I'd forgotten a few things

Topping the list of late: why I stopped buying Tom's of Maine deodorant in the summer, what warm weather does to me (mania for the outdoors and consequent sunburn, desires for charred meat, that sort of thing) and the realization that I do, in fact, have muscles. Many of them are sore. I've had the new bike less than a week and I've logged something like 30 miles. Considering the (sad) shape I'm in, not bad.

Testing the waters on this one: Law school. Down the road a piece, natch. Civil rights and labor law specifically. Thoughts?

If I didn't mention it before, my days in Eugene are officially numbered. Moving Day: July 20. Sometimes that feels too soon, other times too late. Which probably means it's as good as any date.

Reading! So much reading. Chewed on some major Faulkner for a while, but I've since moved on to Ragtime. I think this is my fifth or sixth attempt on that one. Determination!

meet the new lady in my life!

I call her Amelia because DAMN! does she fly. The affair has only just begun. Prepare yourselves for imminent bike nerdiness. Cheap, too. Found the poor girl on Craigslist and biked out to the boondocks to save her. She's been approved by the Maarty himself.

Also: I leave for Portland July 20th. There will be some kind of (very cheap) departure festivities, possibly protracted over several days. Until then, I'm wilfully unemployed and living off of cheap starch and apples.

The job search continues, although the Tenuous Internship grows more solid. They're looking for an office manager as well, and ideally, I'd be filling both positions. I met the staff while in Portland. They seem like a generally cool bunch; definitely a computery crowd.

Met some queers and some politicos while in the PDX. I can't wait to move there. Not so much for the folks I met, but the atmosphere that engenders meeting people so easily.

And I went clothing shopping, finally. Thanks to the lovely love that is Katharine, I'm okay in the trousers department, and now tops are finally replenished. Thrift!

now what?

As of June 16, I'm an unemployed college graduate. Flitting off to a wedding that I don't especially want to go to this weekend, although it's in Portland which is some consolation -- the apartment and job searches begin in earnest now. (Actually, the wedding itself is in Hillsboro, which kills me. So far! No car! Drat, I say.)

I've got all this time now, and it's confusing me. What the hell do I do with myself now? The potential internship looks less promising day by day, and I can only hang in Eugene living off of savings for so long.

On the other hand, I can have hobbies again. Woo!

This was going to be more interesting, but the thought of Now What? is pretty tedious and all-consuming these days.

My last finals week begins today. Asses will be kicked, papers written, beers drunk. Until then, GOD DAMN IT.

question

culinary.

do y'all say kyew-linary or cull-inary? I've been teased for the former. It was said to be "provincial." (which I am totally NOT!)

inconvenient!

This final set of finals is seriously cutting into my leisure time. I'm trying to finish Absalom, Absalom! over here.

The Tofu Challenge

or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Soybean

These days, I'm tofu's bitch. I drain, I press, I cook separately, I use extra firm (we're talking curry and stir-fry material here,) but no dice. It's gloppy at worse, squidgy at best. All I want is to be able say with confidence, "Why yes! I can cook tofu!"

Not that I'm cutting meat -- never that. Tofu is simply another ingredient to add to my repertoire. Plus, many omnivores such as myself don't know how to treat the stuff. It's a point of culinary pride.

Plus, a huge percent of the dating pool I'm swimming in leans veggie. There. I said it.

Anyway, I'm having a fuck of a time with this curdmass problem of mine. Any tips from y'all?

Also: frozen edamame has sustained me for a week now. Soybeans, fun fact to know and share, are acceptably spelled both "soy bean" and "soybean."

This post brought to you by the National Beef Council.

only mildly badass, but still.

hand tattoos be hand tattoos.

hamsters is nice, but tattoo artists is nicer

Saturday. 3 pm. Mild badassery gonna go down.

Despite not actually having all that much spare time, thesis completion has certainly engendered a "whatever" sort of attitude toward other classwork. By all accounts, I should be flipping the hell out because of the backlog of tedious reading and projects to be done. Instead, I'ma post pictures of Alaska.



Edit: problems loading. Go here.

I passed! With honors! Thesis is over! Beer!

that was today.

one step closer to graduating and getting that dog.

tattoos are in the works. consultation tomorrow. I've been keeping this somewhat under my hat. but yes. tattoos.

I'm still upset about the bears -- refer to prior entry.

inappropriate use of second person

You know those days where you wake up two hours later than you intended? Then you avoid the real work you have to do (perhaps because you're debilitatingly anxious about a certain thesis defense the next day) by making ANGRY MIX 2007 and making breakfast out of tortillas and stolen peanut butter. Or maybe you try to take a shower with your socks still on. Myspace will probably tell you things you didn't want to know anyway, while insisting that beefcake-y match.com ads are your thing. (Seriously? market research? anyone?)

And do you remember that time you totally danced a kink into your back at Queer Prom? It was worth it, but now you feel about 30 years older than you actually are.

Check it: you've only been awake for 48 minutes. And they're going to dye the bears. BEARS ARE NOT HARD TO IDENTIFY. THEY ARE BEARS.

my first and last frontier

in Alaska. As ever, it's strange to be here, to be home. I'm always struck by how ugly this city is and how attached I am to it (despite common sense and unpleasant memories.) Phase one of cleaning out my room was a success -- a few old t-shirts and hats will come home with me. Phase two, the books, will take longer.

Spending time with my brother this trip has been so fucking cool. He's funny and awkward and pretty damn bright. I like him.

Pictures to come.

(notes to self: junk email, snoop dog, bikesbikesbikes, and the mountains.)

it's done.

The thesis, that is. I defend May 22, at 11:30am. If you're a Eugener and available, ask me where and attend! I'll be dressed nicely for a change and geeking out in front of a live audience.

FINALLY.

"Bad vomit."

...and that's how I spent my saturday. Trying not to dwell on the hike in the sunshine and DoublePlusGood action that I missed.

Also, I'm the second or third to last person on the planet to join myspace, but I did it after much cajoling. so there's that. puke and murdoch.

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.

outta here again

Portland-bound. Maybe not the brightest idea, but it's got to happen. All things being equal, I'd like to look at the other Potential Home City.

got a few comments back from the thesis advisor, in other news. "This is MA level work." !!

MS 224 didn't hire me. Welcome back, doubts. Make yourselves at home.

Apparently, my lesson "showed [my] potential," but class management was lacking. I could have told them that. I'll likely have to teach demo lessons in all of my interviews -- if possible, I'm even more intimidated now than I was before. Damn it. I've never cried about a fucking JOB before.

EDIT: Not that the doubts haven't been a long time coming. They're starting to mount, not as a matter of self-doubt (although that's certainly an element,) but doubting whether or not I want to do this altogether. I'm hard-pressed to come up with a reason why Teach for America is a compelling option. Making a list of pros and cons has, over the course of a few hours, resulting in a staggering mountain of cons. What am I doing with myself? Why? THE FUTURE IS LAME.

FURTHER EDIT: considering I spent the first three years of university (to say nothing of the many cogent years prior) saying that I'd never be an educator, the sudden decision to teach perhaps ought to give me pause. It's hard to illustrate how beyond second thoughts I am, how doubts have rapidly galvanized into regrets, how I've made NYC into some kind of Saving the Children Fantasy Camp where I'll be totally happy no matter what. I didn't think about this much before. "hey! health insurance! awesome!" is kind of how it went down initially. Damn me for not knowing myself. And damn the Cubs and their losing streak.

but hooray for student loan checks! and sunshine! and new CDs/retail therapy!

also: a bird shat in my hair. C said it's good luck.

Kid E's first conference

This whole weekend has been a lesson in staying my own awkwardness. Never terribly adept at conversation when meeting new people (see also: my father), I've run the gamut of venues at which to "network" -- conference rooms, bars, hoity toity restaurants, beaches, fire pits. While my "network" has only minimally grown -- just as well -- I've made somewhat minor strides in chatting with strangers who intimidate me. Like Jonathan Lethem. Who sat at our table and was largely engaged with the musical obscurefest going on round that neck of the woods. I got some good shots in when conversation turned to Batman, but get a bunch of geeky and PUBLISHED academics together and set them loose... fangirls like me have trouble keeping up with the sheer force and quantity of the "when I met Tina Weymouth" variety. See M for a more comprehensive account of the nerve-wracking drive(mart) and other more eloquent bits.

That said, I'm having a blast. A mass geek-out? Hells yes. I'll even submit a paper once I get up the nerve. I mean hell, there was free beer at one point.

Likewise, hanging out with old friends and friends of old friends has lead to some escapades such as hanging out on a beach listening to a didgeridoo jam session on 4/20 and wandering about Discovery Park, trying to avoid childrens.

Moral of the story: the Experience Music Project is the ugliest building I've ever seen. The Science Fiction Museum's space croissant is bitchin', though.

now with less whining!

Despite the fact that I'm looking at spending three unplanned hours at Newark Liberty Airport and the night in Sea-Tac, I'm shockingly un-grumpy. This New York/New Jersey weekend has been something else. Early mornings and commutes (up by ugh:00, into the city and hour and change later, emerging from the fog on the subway, arriving at my South Bronx interview by 8:15, my Brooklyn test by 7:30) gave way to plodding around a city that I could get used to. Hit four of the five boroughs. Missed Queens, and Staten Island might not fully count since I only drove through it, but still not so bad. Overview: City - yes, Jersey, hell no.

The interview went reasonably well. Checking my email the night before, I found out that all of my frantic lesson planning for an elaborate classroom debate was for nought. They assigned me a lesson, and a math lesson at that. Parallel and perpendicular lines, to be precise, for a class of special ed 7th graders. They were pretty sweet -- shy and reluctant to answer at first, but they warmed up. As I was leaving, one kid asked me if I was going already. A good sign, I think. It wasn't a perfect lesson by any means; I made the rookie mistake of spending too much time conferring with each kid and some of them got restless. But no riots. I hope I get the job -- the school is small and well-run. It's a middle school of SCIENCE! apparently. MS 224. For the moment, I'm excited.

The exams petrified me, but they weren't as bad as I expected either. A lot of general knowedge sorts of questions.

Going back further, I haven't written anything about the awesomeness of late, such as Jenaya's phenomenal pig roast, my father's visit to Eugene or any of the miscellaneous tomfoolery I've been up to when not frantically studying. To round up: massive pig + good folks + my awkward father + SO MUCH PIE = best birthday party in a long, long time. That tenderloin chunk haunts my dreams, as does the chocolate bourbon pecan pie. It was dreamy. The parental visit was pleasant and laid back, much like my dad. We hit all the Eugene highlights: Bier Stein, Sweet Life, Hendricks park, aforementioned pig roast. I think it was strange for my dad to see me on my turf, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. Since then, I've been getting a lot of "you and your father are the same person" sorts of comments. In other news, L came down for a mermaid omlette and a photo op and 10 cent beers. John and I played a lot of N64. Lincoln House. you know.

Although I think New York will be pretty awesome, it's becoming eminently clear that I love Oregon. Portland owns my heart, but Eugene has endeared itself to me as well. This year has been fantastic, owing to the population of my world -- new and old members both -- and those incredible Oregon springs and those incredible Oregon beers. There's an unshakable atmosphere. I dig it. The biggest misgivings I have about TFA are related to leaving my friends and my new home. Big cities are fun, but I get intimidated and restless when the only trees around are requisite sickly roadside saplings. This is really just a roundabout way of saying to myself, "I'll come back."

NYC tomorrow - sunday. Seattle next weekend. Montana after that. Final thesis draft by April 30. My little bro's graduation in Anchorage May 15. Defense on May 21. Graduation in June. Moving to NYC eight days after. Eighteen academic credits.

"you seem tense."

yep. I just learned THIS MORNING that I need to concoct a 30-45 minute lesson for my interview on Friday (by the way, I apparently have an interview -- think of TFA as a placement service rather than an employer.) In South Bronx. Commuting from fucking jersey. between this and the certification exam, I'm pretty well freaked out.

okay, rant over. needed that.

heads up

This will be excellent. Tell your friends.

THANK GOD

Before:

(Courtesy of the Amazing Kelly)

After:


SPRING BREAK!

I take altogether too much pleasure in perusing the OED.

The Term That Wouldn't Die is almost dead. Just in time to watch the Oregon game on Friday, I might add.

Also, I found a small jar of raspberry-chocolate goo in the back of the fridge that is just as delicious now as it was last summer. Sugar and alcohol definitely battle it out for the title of Favorite Preservative.

no verbosity till brooklyn.

given how this year is shaking out, that my become quite literal. sadly.

Oregon is number 3 seed in their bracket. I need to write 3 pages per day in order to have a draft by spring break. If I finish on time, the Ducks will probably take the NCAA championship. That's logical, right?

trying not to flip my top over this draft. trying really hard.

UPDATE: Holy new distraction, Batman. This is one of those "why didn't anyone tell me about this sooner" cum "I'm glad I found this now, since it's already cutting madly into worktime" type situations.

Both the abbreviation madness and the leggings need to stop, ps.

grumble grumble thesis grumble

I might not see the light of day for a while, on account of these well-lit days I've been enjoying lately. Got yelled at by campus po-lice for climbing a tree. anyway. time to be boring.

housekeeping

It's been a rather big week. The biggest news is still pretty big news. Having resigned myself to TfA rejection, I was starting to get excited about a move to PDX, being a working stiff in my favorite US city. Still. Opportunity and all. Essentially, I'm disappointed that I must make this decision myself and that circumstances will not make it for me. (Sidenote: My procrastinatory activities of choice have been things like google-mapsing Bedford-Stuyvesant and looking at online sped pedagogy resources. My mind is made up, it seems.)

In totally unrelated news, I got a call from Insurance Dude about my settlement. I think they're lowballing me. Well, they're an insurance company. Of COURSE they're lowballing me. It will take some courage on my part to lob the offer (medical costs + lost wages + $1500, which seems awfully low for a month and a half where I described my condition as "made of pain" -- plus it's a major insurance company who can definitely afford to throw me a bone.) At least the ball is rolling on this, after all this damned waiting.

My baby brother got accepted to Montana State with a bitchin' scholarship! AND he's still seeing his girlfriend! I'm ever so proud of that kid. Although the fact that he's a looming, red-headed giant is still hard to get over. Over the past four years, he's grown 6 inches each winter and summer.

interesting conversation with my folks the other night. Neither of them (teachers both) are too wild about the TfA thing. My mother especially. I get the impression that she fell into teaching and never shook herself out once she realized that she wanted to do other things. It's a mom-ish "realize your potential" cum "don't take the first job that comes along because it's the first job that comes along" cum "don't get shot in the inner city" sort of schtick. Since I know her well enough to parse these things, I didn't really take it the wrong way. But naturally, the follow-up email I get that tells me she's unbelievably proud of me made me cry in the library.

Dad's just jazzed.

Just finished Tricked by Alex Robinson. Check it out. L, I mean you especially. The plot's a bit predictable, but the characterization and formal bits are used very judiciously, I think.

And because it's time for my yearly meme/daily procrastination (von Jenaya:

Five question interview, with personally tailored questions! I know y'all aren't meme-ers, but if you leave your name and number, I'll shoot you five questions of your own, etc. Thus, the circle of life continues.

1. Why did you choose to study at UO?
At the time, I was drawn to the journalism program. In high school, I co-edited the teen section of the Anchorage Daily News for just under two years, and really got the news bug bad. That all changed after I realized that I couldn't stomach corporate journalism and didn't have the faith in myself to stick with the indie press ideal. Incidentally, UO was the only university I applied to openly. Secretly, I sent off photo and creative writing portfolios to several art schools (didn't even tell my girlfriend, my best friend -- I've never kept a secret so well) and was soundly rejected across the board. Plus, UO's cheap(ish) and not in Alaska.
2. What's the most fun you've ever had?
That would be a toss-up between this beautiful autumn day I spent at the Vienna zoo last October or all the time I spent with Adam in Arizona last Christmas. Moving out and aging was the best thing ever for our siblinghood. If I think about it, I'll probably come up with a dozen other things, but those two really stand out. Perhaps because they're so wholesome.
3. Who are you more like - your father, or your mother? How so?
Though I've been finding myself using my mother's turns of phrase lately (which is startling), I'm definitely a lot more like my father. We physically resemble each other, for starters. We're both fairly spacey and goofy, we have a tendency to get very anal about planning-intensive ventures like travel, we're both adept with foreign languages, we've got the same sense of humor, we're "fairly chill sorts" as John puts it, we like the same music, we don't like to rush life, we're both extremely protective of my mother and Adam... the list goes on. Also: both NPR podcast fiends. And hiking ADDICTS.
4. What's your favorite thing to cook, and why?
Probably my blue burgers because they're a fantastic excuse to pull out all the stops, health-wise. They're so massive that sides are an impossibility. Although anything that involves a lot of chopping with a good knife works for me. and the old iPod, of course.
5. If you had to choose one alcoholic beverage to drink for the rest of your life, what would it be? Seeing as I probably can't get away with just saying "beer," I'll have to go with a Bombay Sapphire gin and tonic. I love beer, and life without it is not really a thought I relish, but I can enjoy a B-Saph G&T in any season. The flavors are complex enough to keep me interested, but it's not too froofy. Beer selection is a mood thing.

lastly, I'm sick too. I blame Eugene. According to my old boss, the Owyhee (I think) called the mid-valley "the Valley of Sickness." They don't exactly advertise THAT on the UO website.

I think I just won FutureQuest

I'm in. TFA will send me to New York City to teach special ed, if I so desire.

My hands won't stop shaking.

The question now truly is altruism or selfishness? Go to NYC and devote two years to saving the children or go to PDX and devote two years to my culinary/managerial education.

But SHIT! I got IN!

hot piece of spam

from Elwood 4:43 pm (1 hour ago)
to Coy Powell
date Feb 21, 2007 4:43 PM
subject How is life
Images are not displayed. Display images below

-- deliberately trouble Eh? flower How do? muscle How do?

[this is already a great follow-up to "how is life," but then it gets all Ulysses on me!]

Ben Dollard's vague bass anshiver -- soak Irish? ornament I saw don't know, faith. Is she, Simon?-- A beautiful kill slung shelter station air, said Bloom lost Leopold. I kno suppose Blazes Boylan's smart milk cloudy chain tan shoes creaked on the bar Tap. Ventriloquise. discover My lips light closed. Think knot close in my stom. W pled -- death You're pin looking rubicund, throw George Lidwell said.

[well, mangled Ulysses anyhow. Why am I "Coy Powell" in this spamdress book? That's my new detective/cowgirl name, I think. Some sort of alter ego, anyway.]

stunning conversationalist, you say? why THANK you!

Over the past few days, I've gotten to pull off these gems and have them totally rock their context.

"But napalm aside, I've got to run."

"String theory? You can't puke on string theory, therefore it's bad science. A flux capacitor is totally puke-on-able. Good science." (John and I had a long, hopelessly nerdy conversation on whether or not time travel in a De Lorean would be conducive to motion sickness -- in my case, sadly yes -- and what would happen to the attendant vomit. Physics is fun!)

"So Tajuan Porter is, in fact, the Toto to Brooks' Dorothy and Oguchi's Scarecrow? Does that make Ma-arty the cowardly Lion? ... Hairston's heart totally isn't in it. Totally Tinman." (pause) "The only candidate I'm coming up with for the wicked witch is Lady Kent, and that's not very nice."

"Well, Antarctica probably has bitchin' stargazing. Both constellations and pouring endlessly over the same Entertainment Weekly for days at a stretch."

This week is a laugh-in, I tell you what. Which works for me. I'm exhausted from bouldering and bowlderizing and altogether too much Deutsch. Happy Mardi Gras! Time for some SIN!

I say it all the time, and it never happens, but: this whole binge drinking thing needs to taper off.

Antarctica is looking attractive, oddly. Or BUNAC.

Too much thesis. Too many comic books.

GOD DAMN IT

Flubbed my sample lesson. Poor time management -- they had to cut me off, and I definitely wasn't close to finished. I'm on break - my personal interview is in a couple of hours, so I'm doing some homework and trying to calm down. I've never been so nervous.

Damn it, I could be a kick-ass teacher.

Right. Not counting chickens.

ARGH

----------
(Five or six hours later.)

The rest of the interview went well. I'll chalk my initial crummy performance (and it seriously was sub-par by my standards -- I'm not being modest) up to nerves and hope for the best. On the other hand, it's not the end of the world if I don't get this gig. There's always Antarctica! Although working for Raytheon might be a little TOO morally reprehensible. Still. I'm built for the cold. Or Portland. In any case, this chapter of FutureQuest can thankfully exit stage left.

On to the next ten pages of thesis-ing, for which I've had to turn down beer and movies. Grump.

PS. File under "Internets Needs Proofing." The banner on google.com says "Googe," although it's hard to tell with that ridiculous chocolate-covered strawberry standing in for the second g. (Any Achewood readers? Back me up on this...)

The worst of it is, I've barely been cooking lately. Midterms, this impending interview, parties of all stripes, concerts, the looming T-word, and the last few shifts at the dining hall -- little wonder I've not found the time to cook or exercise.

Must go write a lesson on semicolon use -- yep, I'm rocking the punctuation. for the children! The Dreaded Interview begins in less than 36 hours. My recent slow-burning, long-lasting nervousness strikes me as far inferior to the traditional flashes of anxiety. Have I mentioned that TfA may well be the first real challenge of this nature I have ever set myself. Getting into UO was a breeze, applying for the overseas nonsense was just a matter of showing up and fronting some cash, and the only other selection processes that spring to mind are auditions in junior high and choosing up sides for soccer games. This is by far the most rigorous and ambitious application-type deal I've ever endured, and I'm scared witless. Not that getting rejected (and subsequently packing up for Portland) would be a travesty. In fact, sometimes I hope I won't be accepted so I can slide into a low-key gig of some lucrative kind or another. For some neurotic reason, I consider myself a Quitter. Maybe getting rejected forestalls the possibility of giving up. God, that's depressing. In any case, I can't think about the interview without starting to sweat a little.

I think it's time to crank the jams.

über my dead body

German homework? What? Who? no. basketball.

I realized that over the past three months or so, the readership of this thing has altered somewhat. So this post will be less of the typical in-the-moment whining and more longterm whining. Isn't that kind of interesting? Bloggers/LJers/whatever-ers assume that their readers will catch on in medias res. Hence the brief recap after today's events. Today was bitchin', by the way.

Today:
-solved my interview clothing problems without resorting to a hellish bus ride to a hellisher mall. GodDAMN do I hate VRC and love the boutique-y shops in my 'hood. Ever increasingly, there's less I love about my 'hood. The constant drunken babble, the ever-present litter -- symptomatic of a the entitled attitude that drives me up the fucking wall, the redneck-y harassment (here? really? c'mon kids, I left alaska for a reason...), the slummy apartment, the NOISE. however, the bier stein, some decent mexican, some crummy and addictive coffee and said clothing shops are 'round about here. overall, no complaints. 'spose.
-had a very overwhelmingly positive ex encounter. having social skills makes me want to dance.
-had a falafel, which makes any day AWESOME.
-spilled the following upon myself in this order: runny egg, coffee, falafel juice. these poor pants.
-patched my favorite jeans. cleaned. made further progress on errand-y things.
-watched the ducks beat ASU. I considered calling Aaron to gloat, but figured he wouldn't be too into it. After all, he did finish his MA a while ago and isn't too much for the hoops. I've loved re-embracing my basketball fan self. More than a few pals have said it doesn't really jive with my personality, whatever the hell that means. This season is my coming-out season: My name is Erica, and I love college hoops. DEAL WITH IT.

In general:
-Western Culinary institute still wants me/my money. I'm not sure if I want to do this. Aren't culinary schools a little over the top for what I want to do? That is to say, I can whip up some better than decent bar food, which is all I need, really. Friend C and I have decided to try to open a bar when we have a little start-up dough. She's good with numbers and booze, I'm good with people and food and booze, and we're both dedicated enough to the idea to backburner it until it's do-able. hell with cook school.
-making stock tomorrow. haven't done it in a while. must buy whole cloves.
-TFA interview. AGRHGHHHHH. My lesson will be on semicolons. am I the lamest grammarian ever? survey saaaaays yes.
-really, REALLY enjoying my alone time these days. reading the new paul auster. dancing around my apartment in various states of undress.
-quit the dining hall job. my last day's V-day. love pirate party to ensue. not especially creative, but it should be appropriately boozy and light-hearted. all eugenian readers ARRR welcome. costumes required.
-I miss my Anchortown buddies especially much this time of year. that thought makes me think about how brief my remaining eugene time may well be. ripping up these newly shot roots doesn't appeal. but.
-to my ridiculous variety pack of really super friends in all locations: endless and sincere love.

insomnia now

Rather than a newsy post about a boozy weekend or bitching about my incessant iTunes problems (THIS PROGRAM IS ASININE AND MUST LEARN RESPECT), I'll tell y'all about a moment ago. I was - and still am - in some warmed-up flannel jammies, perusing bookslut and salon alternately, sipping some kryptonite ibarra hot cocoa, when I discovered that I was not at all anxious/perplexed/angry about The Future or My Stupid Problems With Women or the Classes About Which I Whine Too Much. Come July, I could be anywhere. It's neither freeing nor frightening, perhaps because I'm cozy and satiated and in a bit of a daze, but I'll take it. I think, shock of shocks, that the sudden spike in non-compulsory reading has something to do with this. Three cheers for appropriated leisure time!

I found a bright orange telephone today, complete with cords. Art forthcoming.

Cheese has been disappearing at an alarming rate around here. John and I do the separate food thing, so I have no one to blame but myself (and those DAMN DIRTY APES) - cheese can be a more expensive habit than either beer or smoking. It's a good thing I don't smoke. I'd be broke.

My little bro has a girlfriend. I'm over the moon about it because it's great ammo for my Sibling Teasing Cannons, but it does mean he's never around to answer the damn phone. so I can't let the volleys fly.

Making mixes and burning requests. Anyone want anything else while I'm at it?

on top of all that, I'm re-establishing my tenuous photoshop skills. don't expect results. found a bunch of difficult ones that I can't seem to delete.

did anyone see The Black Dahlia? M? L?

Skipping class, particularly a class in which I'm totally golden, to get other things done isn't a crime. So why do I feel guilty and anxious? Maybe because I'm also skipping class to go shopping. For interview clothes! I have none! That's still considered productive, right? Hmm.

Somewhere in the my-apartment vicinity is a wireless network called Swann's Wireless Way. A Prouster nearby gives me glee, but naming a wireless network after Dead Frenchie's Greatest Hit... well, I guess John and I aren't ones to talk. Ours is called Team Awesome.

Finished ten pages of my thesis rough draft a couple of days hence. Upon turning said pages into my advisors, I promptly rewarded myself with a falafel.

I'm in a very "no patience for Belle and Sebastian, the Cure, the Police or the Wallflowers, so I'd appreciate it if you'd cut that shit out, iPod" sort of mood. Frustrated, one might say. Been listening to this gent, who is also, I'm proud to say, an aquaintance of mine. GAH -- forgot to get BLOW/Of Montreal tickets AGAIN. Verdammt!

No more sauce! February 14 is my (rather appropriate) last day at the dining hall. I'm applying for a techie desk job at the law school -- here's hoping.

Lately, I've felt like I have the emotional spectrum of a fish. Or like I'm on lithium. Restraining emotions doesn't come easily to me, so why have I not been reacting at all to what should, by all accounts, be a very emotional time? I'm just tired. No wonder most posts have been so disjointed.

My grandpa sent me fudge and a candy thermometer.

"There is somethere else here."

Either my fingers are now conduits for typewritten profundities, or I'm totally losing it.

(edited for detail-adding) There are 112,000 white flags and 3,000 red flags planted in the memorial quad, spilling over into the adjacent greens. (pictures -- the slideshow is worth it.) Spending three hours of my sunday planting these flags, each white one standing for 6-7 Iraqi civilians and soldiers killed and each red one standing for an American soldier, was sobering enough. But the thing about activism is this: once you start, it's hard to say no. I ended up moderating a panel discussion of veterans -- all students, all served in Iraq -- which went very, very well. The typical anti-war "screw the military" crowd was silent; it was a very respectful event. Everyone said what they set out to get across, and if I do say so myself, I was a very even-keel moderator.

The thesis plods onward. I've actually been getting things done (y'know, on the order of writing the damn thing.) but still. nagging doubts. is this even remotely academic? will this help me AT ALL in the future? does any of that matter? bleh. I'm tired of doubt. I think I wrote that last week.

Coming to terms with singledom took less time than I thought. I'm reeeeally into it, actually.

The fine folks at Teach for America get to size me up two weeks from tuesday, close-up and in the flesh. I have no idea what my five-minute lesson will be all about. Or where I'll rustle up some professional clothings. Hrm. This is not far away.

Also: I am sick and Eugene is small.

Apparently, my grandparents sent me a care package. My family manages to overcome insanity with moments of astonishing sweetness. That's sweet in the "kind, cute, loving" sense, not the "check this out, bro, it's totally _" sense.

Finished Ruth Reichl's newest memoir, Garlic and Sapphires and it's made me think twice about culinary school. I've already started to wonder how whimsical that idea is/was; not that I love food or cooking any less, it just seems like there are so, so many other things I want to do too. Why do all of these options telescope into a messy pile labelled AFTER COLLEGE? It's too damn hard to take a long-term view when the shorter terms are so uncertain. I know I'm taking this too seriously. Back to the book. Reichl illustrates the New York culinary scene vividly, but the hijinks and disguises and descriptions of meals with price tags higher than the contents of my bedroom aren't what got me. At one point, Reichl gives her high-end leftovers (duckling with hoity-toity sides and sauces I can't recall) to a homeless guy on the subway. Eating is fundamental, she seems to say, and inequity is an inescapable fact.

Thing is, despite my Education Rant* and all of the trappings of good liberaldom, all I really want is a cozy life. Good food and friends and all of those simple bourgie pleasures that come from a modest paycheck and white collar.

In the meantime, I have a thesis on superheroines stagnating over my back burners, some peacenik activities that appeared out of nowhere, a suddenly perplexing personal and social life and a job that leaves me smelling of pork. And not in a good way at all.

Despite all the vitamins and positive mental attituding, I'm sick too. January was allegedly for hibernating. The only hibernation in my life has been grabbing the sparse moments between coming and going to listen to a little something on the old iPod.

The fridge talks to us now. Complains, mostly. It's an obnoxious reminder that yes, we do in fact still live in a crummy West University apartment and settled for way less.

Hilariously, though, I realized that should I find myself teaching, I'd be joining the family business. No sheriffing, trolley driving or cartography for this kid. No military service or dermatology either. I think it's kind of quaint.

*I'll save this one for later.

The Further Adventures of

I know the weather is a time-honored tedious subject, but DAMN. My perma-frozen toes just might win out over my cheapness in the "we don't need to turn on the heat" department. This problem has also found a solution in virtually living with some buds who have over zealous and oddly gratis heat.

Still losing the Futurequest. My application to TFA is out, my phone interview tomorrow. I'm surprised at how nervous I'm not. If I want it, I'll get it. Not that I'm terribly sure of what I want, but meh.

Topless pizza night = amazing fun.

The thesis drags on. Once a timetable is set, this will be a different story entirely. Free-form, self-directed projects don't seem to agree with me these days.

organizing my thoughts

"Why do you seek to join Teach For America? What would make you an effective corps member?"

Hell if I know. I'm a bit preoccupied with other things, like having broken up with Rose, my grandfather's further deterioration, money and my lack thereof, the impending term and the subsequent reality of actually writing this thesis, etc. My reaction to all of these things of late, together or individually, has been "donwannatalkboutit." As such, all I can think about is a mental slurry of Recent Events.

Something tells me the Teach for America folks aren't terribly interested in an answer along the lines of "to alleviate my white guilt." That would be far too tongue-in-cheek, and likely too honest for comfort. In the honesty department, "I don't want to hide in grad school, but getting a real job is scary and hard" might not cut it either.

I do think that I would be good at teaching and I have the confidence to say so. That's step one.

Phew. Thank god that's taken care of.

The requisite "education is the key to success" rant -- I could approach it from the "raised by educators" angle rather than the "I'd better believe this because I'm a humanities major" angle. I think what intimidates me most about all of this is the professionality of the thing. A letter of intent? An essay? This is national corporation meets grad school app type stuff. At least I'm a decent writer. Four to five hundred words should not be this difficult. That, and I shouldn't have put this off until the eleventh hour.

Culinary school has seemed more like a whim lately, like something I should relegate to daydreams.

Damn it, I wish I knew something.

I love the holidays again. It was a long time coming, but now I can't stop singing 'Let it Snow.'

Also, the word crisis apparently comes from the Greek krisis, which translates to 'judgment.' This, I think, is very apt.

Still reading oodles of comics and comic criticism. That's about all she wrote.

Oh, and Rose is back. Happiest kid in town over here!

Condensed College

This weekend and week should be taken in spoonfuls rather than the liters I've been served. The birthday party was fun: low-key, even downright wholesome with the cookies, warm drinks and board games. It ended fairly early (last guest left around midnight-thirty, I think) and that was fine. The morning-of, I was nursing/wretching through the worst hangover on record. I'm still feeling a little gun-shy about liquor, in fact. Joint birthday party, small dinner, bottle of wine...I was only happy to obscure my woes in a haze of baking and phonecalls from loves.

Then the papers. Thankfully, I've been relatively responsible and completed two of my four (a combined total of almost 40 written pages due over three days -- guh) well ahead of time. The last two, not so much. One's done. It was supposed to be about Annie Liebovitz and it was supposed to be EASY. Instead, some grad student recalled ALL of my books and I had to start topicless from square one. So I wrote about cooking magazines, and how A) they're legitimate texts and B) blah blah blah discursive rhetoric. It damn near killed me.

Kill Bill paper in the works. but enough schoolwork. I hate it when school is the only thing on my mind and in my mouth. I mean, really? Parties and papers? Am I that much of a cliche these days?

More interestingly: I'm officially well enough to go back to work for short shifts! Projected date of full recovery is Januaryish.

Rose returns in less than two weeks. Why am I nervous about that? Term ends in less than 24 hours. There must be some crossover there.

My (film) camera is officially shot, too. Kaput. Replacement may be the most cost-effective option, too, which breaks my heart more than a little.

Making myself a steak tonight. My rare-ness technique is now better than passable, so I'm looking forward to it. Mmmm, cheap meat.

you'd better think (think! thinkthink!)

The food:

Turkey breast, done up traditional. Oddly, it came in a string mesh sack thingy which, according to the directions thereon, was supposed to remain in place while during cooking. We did so, and it was fantastic. Even the overdone parts were good (there was a preheating time mishap. Mistakes were made. Passive voice was used.)
Mashed potatoes with a garlic and leek cream sauce. I'm actually competent with the dairy sauces now. This is a milestone. At any rate, my logic was this: if garlic, cream/milk and butter are all gold as far as mashed taters are concerned, why not just add more in sauce form and moosh them all together? With leeks. Everything, I think, could use more leeks.
Cranberry sauce, sort of a la KT. Well, I used lime juice and no dehydrated orange bits. The premise and huge tartness factor was largely the same, though.
Green beans, sans Campbell's glop. I steamed those mofos halfway (parsteamed? can I do that?) and then cooked 'em up with ginger, that awesome garlic chili paste, soy sauce and a huge glug of sherry. The sherry was actually some old Tokaj (Hungarian white wine -- great stuff) Roberta had sitting around that had become sherry. It was nice to have some spice on the T-giving table for once.
Corn risotto. Courtesy New Seasons. For color, I think.
And my first completely solo piefromscratch. Apple. The crust was almost too buttery. Mmm.

The rad:

On Buy Nothing Day, I traded a pair of socks for a cup of coffee. Not twenty minutes later did a cavalcade of West Ank-o-ragers come trooping through the door of my little southeast PDX coffee spot. Since they were actually folks I was excited to see, it was a really big, delightful coincidence.
Later that evening, further socializing at a pal's parents. Birthday style. There was cheesecake involved. RAWK. Followed by breakfast with the birthday girl at Cup and Saucer. If I could be a brunch cook in Portland, I think my life would be much, much richer for it.
Met up with different 'ragers for coffee as a part of my project. Operation: Actually Visit 'ragers in the Pacific NW Once in a While.
Hung with Lolly at a wings joint and her joint and Plaid Pantry, but not in that order. Scratch black strap rum off of the To Try list.

The smugly:

One class is DONE. Ovah. Well, after I turn in this paper, but still.
Also, I age soon.

holiday now please

My school-mentality of late has been along the lines of "if it's not interesting or fun, fuck it." Which is fine. As such, my final papers are going to kick ass. The working titles, or rather, what I'm snarkily calling them in their rough draft form:

-Hast du wieder Zeit für mich? Examining and Re-translating Nena's "99 Luftballons"
-Performances of Gender in Kill Bill
-Annie Liebowitz: What the hell is a portrait, and why the hell can't it be fun?

and a paper for my Deutsch lit class that probably won't be as interesting, although there will be plenty of sex involved. So hey.

These should be fun, interesting papers that I can really get into, but motivation is in the red over here. It'll all get done. For the moment, though, I'm going to make some cornbread.

Also: Thanksgiving weekend in PDX! If anyone knows of a ride returning Sunday, I'd be much obliged.

briefly

I don't really know who reads this anymore, which isn't as distressing as I thought it would be. So when I say something like, "I've been really down lately" or "the future beyond my next birthday -- less than a month away -- freaks me the hell out" I don't know who's listening. How much they know about my tendency to freak out on a fairly regular basis, or whether said freak out is actually indicative of Something Big. (Admittedly, 9 out of 10 are not at all worth the effort it takes to freak out anyway.) Upshot being: none of this is likely as bad as it sounds, given my propensity toward hyperbole.*

That said, I feel right shitty.

*My most flagrant example being a conversation with Kyle a while ago on the Alaska election results. I'll let you fill in the exaggeratory gaps from there.

I heart non-traditional pasta dishes

Squash and Leek Lasagna, as bastardized from Eating Well's recipe. Turned out right nice.

1 large acorn squash (although any winter squash will get the job done.)
2 medium leeks, chopped finely. Ditch the dark green parts.
1 medium yellow onion
spinach
2-3 cups ricotta
1 egg
10-12 oz lasagna noodles
3 cups milk
flour
1 tsp dried thyme
1/2 tsp dried marjoram
1 tsp (or slightly less) ground nutmeg
ground pepper
parmesean cheese
1/4 c pine nuts (way optional)

Since I was not in the mood to peel and grate an acorn squash, I baked that bad boy instead. Cut it in half, scooped out the seeds, and let it go for about 50 minutes in a 400 degree oven with a pan of water under it.
Meanwhile, I discovered the true meaning of bechamel. White sauces of all types are one of my culinary bugbears. Probably because I'm impatient and tend to fly half-cocked into recipes -- I can be pretty cavalier about improvising, to mixed results. Anyhow, this go around, I did everything right...and with leeks! I melted a mass of butter (3-4ish tbs) and cooked the leeks until they were soft and good-smelling. The recipe called for 1/4 c flour, but I can't stand floury-tasting sauces, so I probably used half of that. Added the milk slooooowly. Stirred, added spices, allowed to thicken. AND IT WORKED. I was so thrilled. Were it not for this damn foot, I'd have jigged a small jig. I then mashed the ricotta together with the egg, half of the thyme, and some ground pepper. The bowl was too small. It got messy. I probably should have steamed the spinach for a moment or two, but that seemed like too many dishes. Meh. Boiled the noodles. Tried to keep them from sticking together with dubious success. Anyway, once the squash was done, I layered: noodles, squash, sauce, noodles, cheese, spinach. Repeated that until I started to run out of squash (note to self: there is no such thing as too little squash. Shop accordingly.) Topped with parmesean and toasted pine nuts (actually, I only put nuts on half, since I'm not wild about them. John liked them. I could have taken or left them, to be honest. They're expensive!) Baked for 50 minutes at 350 with foil, and another 20 or so without. I'd make a wine recommendation, but I am incapable. Beer, on the other hand, I can do. Alaska's Winter Warmer was nice, and it's seasonal! And it has spruce tips in it! Therefore, it tastes like Alaska. A nut brown would probably work too.

Does anyone know anything about insurance settlements? I'm lost in jargon.

hell, I'm not doing 50 of these damn things.

State of the Body: Despite the last few days being made of pain, I'm pretty okay. The bruises are starting to fade like absurd foliage (red to purple to green? only the leaves in Seuss books...) and the aches are starting to subside. I have DAS BOOT in lieu of a real cast or crutches for sure until Friday, at which point a medic and I reconnoitre. Long periods of standing or walking suck. HOWEVER: I'm alive. Pardon my melodrama, but I got lucky. And I'm healing, however slowly.

State of the Mind/Spirit/General Upstairs Region: Overall positive, despite a somewhat unexpected case of missing Alaska today. (Cured easily by a good dose of KT and rain.) I'm glad that I have such loving friends -- this whole thing has me really shaken, however flippant I may be. So, thanks. You guys make me feel lots better.

State of the Ivory Tower: I've finished my thesis prospectus, although it wasn't the greatest piece of work I've ever done. The part I wrote before the accident is solid, but the thing loses focus after that. Oh well. If it's truly awful, I'll rewrite the damn thing. The Daunting German Essay is also finished. Not looking forward to the end of the term. No exams -- just four papers due over three days. I may actually be responsible this go-around and start on at least something early. (Ha?) Anywho, I'm getting close to the Week 8 lull. None too soon.

State of the Union: Apparently, this place is finally trudging back to the left. (AK sidenote: PALIN?! PALIN?!?! ARGH!! That she-devil will see every social service dismantled before you can say "Lyda Green." Also, Don Young -- no surprise. But hey, go Berta Gardner! Nice to see another solid dem in midtown.)

State of the Kitchen: Sad. Pathetic, even. Cooking came to a standstill long before I got Buicked, although I had a really great knife moment while slicing some melon. Sharp knives give me chills. Now all I need is a better (wooden) cutting board. On deck for the lull: squash and leek/spinach lasagne, yam curry, KT's cranberry sauce, cornbread. Maybe some baking, too. Updates to follow as developments warrant.

District of Other Hobbies and the Wrap-Up Islands: No darkroom for this gimp. Not until I can stand for more than 20 minutes without kvetching. Sewing projects, on the other hand...
Anyhow, I'm sedentary and more or less at peace.

You've got to be KIDDING me

Third car accident in a month, folks. And for the second time, I was NOT in a motor vehicle. This time around, I was picked off the pavement while pedestrianing. As I type, my foot is in one of those big not-casts-but-BOOTs, my hips, knees and elbows are complaining, and I get to chase elusive insurance dollars for what will likely be a few weeks.

I was not at fault, shockingly. Though I may be a prolific and flagrant jaywalker, I had the signal. Blind. Sided. Some part of me broke her driver's side window, though I'm not sure which.

After I got my crutches from the Health Center, it started to rain torrentially. Of course. So I eventually turned around and got Das Boot instead (so much Wasser -- it seemed logical.) That helped. Plus, no palm blisters now.

Since I can't exactly cook gallons of sauce (my apparent manifest destiny in the dining hall) or wash dishes on a bum paw, I get three weeks or so off of work. Catching up on schoolwork -- yes! Not making any scratch -- no!

This is wildly inconvenient. But, as John reminds me, I got hit by a CAR.

two bitses, please

So I want to join the rugby team really, really bad(ly? I think it's badly.) Let me lay it out on the line list style.

Pro:
-awesome, awesome people who I know I like
-physical activity -- given my metabolism and all the damn running they do, I'd be ripped by graduation
-from the sound of things, great parties
-away games = getting out of eugene

Con:
-I have no time.
subpoint -- I'd have to cut back hours at work (the dining hall -- no biggie, but less money.)
subpoint -- 20 credits + work + twice or thrice weekly practice + Saturday games = ?

I'm torn. I really want to go get my ass kicked and have fun. On the other hand, I don't want to die of busy-ness. This is hard. Y'all's thoughts?

In other news, halloween was amazing. John and I went as John Travolta/Vincent Vega and Uma Thurman/Mia Wallace from Pulp Fiction.

Weltverachtung weg!

My German lit class is kicking my ass less. Es gelingt mir! Ich gewinne! But let me back up. Mom always told me to keep my PMA (yes, that IS Positive Mental Attitude) in line -- there's some kitschy book floating around our basement about keeping the warm fuzzies close and the cold negative fuckers at bay. The thing's in cartoon form, illustrated by an Ed Emberley knock-off, and made a strong impression on me. Apparently it didn't have an overwhelming influence; I can't remember the title or author and I certainly have a hell of a time keeping my PMA even marginally intact. Lately our (more or less) weekly phone conversations have become PMA pep talks. There's a degree of mental toughness that I have yet to cultivate, so it's easy to get discouraged over the build-up of manageable annoyances and longer term woes.

The upshot: It's easier to feel sunny when I'm taking some pride in my scraped-together grade on the German miderm rather than looking at it grimly from the trenches. To say nothing of biking 8+ miles and getting my endorphins on.

Thing is, this goes in cycles, and they're often all too short. The blues strike, the coutner-blues strike, things level off, I get bored. Repeat. Mom says to be pro-active. Dad says he'll visit. They're both yes.

PS. The other blog is folding on account of 20 credits, 15 hours in the dining hall, darkroom, biking, and a partridge in a fucking pear tree. I's busy.

PS Jr. Comments are completely and utterly fixed, so start using them.

Adlai, Adlai, what do you say?

That's right. Sufjan concert tomorrow night. I'll learn once and for all how he pronounces that name of his. I've been going with the y-sounding j lately, and that seems to garner less scorn. Apparently the concerts are lushly orchestrated and whimsical in a blow-up Santa sorta way. I'm, needless to say, thoroughly stoked.

In other, significantly less exciting news, I'm likely changing my thesis topic. Feminist translation theory, though rich in dry, ivory towerish readings, isn't really my cup of tea. I'm looking to explore something in the cultural studies realm (see also: I have the chance to read comics or watch movies and be damned if I don't take it. Lolly, I may very well join your ranks. But no Ware for me, he's too much of a downer. Maybe translations of R. Crumb, if I still want to get my translation on.) Staring down the barrel of a thesis that I already know I'm not interested in makes for a bit of academic malaise. Out with the old.

Vermont was fantastic. Mountainous. Loving. Full. (and a little drunk)









The social life returns, albeit slowly. Hijinks are in the works. no major cooking adventures lately. Just chicken stock and a damn fine steak. over-n-out.

T-minus

Two days until:
-Classes begin and I can finally get started on my last year and subsequently finish it. I had senioritis in high school. This is more like a Massive Patience Deficiency.
-I hear back from Stan at the Campus Sub Shop regarding a job. The Eugene job market is more depressing than the Greek Recruitment barbecue that invaded the quad as I was reading. (TURN DOWN THE FITTY CENT. I'M LISTENING TO MIRAH AND I REFUSE TO CRANK HER.)
-I find out just how much more change I'll need to drop on books. Final year students aren't supposed to have huge booklists. That's the law.

Five days until:
-I hit up Vermont.

Round about ninety days until:
-My paternal clan converges on Arizona (and Mexico?) for holiday frolicking.

Two hundred and sixty-six days until:
-Commencement and the beginning of life as a college graduate.

Northwest Tour 2006!

Last night: McMenamin's brewskis with Lolly, complete with serendipitous meeting of other ex-UO English kids (all you have to do in this town is read a thick book to start up a chat -- why don't I live in Portland NOW?) Oh, and a kick-ass concert. I hadn't seen or heard much about the Trachtenberg Family Slideshow Players; all I knew was that Michelle Trachtenberg wasn't involved and I was generally ambivalent as a result. Talk about showmanship! Mister Trachtenberg was Hilarious, with Dan Bern on speed sort of lyrics. Nice nice nice.
Next up: VIVA VOCE. They don't fuck around. I think they were my favorite act of the night, between Kevin's simultaneous harmonica playing and drumming and Anita's gorgeous voice and quietly engaging stage presence. They kicked it off with some older stuff, too, which always wins me over. I very nearly shed a tear at "The Lucky Ones."
Set up for the third group was quick, since it was just one man. Stephen Malkmus. If any one person can hold 400-500 people at the Crystal Ballroom in check, it's that man. He struggled with it at first, but a few Pavement cuts and a few SM and the Js cuts later, everyone was sedated and singing.
The kicker: The Silver Jews. I decidedly don't like David Berman's stage persona, like he could take or leave the show and the audience and be totally happy with studio banding it up. But it's the Silver Jews. He was wearing a two-piece suit! And the bassist, whose name escapes me, was completely adorable. It seemed like she was trying to actually have some friendly banter with the audience instead of scampering on and off stage like the Berman.

Anyway, I'm in Portland until Tuesday, when Nelly and I make like trees and get outta here to Seatlle. Spokane after, I'm thinking the 14th. AND BEYOND! If anyone out there is in Seattle 12th-14th, call or email me. We should totally hang out.

Finally, the new blog won't replace this one, but it will likely take up more of my bloggin' energy for a while. And since I unwittingly joined blogger beta testing, I can't comment on blogger old skool blogs for now. Still reading, just...thwarted and anonymous.

away!

Comments are fixed. Or at least they should be.

Heading out to Portland and Washingtonian points beyond tomorrow. Looking forward to a sweet, sweet concert and Lolly among the many other treats that PDX affords. To say nothing of long-lost Seattle friends and my first-ever jive through Spokane. And it will be a jive.

In other news, I'm probably phasing out this whine factory in favor of something new. Considering making it a gang blog, so let me know if you'd be interested in the occasional pinch-hit.

Radio show is on an unexpected but not unwarranted hiatus. Final set list to be posted retroactively, if I can work that.

Our Lady of the Airwaves/08.29 set list

Your public service announcement for the day: If you're going to buy some new music in the next however long, do yourself a favor and get the new M. Ward (if you want acoustic lovely), Ratatat (for sheer sweetness), or Peaches, who needs no plug. The new Hot Chip is pretty sweet too. That's all, kids.

ratatat - loud pipes
new pornos - graceland
viva voce - the devil himself

the velvet teen - false profits
tender forever - then if i'm weird I want to share
the flaming lips - the yeah yeah yeah song

silver jews - sometimes a pony gets depressed
mommy and daddy - street cleaner demeanor
every day - rogue wave

rjd2 - good times roll pt. 2
edith piaf - padam padam
hello stranger - take it to the maxx

the mountain goats - cobra tattoo
stephen malkmus and the jicks - it kills
the thermals - returning to the fold

peaches - downtown
AC Newman - the town halo
sufjan stevens - chicago (adut contemporary easy listening version)

prefuse 73 w/four tet's kieran hebden - creating cyclical headaches
the futureheads - fallout
bonnie "prince" billy - cursed sleep

the hylozoists - la fin du monde
mew - special
jenny wilson - summertime, the roughest time

gravity and henry - march 4th
hot chip - over and over
dj copy - love is my nation (remix of the kingdom)

sonic youth - do you believe in rapture?
m. ward - post war
the black keys - your touch

Bad news round-up

Rest in peace, Susan Butcher (1954-2006). A dog musher par excellence, she dominated the sport during my formative years and secured her place in my personal hall of heroes from the get-go. She moved to Alaska from Boston when she was younger than I am now, looking for space and found national notoriety. Plus, the woman climbed McKinley. I've never met her, but Susan Butcher stands as the qunitessence of everything I love and miss about Alaska. She, like the place itself, had a tenacity that won't leave me.

My bike was stolen the other night, on a meaner, more petty note. Not terribly surprising, given Eugene's ginormous bike theft rate, but inconvenient and the capstone on an already pretty crummy day. That makes two bikes, two thefts. Something tells me that this one, my child and teenhood bike I might add, will not come back (incomplete or otherwise); it's a decent to middling mountain bike with easy-off seat and wheels, recently and lovingly tuned up by a pro and myself respectively. Just when I'm starting to get into bike care and maintenance, too.

Missing my girl in Vermont constantly.

AND I have a yeast infection. I know, I know. Cry y'all a river.

In food news, I made banana bread, but it turned out more like a coffee cake. Meh.

Why didn't anyone TELL me about this?

I must own this book. And I'll read it, too. See if I don't.

What I want to be when I grow up

Post-graduation life looms large these days, and I've been feeling awfully pressured to get on the ball considering I have no concept whatsoever of what I want to do with myself. I've vaguely decided to go East for a while, be it for Teach for America, grad school, culinary school or general bumming. Those are the four main tracks right now. Did I mention that I don't have a damn clue about what I want to do with myself? Not one. My mom suggested film school to my great surprise. My dad thinks I should stick to grad school. My brother grunted or something. I'm pulling in as much advice as I can because I just don't know what I want.

Unrelated, but kick-ass: I made a little whirlwind tour of the mid-west last long weekend. Flew into Detroit and hung out in 9 Mile with my buddy Dar, hit up the grandparents in Wheaton (outside of Chicago) and spent two wild nights in the Windy City with the Vienna crew. Needless to say, the show this four in the morning was a bit lackluster in the banter department.

boy least likely to - i'm glad i hitched my apple wagon to your star
boat - march in the streets
cadallaca - out west

ratatat - loud pipes
the unicorns - 2014
hot chip - the warning

kinski - the wives of artie shaw
pegasissy - penis breath
the rentals - waiting
james kochalka - cocaine

tom waits - alice
lali puna - faking the books
house of pain - top o' the morning

the silver jews - tennesse
rilo kiley - it's a hit
oh no! on my! - jane is fat
the french kicks - cloche

dinah washington - mad about the boy
ray charles - blue before sunrise
charlie hunter trio - think of one (t. monk)
golden arm trio - more sad people

m. ward - eyes on the prixe
iron and wine - evening on the ground
kaki king - second brain
the dandy warhols - we used to be friends

the smiths - pretty girls make graves
the fiery furnaces - tropical-iceland
caribou - cherrybomb
the killers - when you were young (radio version)

Everyone needs to wish Kyle a Happy 21st Birthday.

S-K, set list, procrastination

After the Thermals opened legit, some dude shambled onto the Crystal Ballroom stage. The audience went nuts, but they did that for roadies tinkering with floor toms. This guy was Eddie Vedder, however, and the crowd went nuts-er when he got his hair out of his face and gave a little wave. His song, essentially a Phil Ochs update about the Bush/Cheney cabal, was too overtly political for me to enjoy (songs like that just make me mad about the world's state of affairs, even Victor Jara -- and I don't speak Spanish.) But he and Janet Weiss rocked a duet of Tonight, You're Mine. [Actually, I'm not sure if that's the correct title. L? corrections?] The ladies were, of course, the highlight, with high kick, high notes, high times...anything high, really. Except me, since my carmates and I got rear-ended by a bus on the way to the show. We rocked through our whiplash. And yes, Sam, I did shed a tear at the end when they group-hugged and walked off stage after the second encore arm in arm in arm. I hate to bust out the superlative, but it may have been the best show I've ever seen.

I was tempted to play a little Sleater-Kinney goodbye tribute on my show, but I figured that I would probably start to ramble about the concert. Which is tedious. So here's how it panned out. Sam, I stole The No Show. I was under pressure and Erica's Power Hour sounded like a butt rock show.

the clash - wrong 'em boyo
bettie serveert - kid's alright
MIA - bucky done gun
mirah w/marisa anderson - nola

the blow - jet ski accidents
peaches - boys wanna be her
DFA 1979 - going steady
pretty girls make graves - by the throat

caribou - crayon
mogwai w/boom bip - hunted by a freak remix
sufjan stevens - chicago (multiple personality disorder version)
the mountain goats - stars fell on alabama
johnny cash - love's been good to me

the new pornographers - graceland
dressy bessy - side 2
jenny wilson - let my shoes lead me forward
CSS - let's make love and listen to death from above

the editors - french disko
wire - marooned
ann sexton - you've been gone too long

sergio mendes w/india.arie - timeless
the books - ghost train digest
talkdemonic - twenty cent revolt
four tet - pockets

kickball - tides or swells
yo la tengo - tom courtnenay
david bowie - kooks
roxy music - triptych

viva voce - mixtape = love
morcheeba - otherwise
tara jane o'neil - bluelight room

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a paper to finish.

Prodigal again

Epic burgers:

Take a pound or so of ground beef (7% fat is the cheapest at Market of Choice, but everyone knows the fattier the better) and moosh it up with AT LEAST three cloves of garlic (chopped or pressed), half of a medium onion, a goodly splash of a relatively sweet barbeque sauce, and major amounts of crumbled blue cheese. Moosh thoroughly, create THICK patties, set aside. Fry up some bacon. Remove from heat, throw patties onto the grease. Cook one side for about three or four minutes, then flip and cover. Cook and prod and check until finished, adding onion rings to the pan at the appropriate interval. Top with: arugula or mixed greens, tomato, aforementioned onions, barbeque sauce, sweet-n-hot mustard, Saffola, bacon, more cheese and a fried egg if you really want to remove years from your life. Serve with a salad. Or nothing at all. It's a monster burger.

A good day:

Talking and laughing with new and old friends, homemade spoonin' smoothies, painless familial phonecalls, time to plan out my next radio show, a sunny and mild day, an actual desire to work my brain, finally taking some photos, my favorite beer in the fridge, SEEING SLEATER-KINNEY TOMORROW FOR THEIR FAREWELL CONCERT, a trip to Chicago in the works, and a break from anxiety for the moment.

Apparently the Alaska pipeline is in shambles and London called to say CODE RED! I'm a little behind on current events these days. Ah well. Set lists from radio shows to come. You can stream me live at http://gladstone.uoregon.edu/~kwva/ from 4-6am on tuesdays. That's late monday night or early tuesday morning. East coasters? that's only 7-9am...TUNE THE HELL IN.

Where will YOU be on August 11?

Because I'll be watching Sleater-Kinney in Portland!

Still ill. Still jobless, although I've interviewed.

boxes!

Moved my stuff out of storage, finally.
Got aced out of Sleater-Kinney tickets -- didn't know when they went on sale. I'm watching ebay and craigslist to no avail.
Sick.
Unemployed.
But I just watched the season two finale of The L Word, so I'm doing fine. Gloria FREAKING Steinem!

PS. Has anyone received their mail yet?

housekeeping, etc

And not just the mounds of laundry that I've been avoiding. Neko Case concert was fantastic. If all country (or alt-country -- whatever) were that good, I'd have the biggest ten gallon hat around. Accompanied by Lolly, who is a shining beacon of awesome, as always.

Trying to figure out blogger comments and how to do some less visible blog-related technics.
Still no job, but a hopeful shot at L's old gig.
Not quite settled in Eugene, and I know it'll take time, but not being foreign is still foreign to me. And I don't care how pompous that may sound.

A Treatise on Hummus

Tesco, purveyors of mediocre foodstuffs in the UK and elsewhere, had an off-brand of hummus that was (as expected) not so hot. It got the job done, but I've definitely had better. I expected Eugene, Oregon to have a wide variety of hummus options, but I've been sticking with Emerald Valley to, you know, go local. And you know what? I don't really like it. But that's not the point here. The point is: how the hell does one spell hummus? I've seen -ous and variants on that theme and I find it all confusing because every spelling is more or less phonetic, thanks to the inner vowel-demons of the English language.

That was less a treatise and more a rant, but I've got to start somewhere. When last I wrote, I was in Anchorage and not altogether happy about that. Now I'm in Eugene and okay with that. Granted that the current apartment leaves a bit to be desired, but I'm once again in a classroom where I'm expected to be a somewhat serious student and my brain, if nothing else, feels refreshed. In other smalltalk, it was absolutely scorching, upwards of 100 degrees Fahrenheit, for a long weekend. Unacceptable. Alaskans are not built for that. Cooler now, thankfully. Also: Lolly stopped by and we'll be seeing Neko Case together and hitting up a bar on trivia night and and and! Very happy to see my co-giraffe.

My current class, a 4-week intensive number on feminist theory, excites me because I'm already starting to argue in my head with some of the texts. Women's and Gender Studies seems, at least at UO, to be a mix of subjects -- mostly sociology and other social sciences -- but without the bullshit that one finds in those classes ("What is a social structure?" springs to mind.) On the other hand, it's Oregon, so we're all middle class white girls. A few queers. Perhaps different religious backgrounds, but I'm hoping discussions take off beyond the liberal democrat baselines upon which we can all settle.

Let's see. Neko Case concert tomorrow. A few new CDs and a book to arrive over the next three weeks. My space bar is acting up. Moving sucks. Nothing groundbreaking to report, but I am alive and will write more. Swearsies.

UPDATE: According to the Pentagon, homos like me are no longer mentally ill. It only took until 2006 to not be crazy in the eyes of the military. God bless America! Link.

This post brought to you by jet lag and insomnia

It occurred to me this evening that I love Alaska in spite of myself. That is, even though I do the same three or four things here over and over and over while I'm here, it's still revitalizing to be back, to have mountains and trees and ocean again. I spent almost all day today outside, and I'd forgotten how euphoric that makes me feel. Not to say the Vienna woods weren't beautiful or that I couldn't have gone for a bike ride in Norwich. Nonetheless, Alaska -- and Anchorage -- have a very odd hold on me. In all likelihood, this feeling will pass when the place starts to feel cloyingly small, as it usually does. That's when no amount of hiking or biking or really great pizza can make me want to stay. A downside of being nomadic is the creeping sensation that no place is really home anymore. Alienation blows.

On the lighter end of things, I'm working on several books at once, which I haven't done in a long time. I haven't written about books in a while.

40 Stories by Donald Bartheleme
His prose is really crisp and cutting, but I've been so fried lately that I can't really pay adequate attention. It's a recent purchase, so I don't feel obligated to rush through it. Which is just as well, since the stories are really dense.

After Babel by George Steiner
Another dense tome. This little gem of translation studies lore weighs on my conscience. I bought it last summer hoping to get a jump on my thesis (ha!) and so far I've made no progress since then, unless you count starting over and reaching roughly the same place at which I left off. Ideally, I'll have this finished by July, but if I can't concentrate on the Barthelme, you know, fun stuff, then the academic reading is doomed until I get my head back to earth. It doesn't help that this guy is one of those theorists who gets condescending when referring to those feminists.

White Teeth by Zadie Smith
This woman does not care about her characters. The book makes me chuckle, but it's so indifferently written (and honestly, a let-down considering the hype it got back in the day) that I'm starting to not care. Has anyone else read this?

The Best American Non-Required Reading 2005 edited by Dave Eggers, intro by Beck
First: the introduction is by BECK. Second: I have my beefs with the Dave Eggers literary rockstar juggernaut, but this collection is consistently enjoyable and tends to include at least a few of my favorite authors each go-around. Aimee Bender, for one. (Bonus Dave Eggers rant: The guy does good work for the children, which I am all about, naturally. The guy's also got a reputation and an ego, which I could do without. The thing that bothers me is that he plays a seminal rule in the McSweeney's canonization process, being one of the high-ups in a lit organization that decrees what's hip. So the hipster dollar follows certain patterns. Even if these authors deserve the credit -- and they often do, again Bender comes to mind because she rocks -- the creation of an in-club runs counter to my idea of what groups like McSweeney's ought to do. You know, be the scouts for new talent instead of gimmicky, self-conscious hit-or-miss collections that place as much value on design as content.) That said, Third: Tony Millionaire did the cover and there are comics by Joe Sayers and Anders Nilsen in there. I'm 100% justified.

I've also been picking at the last month or so of The New Yorker, but nothing serious. Chances are I'll reread Moby Dick, or at least parts of it before I leave the Land of Whales. On a closing note: Everyone should read more Amy Hempel and A.M. Homes.

Whole lotta walkin' got done

It's the end of an era. These shoes got me through 11 countries (not counting one or two that I passed through en route to somewhere else) and 10 months of hiking, plodding, trotting, dashing and dancing. I wore them to the opera in Vienna and the Grand Bazaar in Turkey and the National Gallery in London and the Erotica Museum in Berlin and hash bars in Amsterdam and the long walk in Auschwitz. Since November or so, I've needed new shoes. I deferred the purchase time and time again, until I was in a cheaper country, until I wore them down, until until. Despite my outcry at shoe prices and ridiculous attempts to be stoic (I ran through pairs of insoles this year too), it was more of a personal mission to see them through the year, however tattered and stanky they may be. I threw them out yesterday, and have since worn only my sandals. Loyalty to objects is a weakness of mine that I can't really figure out. I made sure I tossed them just before the garbage got taken out, so I wouldn't imagine them pining for me from the rubbish bin. Is it strange to consider their life in a landfill akin to retirement, since they don't get kicked around and can stink freely? Is it strange that I'm this sad?

Crumbly Cheese or What the British Haven't Quite Killed

British cuisine is everything people say it is: greasy, gravy-laden and cooked to a second death. I won’t sugar coat it – the food here sucks. In that sense, I’m grateful that I can’t really afford to go out to eat since the over-abundance of Yorkshire puddings (cup shaped bits of fried/baked dough that one fills with whatever is at hand and gravy) would probably kill me. But it’s not all bangers and mash. Crumbly English cheese, the likes of which I was slicing for a sandwich this evening, has its uses. In fact, the best scrambled eggs I’ve made this year were Crumbly English Cheese fortified. Allow me to share. I sautéed some onions and peppers until they started to smell good and added the scrambly egg/milk mixture (I actually used cream at the time because that was all I had – turned out well.) I let ‘em all cook for a couple minutes, then threw some CEC (cheddar or red Leicester – I can’t remember which) on there to melt. At the end, I seasoned with salt, pepper, oregano and a tiny pinch of sugar. Best served with sausages, with the British also do quite well.

Some other folks around the dorm went in on a barbeque together, and I have to say that I enjoy the free-for-all style of grilling better than the organized gathering. At any given point, one to half a dozen people had food of all sorts cooking away -- from chipolatas to veggie patties to mangled cans of corn. It was a little more egalitarian. The tyranny of the grillmaster was broken into a selection of cooking styles and times. Condiments flowed freely, as did beer. I couldn't help but think that it easily topped family barbeques because of a sheer lack of hierarchy. And my burgers totally rocked ass.

A couple of days left in England now -- a handfull of hours, really. The pre-packing panic hasn't set in yet, but hey! I've got all day today and tomorrow for that!

So look out for this place

in the upcoming flick Stardust, with Claire Danes and Robert de Niro. I believe it's based on a Neil Gaiman book, so chances are, I'll be dragged to it. Anyway, they're filming here, Elm Hill, which is definitely a part of my Norwich stomping ground. The film comes out next year, I believe.

In the Immortal Words of Charlie Brown

From the film Snoopy Come Home, "I hate goodbyes. You know what I need? I need more hellos." A very dear friend left for her home in Finland, and I likely won't see her for a while. My Swiss flatmate Alex took off a week and a half ago. I'm leaving the sordid little burgh of Norwich myself shortly. After I graduated from high school, I realized that there were dozens -- if not hundreds -- of people that I would no longer see and think about. I asked my mom if this had something to do with Growing Up or Coming Of Age or something like that. A military brat who had lived on three continents before reaching teenagehood, she was so used to goodbyes that my seemingly monumental sadness was a bit surprising. Now, I don't always listen to my mom, but she said that the hellos just have to outnumber the goodbyes. It was cold comfort at 18, but it's clearer and more useful now that I've met eine Menge of awesome people who live all over the world, people I will want to know for the rest of my life. It's hard not to be sappy right about now. I leave Europe in less than 5 days, and that's really, really difficult to both type and believe.

In other news, I made an apple pie from scratch last week. Crust and everything. Am I proud? You bet your ass! Until recently, pie crusts were one of those insurmountable culinary goals that I took for granted. "It's so hard to get right and takes so much practice," I thought in my naivete, "I may as well cut my losses and go with store-bought crusts rather than face the shame of inadequate crusts. Well. All of this was before I met Randi the Pie Expert, who conveniently lives in my dorm and completely rocks besides. A lesson ensued. Pies-a-plenty, I tell you what. There's no breakfast quite like cold apple pie and coffee. At any rate, the secret seems to be keeping the butter (and the crust as a whole) cold. Grating frozen butter and then combining with flour -- genius.

Said Finnish friend, Saga, turned me onto funk and soul this semester. I'd encourage all my sassy soul sistas and brothas to check out Ann Sexton (no, not THAT one) and Ann Peebles. And you can never go wrong with Sly and the Family Stone.

The sun is actually out here, so I think I'd best take advantage of that rare light and take the rest of my slides of Norwich. I've forgotten what's on my Vienna roll. Hm.

oh, the anxiety

So I'm afraid of coming home. More than a little bit. I've gotten so accustomed to being away, to sinking myself in this life here, not that life there. The more things I add to the list of Stuff I'd Never Done Before, the less familiar home (Anchorage? Eugene? Portland?) feels.

I have a very tight connection in Boston. Totally banal, but stressing me out.

At any rate, I'm working on getting this thing up and running again. Focusing on my old loves (photos, cooking, booksnmusic, handy things, bitching and so on), but with more diligence, and hopefully, more insight than the typical out-pouring of mental material. I'd like to make this into something.

In the meantime, if you haven't heard of the Swedish singer Jenny Wilson, look her up now now now. The album Love and Youth rocks unquestionably. A bit Feist-esque, but funkier.

Under construction

Not really in appearance, but in content. You know, as in writing here once in a while. Links and stuff too. Maybe even a picture.

Hate to put it down

I'm starting to think that the posting frequency around here is a sign that maybe, maaaybe I should drop this blog thing. The mission at the outset, some rambly freshman-in-college crap about self-discovery, remains unaccomplished. It's a good bitching post and occasional place to stretch my writerly muscles, but it's not exactly topping the priority list.

Anyway. I'm in England. Tomorrow, I'll journey from the sleepy little burg of Norwich to the Big City. Life is generally good, but I still feel bad sometimes. That sounds oversimplified, but when ya gots depression, ya gots depression. But a lot of things counteract that. My flatmates, my friends in any part of the world, the fact that I'm writing again, the fact that I might not have to pay tuition this term, Achewood, chocolate in abundance, good ales, adventures. If I wallow in self-pity, I know I'll regret it looking back on this whole excursion. Sure, Norwich is boring at times and the weather sucks and sometimes I feel like shit, but...you know. Optimism and all.

I refuse to self-destruct!

Safely in London, by way of Berlin and Amsterdam. Sorely missing everyone, as I'm traveling very alone. Especially sorely missing Kyle, but maintaining perspective -- I'm in LONDON, for christ's sake.

and realizing just how terrible I've been about this whole blogging escapade for about a year now. Expect pictures in about a week from all major ports of call. For the moment, I'm very restricted in my uploading capabilities.

I had a single room in this long-term hostel, although I have a roomie for the next two days. She seems nice. I woke her up after my extremely long jaunt to the Science and Natural History museums. I wanted to hit the Victoria and Albert (all three are walking distance from this place -- just off Notting Hill Gate, if that means anything), but the Underground workers are all on strike tonight (of all nights!) so everything closed early.

Yesterday, I tooled around the area, hit up Portobello Road, bought strawberries, ate them. There was some reading involved, and some more wandering. Stumbling across a very cheap bookstore (novels I actually want for £2!) made a small dent in my wallet, only exacerbated by the AWFUL F-ING EXCHANGE RATE. Wrote a couple postcards, found a few that I meant to send earlier.

It's probably no surprise to any of you that this is rather difficult. Newly single, wandering alone in the largest city I've ever been to, and living in a situation that could best be described as dorm-like -- all the ingredients for being "in my head" altogether too much. But I set out on this year intent on learning to be alone, and I'm determined to do it.

I miss everyone nonetheless. Your emails mean so much to me. I know I've been delinquent, but I have the time and access to respond adequately now.

My editor sense tingled today.

The Viennese love to hang out their windows, even if their view isn't particularly great. Especially if their view isn't that great, actually. This is a contemplative city -- going to a coffeehouse to read a paper or making a jaunt in the Wiener Wald, alone or accompanied, are two favorite pastimes here that transcend the snooty, opera-going stereotype. It's hard to make friends here -- city slickers are closed-off to begin with, and the Viennese exemplify that one big time. But when you catch a man leaning out his window from your Straßenbahn station and wave, you might get a rare smile. Or if you happen to be ogling the sweets in the window of the confectioner on Langegasse and Alserstraße with a chuckling grandma, it doesn't hurt to say, "Alles sieht lecker aus, oder?" Something intangible about the Viennese has thoroughly charmed me. I think it's because they play hard to get, but stare at the street corners with thoughts in their eyes.


And, because I love Laura enough to do a silly meme:

Five Songs I've Been Listening to Obsessively This Week

all for swinging you around -- the new pornographers
cold cold water -- mirah
sister golden hair -- america
more adventurous -- rilo kiley
woman king -- iron and wine

and because I hate memes and am inclined to rebel generally, one more.

brown-eyed girl -- van the man

I bought an earflap hat so people would take me more seriously as an artist

I have this joke with my friends here. It goes a little something like this: I'm normally pretty scatterbrained -- this everyone knows. So I'd pass off importantish things like directions or train tickets to my roommate Jenn. She's the responsible one, I'd say, I'm just the comic relief. But one day, I kept the tickets. Puttin' on my Big Girl Pants, says I. The friends were impressed. A freeloader no longer, I proceeded to find my way around Vienna, Venice, Florence and Bratislava. I've learned the streetcars and subways here. I'll walk to my friends' houses confidently, without getting lost or harassed. Unless I'm with Americans, I only speak German. The Big Girl Pants are here to stay, right? Well...

Christmas is coming up. Even though I tend toward apathy at best and grinchiness at worst, the lights in the streets and bakery smells have really put me into a festive, lovey sort of mood.

Everyone in my classes won't stop talking about going home.

So now I'm fighting tears because I'm NOT going home and I DON'T have a plan or a clue where I'll be after December 16th. I'm scared, and I don't want my Big Girl Pants because they can't give me a hug. Homesickness, thy name is Erica.

For clarity

I will not be returning for the holidays. I'll see Alaskans in June and Oregonians sometime after that, depending on finances. But this is depressing, so read the entry below.

love.

Abenteuer!

Things I've done for the first time in the past six weeks:

Visited Poland, Germany, Hungary and Italy.
LEFT MY EFFING CAMERA IN THE HOSTEL IN VENICE.
Climbed a small mountain to a secluded Italian town.
Felt completely incompetent in three different languages.
Had a layered shot (two, in fact, with names that'll make you blush).
Been mistaken for a Swede, a Brit and a German successively.
Gone an entire day without speaking English.
Taken 100+ photos in a day. Six hours, really.
Made friends with folks without knowing a word of their language (offering chocolate always helps -- he gave me and my friends each a 10 ruble note. Russian money is rather pretty.)
Started Gravity's Rainbow.
Started Harry Potter (the first) in German.
Finished neither.
Studied less than three hours a week.
Tried countless new types of food and drink.
Stayed up all night waiting for a train.
Stayed up all night partying with two Midwesterners and a dude from New Zealand.
Adjusted to the German/Austrian keyboards, more or less.
Felt at home on a continent I'm not from.
Seen a giraffe in the flesh (!!!)
Gotten lost without panicking.
Purchased pizza by the kilo.
Been alone but not lonely.
Eaten organ meats.
Seen an underground Viennese hip hop show.
Smoked two cigarettes in two weeks. Slippery slope, people. I blame Ness.
Text messaged. Extensively.
Purchased a t-shirt with none other than Pope John Paul II on the front.
Neglected my blog thoroughly.

I could continue, but that would probably take hours. Hopefully my emails and pictures (www.flickr.com/users/ericarothman) find everyone well.

08.30.2005 -- Sam's Last Show

Because of Samuel K, I was inducted into the fascinating and seductive world of college radio. Needless to say, I'd like to have a show at UO, during grad school, and probably for the rest of my life. It's been awesome. Bold face indicates Sam's mom's tracks. She was our guest DJ, and I mean it sincerely when I say it rocked.

Blonde Redhead -- Elephant Woman
Scrabbel -- 1909
Rogue Wave -- Seconds

Nobody -- Wake Up and Smell the Millennium
Seachange -- News From Nowhere
Mclusky -- To Hell With Good Intentions

Sufjan Stevens -- The Man of Steel Has Stolen Our Hearts
Sun Kil Moon -- Lily and Parrots
Chemical Brothers -- The Boxer (request)

LCD Soundsystem -- Daft Punk is Playing at My House
Quasi -- It's Raining (giveaway)
Plastic Bertrand -- Ca Plane Pour Moi
Death From Above 1979 -- Little Girl
The Saints -- Messin' with the Kid

The Cripples -- Down Again
Autolux -- Here Comes Everyone
Pavement -- Jackals, False Grails: The Lonesome Era

Wilco -- Heavy Metal Drummer
Ique -- Hamachi
Shonen Knife -- Catnip Dream

The Shins -- Girl on the Wing
Modest Mouse -- Blame it on the Tetons
Radiohead -- Myxomyiatosis

The Dandy Warhols -- We Used to Be Friends
The Clash -- Straight to Hell
The Go! Team -- Panther Dash

X -- The World's a Mess/It's in My Kiss
The Thermals -- How We Know
Nobody -- Jose De La Rues

Carbon Leaf -- Life Less Ordinary (request)
Vast Aire -- 9 Lashes
Boom Bap Project -- 1,2,3,4
Bishop Allen -- Broken Heart (giveaway)
New Pornographers -- The Bleeding Heart Show