of our friend C.L. who writes more than I do but all about L3vi-Strauss and for the other 2 hours of his day probably grades papers.

Flash Bond

"Oct0pussy" was unexpectedly funny. Rook pointed out it was written by George McD. Fraser who wrote the "Fl@shman" books... which made it much funnier just knowing that... Oh, the gratuitous bikinis...!

I was cheered up by it.

I looked at my old test scores and they were: 730 v. 650 q. 680 lit/eng test and something reasonable that I've forgotten for the writing bit. I hope Bezerkeley thinks that is okay. It was from a couple of years ago. I took one practice test the night before and read a giant anthology of American lit in preparation. Oh, my god, their whole application form gives me hives. My life laid out to them rather scarily through rather a lot of numbers. How will they interpret it? I hate being open to being judged by some random people. Surely it counts for something that my grades have been much better in grad school this 2nd time around? Do the test scores mean a lot?

today bodes to be sucky with lots of running around and standing in lines and teeth-grinding bureaucratic fun.

I woke up thinking about life on mars and realizing that we need life to be there so that we can properly conquer the planet and reinforce our national identity. That's just so weird!

suffer with me

"Please provide a statement about how your personal history or experiences have influenced your intellectual development and future goals. This statement can include a discussion of educational and cultural opportunities or of circumstances that deprived you of these; family background; economic circumstances; special interests and abilities; and community or social service involvement, especially as they intersect your academic goals and intellectual pursuits. "

Go on, I dare you. 8000 words.

There's a whole separate longer part where you talk about your academic goals and projects. This "personal statement" is whre you're supposed to go like, "Waah, yet Rooooaaaar, my life was hard because of X thing about my identity politics and yet I'm so fucking courageous that I triumphed until this very second when the only thing that stands between me and nirvana is the scholarship you will award me even though I'm now incredibly middle class, fat, and sassy!"

I'm so nauseous at my attempts to do this -- all afternoon!

I have not been in P4tagonia nearly at all -- instead, Hell.

next semester. more on my office

I need one more for. lang class credit and am not willing to subject myself to the horrid patriarchal dinosaurs that are the Span. dept. at State. I just need someone to sign off on my giant independent project plan. so I'd take F.M.'s class on the Boom, do this extra project which I woudl like to be either thesis-related OR more excitingly, the new arg3ntinian poet E.H. as translating her long poem would mean some research and critical/theory thinking and explanation and could easily count for a whole class in itself. And I'm going to do it anyway sooooo... why not get someone to "supervise" it and get credit at the same time? I just asked L.G.M. to do it. Who else could I ask, maybe A.M. who was, true, a giant, giant flake-wad and very disappointing and non-involved. On the other hand, he signed my forms, didn't ever bug me, and gave me an A.

I need to write to this person: doesn't it sound like a good fit? That clinches it really. F.M. plus her would be automatic mentory goodness for me. I'd like to see what she said in her review of V.Unrrrruh's book as I just roasted that book and ate it for breakfast in my talk at the conference!!!

You know part of why I post all this stuff is:

- otherwise I'll forget it. I look back all the time - did I do that thing? what was I thinking? Was I under this same kind of stress at the end of last semester? (yes) it helps me with continuity. I forget things. I lose scraps of paper and whole notebooks.

- writing feels lonely. I love it and I love to read but it's so solitary. A whole day goes by and I haven't spoken with anyone. Rook is at work most of the time. Moomin at school. If I'm going to be at all productive I have to be alone. the blog helps me maintain that and not feel completely isolated in my own head.

But maybe I need to come more to terms with that, and write less in cafes (not never, but maybe less) and more here in my office. sort of constructing the sanctuary of aloneness. I've never had it actually. I've always lived with someone and almost never since adulthood had my own room. I like the idea of making my own room and being incredibly comfortable in it and it being completely under my control.

Obviously the whole house is full of my crap. But it's still space I make for other people with my stuff, if you know what I mean. I always base my life around other people and what they need despite my (still deserved) reputation for massive selfishness.

My room just for me to be my professional working space, that sounds like i take myself seroiusly doesn't it? whether i get into school or not (horrors, horrors I feel so fucking vulnerable with this...) I will make my poety-translatory- writing space.

I like having all the books needed for this one paper temporarily on top of the desk between bookends - that was a great idea and is working well. I can see them all at once in front of me. My dictionaries are at hand. (Oh for the perfect dictionary stand! someday!)

plan

My office is so lovely. My favorite purple flowers, those potato vine solanum things, are all in bloom outside the huge huge picture window. I had always imagined having them and here they are.

When the semester and all this hideous stress is over I will clean and organize this incredible fantasy-office and cram a nice futon armchair in here, in the corner by the heater. It will be able to fold out where the door is for an extra bed. The bookshelf that's in that corner will have to find somewhere else to be. The books will be alphabetized.

It will be my heart's desire!

new dawn over p4tagonia

And the application form stares at me in all its multi-part deathstar categorization ready to make me re-feel like crap over my unimpressive GPA, that time I made a C, that other time I made a D... it went down on my PERMANENT RECORD. My transcript also spells FLAKE big time with all the "independent study" and testing-out-of-things flakewadianess. Oh, the number of times I bent the rules over backwards and fucked them up the ass and mostly got away with it. Then those suspicious Qs and Ws and Xs. You can see all my incompletes... god... Here's hoping it also shows initiative, or something.

Or that my faboo 3.9-ness from the last 2 years makes me look like I've improved.

I had vague possible thoughts of going to SF today and hanging out or writing, with Moomin or without as the drive up 280 is always lovely. But as C. was pretty tepid about hanging out I am staying here, staring at app forms and considering my paper. Rook is going to take Moomin out to a movie or something so I will either have a peaceful quiet house to work in or I can go to Borrrrone with my backpack full of books for the busy public yet anonymous background noise atmosphere I like best for writing.

As a break and a reward later I will seriously tackle that long weird poem and translate a good chunk of it! It's so alluring!!!! and I will read "The Cricket Term" for extra R & R. Maybe too some buying and eating of extra fancy cheese from the Hole.

Tomorrow will be a day of dealing with all things bureaucratic at State. I'll be up there scrambling around getting things signed, getting refunds and my travel money, turning in more forms, picking up MORE forms, paying tuition.

I'm hoping will get a chance to talk to my advisor who wants to give me a talking-to and interrogation before writing my rec letter. He has given me mixed encouragement, flattery and warnings -- the warnings mostly things about my bad speaking ability and how I should watch out that grad school doesn't ruin my marriage and family as apparently it did his from his bitter, cryptic comments. We'll see... On the other hand he also seems to assume I will get in to bezerlekey or would to staffnord if i applied which is extremely flattering and nice to hear. What if I don't get in at all! All these people would be so wrong. I'd have to muster up all my self esteem not to feel very crappy. Scary, scary, scary!

Rejection is very scary on every level.

dreams, penguins

I had an endless nightmare of picking up tinkertoys. There kept being more and more tinkertoys and it took on a slow-motion creepy horror movie feel.

This morning, pinned down by Moomin's relentless questions, I launched into a feeble explanation of Winter Solstice and holiday celebrations. Thank you, multiculti nursery school.... "So we don't get Diwali or Kwaanza because we are... what is the word?" More explanation. "And what are the people that get hanukkah..." "Oh! So we get two celebrations because Daddy is Christmasan and Mommy is Penguin?"

*I flee the room, my shoulders shaking...*

Must I now think of some cheesy "pagan" ritual for myself? I suppose we could plant a flower bulb in a very ceremonious fashion. Oh, dear. It's not like I'm going to join the Hermetic Order of Technopagans so I guess I'll make shit up as it seems too dreary to tell one's enthusiastic 4 year old that all holidays are crap and organized religion sucks.

i love parades!

Ooooo! Moomin and I wandered downtown. I didn't know it would be such a huge big deal but there were thousands of people! We joined the mama club and ended up carrying the giant banner. Me on one side feeling rather smugly like my very presence was discombobulating the mamas with their 800 dollar strollers and scary-hair! Some nice ones were there too. Moomin held up the other side of the very heavy banner quite proudly and with complete wide-eyed seriousness. He marched. So cute! for about 2 blocks and then he needed help.

Then kids. running everywhere on the grass and the round low-walled planter thing by city hall in the growing dark waving the free glow-stick things like lightsabers. Chaos, madness, shrieking, hitting in face by accident, falling off walls, crying over wanting other kids' things. (None of them moomin, but other people's catastrophes were all around). Having to lift him up in the crowd... on shoulders.. piggyback... finally, the mayor turned the lights on for the giant tree and then there were ASSLOADS of incredible fireworks. I think it went on for 15 or 20 minutes. It was a big deal and we were RIGHT under where they were shooting off and exploding. I enjoyed it a lot more than Moomin did as I love fireworks very much and he hates loud noises. I helped him cover his ears with an extra layer of hands. Smoke and dust fell in our faces. The firework shooting things were right across the street in the library parking lot like fountains of sparks. I thought creepily of war (as always) during the fireworks and the screaming rockets. War and spectacle... aesthetics and violence....

Then a long walk home carrying him most of the way. Now I have to go get my truck from the parking lot - it was stop-dead traffic and so though it was only 2 blocks away I left it there. Ugh! My knees, back, arms hurt all over.

I don't mind the achy muscle pain that just means I exercised more than usual but ANY knee pain is bad bad bad... I might have pushed it a bit much. Constant advil for days will be the rule.

Then - our Bufffy game - it was good this time and I love Jam's new character. He is so funny! I missed gaming with him! He is weirdly ornery and hilariously intelligent. One should always keep in mind around him that his former band was called "The Flam1ng T3sticles of God" and they sang heavy metal in Latin. He is a person who can convince me of the truth of something very ridiculous and impossible-sounding. But the part about his band is true!

hope even more!

I'm even more psyched! R.R. my poet-friend who also happens to be a Famous Academic said he would write me a rec letter! He didn't even complain about it being last minute. He's so famous! And it turns out he is an old friend of professor F.M. So suddenly I'm feeling this wild surge of hope that it might actually happen.

Imagine me doing more or less what I'm already doing... having to commute to Bezerkeley, true, but, getting PAID to do it? Cross your fingers for me.

as i just said to c. ... if it doens't happen then I'll cry a little and feel crappy but a couple of hours later bounce up and persuade myself it's really better not. because i have magic rubber-ball powers.

and yet this feels like one of the scariest things I've ever done. recall that I tried to persuade myself to do it in 2001, and then didn't, and then in 2002 and then didnt' and then a couple of month ago and then decided it was too stressful to try. not to mention not trying in 1990 when i was supposed to. maybe that sounds retarded as it's not like i'm becoming an astronaut or something.

damned muskets

I finished the 3 Musketeers. The Cardinal is interesting! I would look him up in the the britannica too... maybe another day...

Moomin is bubbling with information about Rud0lph and co. after watching THAT CARTOON at Jo's house. When I picked him up at 10:30 he was so cute in a sleeping bag on the floor next to his stuffed alligator... it's bigger than him.... I'm going to have to read a summary of That Show in order to answer his questions and talk "intelligently" about "what happened in the cave when the snow monster had the guy and Wudoff poked him in the butt and poked him in the butt and poked him again and looked at him like THIS, remember?" No I don't remember! "He is a hero, right?" No way am I watching that foul show ever again in life. Help! What did happen in the cave?

Jo's photographs are particularly excellent. She twits me for being cheap and wanting to buy them at a discount!