On Holiday Gifts:

I will be giving very few gifts in person. Most people like mail, so I'll be making and mailing gifts to y'all. 100% unique, but somewhat cheap and lettery. But they're a one-at-a-time process, and I'm taking my time because I want them to be good. Sam's is in the mail. I've got ideas for most people, but I'm taking my time on a few people (Areli being an excellent example -- but hers will evolve into a birthday thing anyway, so maybe that's a bad example) because I want them to be fully-formed, not some half-assed thing I whip out. So it's a slow process, but most people (read: Alaskan buddies) will be receiving mail from me over the next couple of months.

Clearer above: You'll all get something eventually. And it will be a thoughtful, personal gift.

In other news, I'm home.

I am still reading y'all's journals and whatnot. But don't expect replies to anything until the weekend. I'm in PDX without much computerage. This is Kyle's laptop at the commie cafe open mic night. Free wi-fi and loud grrrrrrrrrrrrrrl rawk,etc. Expect me in Anchorage late on the 20th. 21st, really. happy 'olidays.

It occurred to me today that a lot of my life is complete escapism. But I don't really object to that because what exactly am I escaping? I'm more or less at peace with the burning philosophical questions with my unique blend of existentialism and bullshit, I meet my basic survival needs admirably (we made a hearty Irish stew!) and my various mental illnesses are usually at some kind of equilibrium. So why not distract myself with blogs, chocolate, movies and Dave Eggers? Other than it feeling kind of superficial in that leaves-a-bad-taste sort of way, I mean. I haven't created much lately. That kind of smarts. The rut I'm in now was better than the rut I was in before, which was better than the rut I was in before, which... is this recursive, relative non-suckitude life? Gotta say that's not so attractive. Good thing I bought an iPod (20GB).

Hey, please don't read this as self-pity or any of that crap. I'm totally smiling right now. There's some funny stuff in here. I mean, I know that little consumer thrill people get when they indulge themselves. Usually, since I'm cheap as hell, it's how I feel when I buy myself a book or a new pen (and don't pretend you don't enjoy it -- you're all like me). And then later, you're writing with your new pen, and it's awesome. Great flow, nice grip...it's a fucking RUSH! But after a little bit, it's not necessarily the first pen you reach for. It becomes one of the half dozen you carry in the front part of your backpack, and whichever one you fish out first takes the notes that day. A different, older pen will splutter out of ink, and hmm. Maybe you oughta get a new pen. If you're like me, you'll hold out until most of that half dozen needs replacing, and then you'll make a calculated decision with a coupon. It totally looks like you're a dorky miser, but you are fucking STOKED when you try out every color in that style you like. Check out the ballpoint on THAT bad boy! The coupon and test pads are just icing -- the hunt for acquisition is definitely the cake AND ice cream. But what happened to that pen you bought X ago? Oh, it's okay, but just get a load of this one! And I've got a coupon!

Or buying a book when you know there are at least two new ones sitting unread, pining for attention on your shelf, looking to your battered Neruda and Steinbeck for guidance. Pablo and Johnny aren't much help. They've always been well-thumbed. I got The Best American Nonrequired Reading 2004 for my birthday, but I'm not quite done with 2002. And I bought myself the complete short works of Kafka in PDX. So Old School is giving me a dirty look, but Cruddy is trying to calm him down. I got around to Lynda Barry, and I'll get around to Tobias Wolff, and man. It's worth waiting for.

Grabman, Sophie, Meg, whoever else may know: Where can I find Dreamweaver for no money? Or at least a trial version that I can scam?

Taking a brain-break from the final chapter (!!!!!) of Ulysses, on which I must give a presentation tomorrow. School-wise, tomorrow sucks. But otherwise, it should be awesome. I am leaving my teen years behind. In fact, in about 34 minutes, I'll be 20. The Awkward stage will cease. I will neither stumble nor walk, but float. Glide, if you will. (Ha. Given my absurd level of klutziness, I may have to hold out for 30. Or my next incarnation.) Kyle has taken over celebration plans, and I know nothing of what's going on. It's like Christmas eve, here. Except for the studying.

I SWEAR TO GOD I saw Snoop Dogg talking on a cell phone, smoking a cigarillo and driving a white Honda Civic (California plates) through the streets of Eugene today. Seriously. Down to the cornrows and mad cheekbones.

U of O has suddenly become a very alienating place in many ways. It doesn't always feel like I have a lot of friends here.

I will return to Anchortown on the 20th, and depart again on the 31st. Missing everybody ridiculously. I even found myself missing Europa (hellish bakery at which I slaved for almost two years).

There's a lot to say. I think of things I want to tell everyone every goddamn day. But I never write it down and it gets lost in the brainstuffings. More later. Perhaps much later. It IS dead week, after all.

A small preface: if you haven't seen sorryeverybody.com, (go to the gallery) I have linked for your convenience. These pictures, some quite eloquent, are pretty damn expressive of my feelings about the election. So I made my own to send. It's the new hip thing, so why not?



Sophie, you have formal permission to iconize. In fact, I'd like to commission that, if I could.

So. I was thinking about alphabet soup when I was eating my apologetic dinner. And it occurred to me that alphabet soup must not have hit the consumer market until most of the buying public was literate. When was literacy so prevalent that alphabet soup could be successfully introduced? To Google!

...so naturally, the internets crash. I'm having laptop difficulties like no other. Our wireless is incredibly unreliable and now my sound driver is fucking up for no discernable reason. I NEEDS MY MUSIC. This is making an iPod more and more attractive. Ima go reinstall some drivers now.

I promised pictures, and be damned if I don't deliver! VIEW MY APARTMENT AND ITS SHABBY GLORY!


Our lovely view. All you New Englanding foliage elitists can shove it. Eugene is gorgeous in the fall.


Unfortunately, Smoking Dude is not out smoking. We tend to stare at him, and laugh when he tries to adjust his (very nice) aloe plant and fails. He seems mildly intrigued by the three girls living yonder, but our relationship is limited to staring, laughing and the occasional wave. We can see into his living room (and he ours) -- we're glad he moved his furniture because now we can't see his creepy ceramic monkey. This thing could have a series of horror films. Seriously.


Our kitchen has a pointless wall. It seems to be there only for toe-stubbing reasons. I managed to get three toes simultaneously today. Needless to say, it better be load-bearing or else...


The rest of our kitchen. Note the bright orange countertops (only the finest in 70s decor here at Club Mill) and mostly-done dishes.


Here's the living room. The couches and endtables were so free. As was the lamp. In fact, we have tons of free stuff in our apartment.


Living room, different angle. I need to remember to post a picture of Awesomesaurus later. Truly Awesome. Saurus.

Okay. This is the only decoration in the living room, wall-wise, and it isNOT mine. Nor is it Kyle's. This tackiness, which I can't even enjoy ironically, brought to you by Marie. The one with the dragon and the yin-yang is (thankfully) in her room. She's a great roommate otherwise. Except for the bathroom time issue. But enough words. More pictures!


Show-ah. Our bathroom is pretty tidy. Current reading material: Trader Joe's Fearless Flyer. We read about yuppie food in our water closet.


Close up of a shower tile. Does anyone else think this looks like what I think it looks like?


Mah room. Note the posterage. One is of Mannhattan, another is pasta. Quilts courtesy of my mom.


The built-in desk/dresser. It's pretty nice, but I never do work there. I haven't once. Great place to put stuff, though.


You may have noticed the floor is clear of clothing. It was once not so. Piles of clothing EVERYWHERE until we invested in this fine device. I can walk without tripping again! I've reclaimed my life!


The obligatory mirror shot. The better of two.


I loves me the Freudian criticism like I loves me the barbeque.

General update: I am buried in work (for which I finally got paid. bastids) and schooly-school. My brother is officially coming down to Eugene over spring break. He's going to have a blast. Or he better, if he knows what's good for him...
Our friend Aaron came over last night, ridiculously stoned. He wanted to have a nerd party. That may or may not happen. He's a nutty guy, and he's got that lovable college scruff going for him. He'll have some great stories when he's 40.

To bed!

Short post for the moment, but if you're not actively seeking independent news sources by NOW, you may as well plug into FOX news. So try Salon. You have to watch a short ad to log in, but it's worth it and the cookie lasts all day. They carry Tom Tomorrow and WayLay too, so all the more reason.

Also: Forgive the lack of postage, please. Like all of you, I'm ridiculously busy. The next post will have pictures. I promise.

Since it seems to be trendy to bitch about the election and/or make stirring posts about Our Civic Duty, consider this my two bits.

First, I'm disappointed and shocked. Our civil liberties will need defending. Chances are, the US will continue to lose international support. The US may end up very alone. Things look bleak, and action will be necessary.
That said, I want to give my gut to the noble e-speeches cropping up in my Friends List, in high-profile political blogs, in a few scant op-eds floating around. I do agree that we will need to shout louder and hit harder and raise more money and cause more hell. But will the inspiration be there for the public? My first reaction to Kerry's concession was not plotting to overthrow the Bush regime, nor was it dreaming up a new non-profit to defend us. It was to leave. Expatriation for an ex-patriot. In essence, I said, "Fuck this." Because I didn't choose him the first time around, and I didn't choose him this time, but apparently by dint of being an American, I deserve this circus. My first point: I, like many, simply want to leave it all behind.
A mass exodus, however tempting, seems unlikely. At the first signs of the flood, most industrialized countries would close their borders, leaving the ones to whom our lined American pockets would be a boon. Historically and by the fact of human nature, no one does anything until their standard of living is in peril. Not just in rhetorical terms. The Patriot Act chafes us and robs us of our basic right to privacy, but it doesn't keep food off of our tables. Until, like wars past, everyone knows someone who was injured or killed in Iraq, Afghanistan, or whereever we invade next, nothing will change. The US presence stayed in Vietnam for almost a decade --that's how long it took the people to impress upon the government that something had to change. And that was a certain majority America talking. Second point: When people can live normally, politics floats to the periphery.
The majority was tired of seeing the death toll. For some reason, the number, somewhere near 1100 now, of Iraq casualties flashes on the screen and then goes down the memory hole. No one is impressing the horrors of war onto us. No one is showing us that No Child Left Behind is a steaming heap of shit that will make struggling schools worse off than before. No one is showing us how borrowing some healthcare ideas from those Crazy Canadians or "Old Europe" may actually help us, especially our senior citizens choosing between food or pills. The media is failing us because, pay attention, they make money off of partisan politics. The punditry and business and dog and pony show of it all is good for business. Don't want to alienate the (left/right)-leaning advertiser? Tweak the story, change the wording. It doesn't seem to make a difference because we're locked into the two-party system anyway. Another crazy idea from those countries that aren't US. Final point: Media + two-party system = political circle jerk.

So my basic message is, yes, your heart is in the right place. I will help, for as long as I'm an American. But please, and I mean this without aggression or arrogance, put your money where your mouth is. A lot of people can talk or write well, but who can follow up?

This is hilarious. It's already been Sophie-approved, so don't just take my word for it. These people are passionate about their cheese. I mean Wallace passionate.

I'm trying to solve the "More..." dilemma with the last few posts. Ideally, I'll have the cut-text option with some nifty little code bits, but I guess I did something wrong.

NaNo: 706 wds.

So...who's NaNoWriMo-ing with me? readysetgo.

Update: This is amazing. It's already gotten Sophie-approval. Check out the mirror site in Italian.

I NaNo'ed a bit at work. The excerpt is up at nanowrimo.org -- my author name is (you guessed it) ericarothman.

HOLY FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS, BATMAN. One of the reasons I wanted to buy Adam's ipod is for picture storage reasons (I could do that with the old-school LCD screen jobbies, too.) But now...well, let's just say as long as I'm window shopping, I may as well go for the gusto.

Maybe it's all of the bleak reading I've been doing for class (The Waste Land isn't exactly an upper) -- I'm blue. Could be the weather changing from those picturesque fall days to grey and rain. Could be could be. I'm bored as hell, but I still fall behind in my work. How does that happen? It pisses the hell out of me because if there's one thing I hate, it's apathy, especially in myself. But I want to hibernate through the term, the election, Christmas, my job, and the convoluted footpaths people lay out for themselves and each other. I feel like I could wash my dishes forever and slide down the drain when I'm done. My dad, french-fluent, taught me the word "ennui" when I started seeing someone for Depression. I had to deflate that D in a big way -- all of our problems are so much more when we're 16. Gee whiz, what a wise nearly two decades I have!

Christ. Look at that. Too. Much. Joyce. But it's what I look forward to. It's what actually tires me out. Sometimes I have to fight Ulysses or TS Eliot. The more I fantastize, the more appealling academia looks to me. Ph.D?



Even if you didn't really read anything up there, click the linky. Our president, the sniggering frat boy. Unbelievable.

My weekends have been flying away from me lately. The last one was dedicated to Mom and her Visit. The one previous was largely worked and pizza-ed away. I'm not really sure where this one has gone. It's not even the conventional "lost weekend," though I can tell you which I prefer as easily as I can tell you that I like not puking.

I saw a dead raccoon today. It was very clearly hit by a car last night. Being the one to call the sanitation department has never been fun. I once saw a dog get hit by a range rover. It was a big poodle (standard? are those the big ones?), running fullshaggy tilt at me. But there was a busy street -- northern lights at latouche -- between he and I. After he went down, I ran straight into the road and wrapped it in my coat. The driver looped around eventually. She was someone I knew, which made it so much worse. Her son later told me that the dog was okay; I didn't believe him then, although I think I do now.

Not to be depressing or anything. Strange mood. To radically change the subject, I'm discovering Rilo Kiley. Erica likey. I've been downloading from amazon's free downloads like a fiend. I can't really bring myself to download more than a song or two illegally. If the artist is still working, I won't do it. More often than not, I won't anyway. That's reasonable guilt, right?

I can't fucking wait until the election is over. I've filled out my ballot -- it waits for stamps and signatures. Politics needs to leave me alone for about five months. In Oregon, Prop. 36 translates to Gay Marriage Ban, and it's pretty hotly contested. If it passes, marriage is restricted to a man and a woman, but if it's defeated, nothing changes. But the Yes-on-36 people are fighting as if NOT defining marriage means that men can marry other men, their cars, heifers of all breed, and any sort of thing they find on the floor. Likewise for the ladies. For a piece of thinly-veiled bigotry, they're awfully vehement. I'm glad people have stopped asking me about it; between prop. 36 (which, I might add, I can't vote for ANYWAY because I'm registered Alaskan) and the presidential business and Tony v. Lisa (Tony's up, I hear) I'm about ready to join the legions of the apathetic and turn on, tune in, and tweak out. Political burnout, thy name is Erica.

If anyone tried to call this weekend, when the phone wasn't broken (IHATEQWESTTHEYAREVILESCUMSUCKINGBASTARDS), Marie was attached to it. I'd say "sorry 'bout that" if it were actually my doing.

Ulysses Update: Mid-way through chapter five.
NaNoWriMo: Some minimal outlining and a reasonably good idea.
Mother situation: The visit went well. As usual, I freaked out over nothing. But to my credit, the freaking out was pretty low-key. She left today, mid-afternoon. We had a really nice breakfast, followed by a walk around campus. (Unfortunately, I was in my new Birkenstocks, which leads me to my current footpain...nonetheless, I loves the Birks. Mom bought 'em for me while she was down here -- Kyle put it best, "Your mom just wants to spoil her little girl." Granted that buying me shoes and a couple meals is pretty damn awesome, the visit was a lot more meaningful for both of us. I mean, I think it put a lot of parental issues into perspective for me. She's my mother, but that in no way renders me less of an adult. I define that. She, on the other side of the coin, saw first-hand that I am not doing a wholly terrible job of defining this adulthood. Hell, I payed the electric bill in front of her. Mmm...time to end the parental thesis parenthesis.) She mentioned trying to get my dad to come visit. I doubt it will happen, but it's looking like a sure thing that Adam is coming to Eugene! It's going to rock.
Whether or not I buy Adam's iPod: Still up in the air.

Hot damn. This is why Jon Stewart rocks so hard.

Done gone signed up for NaNoWriMo. Better dust off that creativity thing.

Other than that, life remains normal. The Mill Alley kitty is officially the most awesome Eugene cat. She's always around when I need pet therapy. Oh yeah, my mother arrives tomorrow. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Maybe I need her to visit in order to prove to both of us that I am, in fact, doing just fine with this on my own thing. Maybe I'm just neurotic. Better take notes on this --neurosis is great in novels. Roth, anyone?

Yoga may be having a strange effect on me. Lately, especially on Mondays and Wednesdays (post-yoga), I'm very, very okay with myself. Sometimes, like when I did that stand on one leg then stand up using only the abs thing, I'm even kind of impressed with myself. Or when the German test goes unforseeably well, despite the GTF's best efforts. This thought came to me when I was out for a stroll in Eugene's duskiness, and it was revelatory.

It didn't last. I came back to finish off a paper, which made me cranky, and more reading, which made me insecure about my comprehension of the material. Tenuous now.

I see at least one cat everytime I go for a walk. Eugene is not a large town.

My mother is coming to visit this weekend. I got her a ticket to see Michael Moore -- I'm doing set-up and take-down!! I'm starting to get a little bit ansty about the mom thing (Michael Moore not so much); my Real Life is something that has detached from her idealized Erica, and for some bizarre reason I feel the need to protect her from...me. And my collegiate scruffiness?

Ah, the joys of living, but not voting, in a swing state. Partisan fire-spitting, hostile college groups, and we can't forget the endless, ENDLESS canvassers looking to "get out the vote." (Incidentally, I hate that phrase for grammatical and content-related reasons. Get it out where? Just one?) I get asked several times daily on and off campus if I'm registered to vote, if I'm registered at my current address, if I want Bush out of office, if I want a job (canvassing.) All of these pitches aren't just getting old -- they're staler than green and blue cinnamon buns. I'm dead sick of being approached while I'm walking to class because I'm either talking to someone or I'm thinking. Even if it's just, "Goodness, it looks like rain!" I passionately dislike being taken out of my reverie. Repeatedly. It came to a bit of a fever pitch yesterday, when a group of trustafarians* that had been lingering around Starbucks' outdoor tables with clipboards asked me as I passed if I wanted Bush out of office. Resorting to one of my pre-fabricated, get-the-fuck-out-of-my-face responses, I said, "Sorry, not today." The lead stoner monkey said to my back, in a tone of voice designed to show his buddies how apathetic and callous I was, "If not today then when?" This was met with a small murmur of assent. So I turned around and walked back at him, shouting about the fact that I can't change my voter registration without losing my dividend (Alaska oil money share) and that I was sick of being approached by all kinds of people who think they have the right to harass anyone on the street by nature of holding a clipboard. I would have gone on about how I'm just as much a valid liberal as he, and that he should stop wasting his time on people that don't want to talk to him, but Kyle sort of dragged me away. After a cooling off period (which involved petting a local cat for a good ten minutes), I felt quite satisfied with myself.

I watched part of the presidential debate tonight. It was shockingly boring. As expected, Kerry was well-spoken and Bush was a bumbling incompetent. Big news. We left early and hung out in Marc's dorm for a little bit. Then we came back to the apartment and made cookies. I've been feeling sick off and on for the past few days. It's like my cold can't quite decide what to do with itself.

It's that time of rainy season: I'm really starting to miss a lot of people. Mostly Anchoragers, or displaced ones. Maybe I should write more letters.

*Trust-a-far-i-an: noun. One who emulates or embraces the stoner/Bob Marley worship/Rastafarian lifestyle, but is fully funded by parents.

Happy Birthday Bailey Christ! I hope you got your mail...

The party went pretty well. People mixed reasonably well and no one seemed inordinately bored. Talk of comic books, politics, and dorm horror stories abounded. When things started to slow down around 11, Kyle and I busted out the Katie game, which was greeted with hilarity. I burnt the tips of three fingers (well, two and a thumb) on a pot lid and was in considerable pain for a couple hours, but other than that, there wasn't a hitch. The spaghetti sauce was one of my better sauce endeavors -- fully loaded with farmer's market veggies and a little bit of red wine.

The next day my fingers felt better, but I had a headcold to beat all. I went to the health center today, but apparently it's viral. The doctor must have been feeling generous, or perhaps I was looking especially hangdog, as he wrote me a note for some codeine-laced Tylenol to ease my monstrous throat demon.

German class has been kicking my ass lately. Ich muss schwerer arbeiten!

In the spirit of expanding my horizons and doing things on my list of undone, I am A) having a party in my own apartment and B) reading Ulysses. For real this time. I'm in a class, so I have to. I got the annotations from the library and I'm going to do it right. Already it's dense as hell, but the more I learn about Irish history, catholicism, Shakespeare, and modernism the more amazed I am with this book. It's the only novel I think I've ever read where each word, sentence, paragraph, and chapter are labored over in both minute and grand scales. Or at least the only one where every word has the greatest possible meaning. Granted that I'm only up to chapter two, Joyce is awe-inspiring nonetheless. I'm hooked enough now, scant pages into the work, to consider a life as a Joyce scholar. If only someone would actually pay me.

The more interesting subject being the party, I'll go on about that now. Yes, it's a collegiate party with booze and revelry and more people than the fire marshall would approve of (admittedly not that many considering, but we've invited everyone we know and like.) We have agreed, out of cheapness and practicality and safety, that we aren't going to provide enough alcohol for any one person to get shit-faced. This will be a social, partially BYOB, and hopefully monstrously fun occasion. I'm cooking up a huge thang of pasta and several huge thangs of sauce (perhaps veggie and meaty, though entirely veggie may be how it goes), and the bottle of wine we hoarded in the dorm for half the year will finally be deflowered. Funny thing: We're asking everyone to bring a plate because we don't have enough for everyone. In fact, we have five plates for three people. I actually consider that quite respectable, given our student status.

Meine Deustch Professor ist nicht gut, aber nicht schlecht. Er spricht als wir Kinder sind. Meg, wer hast du? Hast du Maria wieder?

I have the same birthday as the following celebrities:

Britney Spears
Lucy Liu
Maria Callas
Julie Harris
Ed Meese
Nelly Furtado
Stone Phillips
Nigel Spackman

The following people died on my birthday (among many others, no doubt):

Philip Larkin
Desi Arnaz
Marquis de Sade
Harrison Ford (not Indiana Jones, but a silent film actor of the same name)

Connie Chung and Maury Povich were married the very day I was born.

---

With all of that out of the way, I figured I should update. Cultural Forum (henceforth "the cult") training is going well. My job is probably the least labor-intensive, which is good because my stipend is crap. It's also something I would probably enjoy doing in the real world. I'm curating two small galleries in the student union. So far, so good.

My apartment is starting to take the shape of a home now that we're stocked up with food and shelving and a vacuum cleaner. We (myself, Kyle, and Marie) are waiting for classes to start, revelling in freedom/boredom. Marie has taken to walks about campus and Eugene, while Kyle and I are researching food-making ideas. Homemade bread and pasta, as well as homegrown herbs, are in our future. (!!) This will also be the point at which I mention that Marie is 21, so I can ACTUALLY cook with wine and liquors. And enjoy a glass of vino with my well-prepared meal. Soon, we roast a chicken and make stock from the carcass. Hooray for chicken noodle soup!

On the downside of apartmenty things, we have ants. It's a minor problem, so we probably won't spray. Infestation still bothers me a great deal, but they're leaving my goldfish crackers alone. I guess I can't really complain. Qwest, however, is on my shit list. Boycott them whenever possible. Their phone service alone gave me a fucked-up little run-around, and apparently we need to "apply" for internet service. My ass.

Classes start on monday. Tomorrow night, I host the comedy open mic night for the cult as a part of "intermingle" -- basically, a big UO block party. (Eugenians: It's at 11 in the buzz. Please come and laugh and bring funny friends.) Until classes start, I'll be cooking, exploring Eugene, and camping out in a library from time to time to work on my other web projects. If I haven't emailed or written you, it's not personal. I'm lazy. This is something I am making time for over the next few days. Expect emails and letters. I still miss everyone fervently. Eugene is not quite home yet, no matter how much ramen is in my cupboard.