Merry Christmas to me!

The fact that I'm so excited, nay, ecstatic about this shows:

a) that I will likely live and die the rest of my days in the Pacific Northwest
b) I can most definitely lay claim to the adjectives "outdoorsy" and "pear-loving"
c) that I am not afraid to shill in my blog

It's really, really good.

Moving Update: The mountains of boxes are closer to hills or knolls, and every piece of clothing I own is no longer on the floor. Also, roommate's dog has annexed my bed. Or maybe I'm allowed to sleep in her second bed. Either way - cute.

Welcome to the inaugural voyage of posting-by-email, which makes for slightly less conspicuous goofing off at work and (I hope) slightly more plentiful posting on el blogadero. If there's a confidentiality message at the bottom of the post, please disregard.

Getting mistaken (once again) for a dude was a small price to pay for free tea from Amanda'splace of employment. Damn clueless middle-aged white men. Anyway, the tea is delightful. Spearmint! So fresh!

Everyone should read The Canon by Natalie Angier. Yes, I am given to hyperbole from time to time, but this book, by a Pulitzer-winning science journalist for such esteemed venues as the New York Times and NPR, demystifies the hard sciences with depth and hilarity. I actually want to take a statistics class, and I am the slacker queen of math. (I had modest talent for it in high school, but no motivation. So I flunked out of calculus and never touched a math book again. This turn of events kept me away from majoring in a hard science, despite my love of all things biological. Admittedly, realizing this while reading Angier's introduction made for some sour grapes.) The Canon fully embodies the somewhat cheesy but heartfelt blurbs on the back jacket. It's rad.

fun fact

There are no Saints by the names of Eric or Erika (with any spelling). However, the Catholic saint whose feast day is my birthday is Saint Bibiana. She just so happens to the be the patron saint of hangovers, the mentally ill, the insane, and "single laywomen." I sort of wish that I were a lapsed Catholic so I could enjoy this trivia all the more.

I've been having some doubts about the Law School in 2009 plan. There seems to be an awful lot more to do while I'm young and my debt is minimal. Thoughts?

Also: Dark Knight? Easily the best Batman flick so far. Discussion of responsible use of power and law enforcement ethics aside, the writing was excellent and well buttressed by good-to-quite-good acting and editing worthy of The Bourne Ultimatum. Christian Bale, as I was saying to my movie-going companion last night, is easily my favorite Batman. He's as good of a bratty Bruce Wayne in public as he is a brooding Bruce Wayne as Batman. The performative elements of that character came across really, really well. Props, Chris Nolan. Mad props.

the week 5 shuffle

My brain is, in fact, melting. Burn-out manifests itself so forcefully these days, I occasionally smell smoke. Midterms have not treated me kindly, and I'm really, really ready to be made tired by something that's not an essay or some crap in German. Graduation is so close...

Thanks to M, I went to the Decemberists show gratis (hooray for elephant guest passes!) and saw quite the audience participation spectacle. Maybe it was the substances, but I didn't find the show terribly engaging even though Colin Meloy was inciting dance rebellion and working the crowd with something like desperation. Also: giant whale. Maybe it was the profusion of prog rock/jam band moments -- I'm into the D-rists and I'm into Emerson, Lake and Palmer,* but I didn't expect to see the two meet sonically at the Macdonald last night. It wasn't good or bad, just something I hadn't anticipated; I couldn't quite lose myself in the thing for some reason, and I'm trying to figure out why. Not having heard any of the new album (except the omnipresent Valencia song) couldn't have helped.

Breaking from thesis right now. For those of you in Eugene free at 11:30 on tuesdays, come to my defense. May 22.

And women are nothing but trouble.

*What? I don't believe in musical skeletons in playlist closets. Cribbing from M, the phrase "guilty pleasures" implies guilt. So there, music snobbery.