purely conjectural

Summer Plans

2010-05-04T18:37:00.001-07:00

This summer, this baby is getting revamped.
Plans:
1. Continue documenting my crafting odyssey as I finish Style School. And, if someone sweet gives me 60 bucks, I might also take Summer School. (I know I totally dropped off the radar, but hi! hello! comps! Graduating from graduate school!)
2. Posting the occasional outfit post. I am under no illusions about how interesting my outfits are, but there are some challenges through wardrobe remix that might be fun to document.
3. Reviewing the books I plan to read this summer. I want to get through AT LEAST the 2009 or 10 (whichever is the latest announced, at this point) Hugo, Locus, Nebula, and World Fantasy nominated books.
4. Talking about the joint etsy venture my mom and I are embarking on this summer. We started shrieking with excitement a lot this afternoon when planning it, but I think maybe we'll do vintage things. And clothes. And crochet some stuff. Maybe sew some stuff. Also steampunk jewelry. So, in essence, all of it.
5. Documentation of Fun Free(ish) Summer of 2010. Mama has a 25 hour a week job, sooooooo.
6. Promotion of the Center for the Study of Science Fiction, for which I am the coordinator. whee aboutsf.com whee
7. Talk about my novels/stories/writing goals/hangups/other thing to create balance in this sentence. I am always plugging away at short stories but also have my family saga to write (whoa) and an SF novel to produce!

Or maybe I'll update again in early 2011. Who knows!
Anyway, I have a 10-12er to write before I finish grade school. Later.

Day two: Wall art part one, and Interim: Vintage Shopping

2010-01-19T16:25:00.000-08:00

Here is part one of my wall art. It was quick, fun, cute, and I made it easily while my friend crocheted next to me and a favorite episode of TNG played (a two-parter, but still). I have a vaguely nautically themed bedroom with red, white, blue, and yellow accents, so I made a mobile of me, Nick, my sister, and my brother with his girlfriend.

Gentlemen, behold!

Also, can I just say that I *adore* Lawrence Antique Mall? I went shopping for Week 2 supplies (ha.ha.ha) this weekend and found the following treasures:

A beautiful starburst clock (arms need reattaching, fingers crossed that it still works!)

A really versatile 70s skirt that fits like a charm

Adorable 60s springy dress (take that, overpriced Modcloth)

This pretty trivet

Melamine cups still in their packaging

Material for my quote embroidery pillow (You cant make it out but it's orange, yellow, and blue)

A crewel piece to add to my vintage wall (after I just bought one on etsy, dammit)

The final piece to the pyrex set that I needed

OH AND DID I MENTION THIS TURQUOISE AND MUSTARD REFURBISHED HOOSIER CABINET THAT WAS ONLY 120 BUCKS. No, I don't think I did. I almost passed out when I saw it and then again when I saw how cheap it was. I don't think I've ever found a piece of furniture I've loved so much and I now have a craft table in my library, after shifting two books around.

Next time: the other piece of wall art, a toolbelt craft apron (IF I can figure out how to make my sewing machine work)

Project 1: Faux Vintage Brooch Wreath

2010-01-16T15:25:00.000-08:00

Well, a week later and I've finally finished a project. (Hey, it was the first week of class!) Plus making a yarn-wrapped wreath is a lot more time consuming than I had expected. I think my flowers look a little goofy, and my nails prevented me from sewing the buttons onto the flowers the way I liked, but overall I'm pretty pleased. I made it to match this yarn painting I found in Hot Springs, AR, at a flea market, and eventually I'd like to make the whole wall full of fun vintage stuff. (My yarne was vintage ombre stuff, as you can probably tell, that I found in my town's thrift store).

Wreath:

Wreath detail:

Wreath, in wall context:

Nails of great impracticality:

Oh, and I shouldn't forget to mention that also keeping my house trashed and my time full was the process of making EIGHTY-ONE ATCs. Seriously. I have no idea what came over me. Proof!

Ah well. Everything is getting caught up, and I even have a long weekend to work on it. I also added a few pages to my style file:

That's my cover page; I'll upload more later. Next entry will be a couple cute pieces of wall art: one for my bedroom, and one for a different living room wall.

Day 1 and then some: Style File collecting

2010-01-12T22:28:00.000-08:00

Although I am still off to a rather rocky start, some things are progressing. Nick and I spent most of our Monday busily trying to track down supplies for the projects for this week. Two of them involve sewing, so we hit up Sarah's, an amazing fabric store on Mass Street, and got an amazingly expensive amount of cloth for an apron, a covered sketchbook, and then whatever random things I need scraps for. This, although incredibly exciting aesthetically, is not something I can continue doing: I dropped 75 bucks alone at the fabric store before even heading over to Michael's. But oh, I'm just in love with what I got.

This material is for my apron:

And this is for my sketchbook. I'm quite iffy about the checked felt, but I did love it inexplicably when I first saw it. {And yes, I'll have a kitchen-themed sketchbook).

Most expensive was this set of nautical themed 10x10 inch material which I am forever and ever amen in love with:

But not all is lost. I have made my style file with pieces of scrapbook paper, mainly from my lovely Studio Calico kits, but it's also full of pieces with excellent patterning that I've always found too busy to scrap with. It's a bit haphazard and full of brown, but at this point, I suppose that's exactly how I'd describe my aesthetic. In fact, that's one of my style goals: stop being so messy and so brown!

Unfortunately, laser printers, while contributing meaningfully to academia, do not work as well when trying to print out pictures of clothes, nail polishes, vintage campers, and Pyrex, so my style file is still pretty empty. And empty it shall likely remain, because of my final problem: School starts Thursday! I begin teaching Friday! I've selected books I'm too stupid to teach! I start my comps reading Thursday! I have 81 ATCs I need to mail out tomorrow and I've only done 54! I have my Marx reading club tomorrow night! I had to return things to Anthropologie today! I work Friday and Sunday this week!

In other words, the largest pile-up of responsibility humanly possible has accumulated this week. I WILL catch up, although hopefully it'll be cheaper in the future. I have a partner, Crissy, whom I'm supposed to be impressing (or at least supposed to be cheerleading), and I need to catch up!

Next blog will (hopefully) feature a more completed style file, a wreath, and perhaps some pretty wall art.

Style School

2010-01-10T21:11:00.000-08:00

Now I have a bonafide goal to write in this blog: Elsie & Leigh Ann's style school. Through this craft class, I'll be developing my own personal style and working on crafty things every day. Since it's structured like a "school" class and, God help me, I don't think I can function without something analogous to class, I'll be making 5-7 crafts a week for the next 6 weeks and will post my progress here.

...not that this is a great start. My first project is a Style File, which is a scrapbook-esque documentation of how my style evolves over the course of the six weeks. I have made the pages (out of pretty scrapbook papers), but since I don't have a color printer at home (gobless the laser printer for seminar papers, but...), I will have to catch you up on that tomorrow.

My goals are to a. branch out of scrapbooking, b. learn how to crochet and sew better, c. make more homemade things instead of shopping constantly, d. try and create in colors other than what may be classified as Hipster Springtime, and e. shower my family and friends with homemade gifts next Christmas, when I will have graduated and will likely be jobless with a master's degree and an attitude.

Wish me luck!

2009-10-10T13:19:00.001-07:00

Lawrence has sunk into a gray drizzly pseudo-freeze, and midterms/fall break are next week, which means I've been feeling the nesting urge. Since I have to be inside, of course I want things to be clean and welcoming--something both of our schedules rarely allow us to maintain. But! We have made a resolution! Our house will stay looking like a house, and not like a dorm (read=trash pit)!

I have a lovely little computer desk I pulled off the student-moving-out-trash from the back alley when I moved in the house, and although it's in sturdy condition, the paint is definitely worse for wear. It's white, which makes it doubly susceptible to dirt that's easy to see. I bought the prettiest shade of Krylon to paint it with, and I meant to get it done today, but it's too cold out for the paint to adhere well :/ Here is the color on said desk:

Michael's was having a sale on scrapbook frames yesterday, so I picked one up for five bucks and switched the three LOs over my loveseat into a square, which everyone readily agrees looks better, although I'm not sure why; I thought the other way looked fine. (The vaguely crooked pictures are a result of trying to match plastic hooks with the frame holders, not my general inability to do anything neatly).

We also replaced the shower curtains, which were just liners and in a state of putridity, with fresh, mold-proof liners. I decided the bathroom needed a little color and bought the most adorable shower curtain and hooks from Target:

I found a psychedelic little piece of fabric mounted on a frame at a yardsale, and although I bought impulsively, I didn't know what to do with it, and it just hung out awkwardly in the library. I decided to hang it on the library wall next to my desk, and use it as an inspiration display, where I mainly just hang things I like. I stapled some twine to the frame (tenuously; I need better securers) and then used tiny craft clothespins to hang some cool old pics I've had forever and my favorite recents LOs.

Finally, I bought a few Halloween decorations to make my mantle and front door festive. I then discovered how very much Halloween decorations were and cut my purchase in half, sadly :( (Sorry for the blurriness; we lost our real camera at the Renn Faire a couple weeks ago and have to rely on the iphone for right now)

So, that's decorating.

I went to a Gwar/Lamb of God show with my officemate Jennifer Thursday night--you don't know how long I've been waiting to have a friend who would want to go to crap like this with me--and, although we missed Gwar and thus didn't get shot full of blood, LoG put on a great show.

I shoved lots of big guys around and screamed my head off and had a generally good time. I did get caught in a wall of death (which was AWESOME), and Jennifer's head slammed into mine, bending my glasses and giving me a brvtal, tiny bruise on my eyebrow. Can't wait to scrapbook my metal bruises, ha!

Ok, back to Sybil and modal auxiliaries. Hopefully I'll be able to do some new Studio Calico LOs this weekend--I just ordered my first kit, whee! Raphael says bye :)

Hi again

2009-10-01T13:18:00.001-07:00

Ok, regular posting again. And this time, I extra mean it.

I'm in the midst of my last year getting my master's degree (al! freaking! ready!) and lately it's been weighing on my mind. It's not as if I'll have difficulty finding a job that pays more than I make for the year I'm taking off while Nick finishes his degree--frankly, working full time at Burger King, I noticed, makes more than I do as a GTA--but, that after that year, I don't have the direction that I ordinarily have had. I'm stuck, ya'll. As I see it, I have three options:

1. Get my PhD in literature. Honestly, this one is last on the list right now. I at first disowned the idea after my first year of grad school ended in some seminars I really struggled with, but since then, I've felt distanced from academia and all of the ridiculous hoops I'd have to jump through to get a job. My friends, who are largely in their PhD programs, are all panicking about what they need to do to get hired--at least, I think they are, since they're buried up to their necks in Henry James so they can "have a wider teaching load." I understand the economy is not being very polite to its citizenry at this point, but frankly, I think the tenure system is sort of an outmoded thing and I'd rather not have to bust people's heads and ignore my husband and hypothetical children to keep a job.

2. Get my PhD in Library Science (or MLIS, if I can't get into schools because of my English MA). This one feels the most likely, and my experience in libraries has really made me feel at home here. Plus, my insatiable desire for books has been quelled a bit since I've started working in them; after all, those are my libraries now, aren't they? There are lots of job opportunities that fascinate me that I feel I'm more than qualified for, but unfortunately opportunity 3 has made me rethink this choice, and that is...

3. ...to give day jobs the bird and really dedicate myself to my writing. Obviously one can both have a day job and a writing career, particularly when one is starting out, but this doesn't help me practically make decisions at this point. There is a thriving SF community here in Lawrence, and I've made a ton of friends, and my writing output has shot up exponentially since I've joined such a supportive group, both in terms of sheer word output and in terms of quality. Hell, a week ago, I just spent all night talking to China Mieville, one of my favorite writers, all night long at a bar! With jokes! And hugs! And email addresses! I could be a part of this! But what a gamble it is. I've not been out of school for a very, very long time, and aligning myself with the SF community--which I've received numerous invitations to do--is, for the most part, not scholarly. Potentially I could get my PhD with an emphasis in SF, like my friend Chris and Nate have, but James Gunn, the professor/grandmaster of SF that works here, is only 2396512056 years old, so I don't know if there'll even be an opportunity to do it, should I want to.

Oh, well. Anyone who reads this blog will likely have heard me talk about it before, but I just wanted to get it out there.

Dream Theater's Black Clouds and Silver Linings, which I had put away since its release in June, is back on my playlist with a vengeance--my God this thing is so much better than I first thought. Also, Redemption's new album has made me relisten to The Origins of Ruin more closely, and I'm so head over heels from them. I saw them live, but they opened for DT, and I essentially wanted them to play their silly setlist so I could see Petrucci's arms in real life. I have an aural crush on them now, and not just because Ray Alder sort of looks like a young Admiral Adama :)

Oh, here are a couple blurry pictures of Mr. Clean--er, China Mieville--himself, for the 0000 people who are curious. I didn't get any pictures of us hanging out because I wanted to act totally cool around him, sadly. So here he is doing a reading from his new book The City & the City.

An attempt at more regular updating

2009-06-22T16:06:00.000-07:00

I've just returned home from a whirlwind weekend in San Antonio with my mother--literally just returned, as Nick and I left Cabot around 4 am so we could both be at work by 12ish. Yuck. My mother is on a scrapbook forum that she's been talking and posting to excitedly for years, and was apprehensive about meeting them alone, so I came with her.

We had a blast, although after everyone's husbands began popping up cautiously at the shop where the crop was occurring I began to miss Nick. I made ten scrapbook pages, made a lot of new chums, and have decided to sign up for the forum now. The people were great, and I love scrapbooking, but it's also a great way to keep in touch with what is important in my mother's life--I miss her, and sometimes 500 miles feels a hell of a lot longer away.

Me and Mom:

I returned to work today to find out we're having an anime festival tomorrow (I can't bleedin' believe it's the end of June already!). I've been researching how to make candy sushi for a snack/project, and have found a couple good ideas here and here. We'll be gettin' crafy with our fruit roll-ups. It's sort of a pain to return to work from a mini-vacation, but I have pretty swank jobs...although remind me that I need to start working on my syllabus for fall soon, please. I'm teaching Intro to Fiction for the first time and have five novels, one graphic novel, and a cute chubby baby book of theory I'm using, but have no idea how they'll fit together yet. Frankly I'd rather be embossing or felting or something at the moment, but reality beckons.

Speaking of ominous portents that I have a world external to crafting, Nick and I have moved into a gorgeous new house, closer both to the downtown and to the university here in Lawrence, so I can walk easily to either of my jobs. It's the bottom floor of a 100 year house, and has two bedrooms, an office, walk-in closets, a window seat, a dishwasher, a clawfoot bathtub...I adore all the amenities, but it means twice the cleaning, sweeping, and unpacking that my bitty one-bedroom-with a loft apartment required. (Not that I did much of that cleaning, either!) I'll post pictures as soon as I get me some, which won't happen until the mother isn't covered in filth and misplaced baggies of jeans.

BIG cylons :)

2009-02-21T17:25:00.000-08:00

The purchase of a shiny new 32" Dynex television--which I swore I'd never need, but it's really damn hard to play Wii tennis on a 16" TV--was marred by our trip today to the emergency room. Nick got a temporary cap on a halfway completed root canal something like 13 years ago--literally half his life earlier--and today, struck with terror at the thought of getting septicemia, woke me from a nap to go to the hospital. One of his former students, Millie (fortunately, according to him, an A student!) got us taken care of, told him to get to a damn dentist, and loaded him up with hydrocodone. As a result, he's downstairs busily destroying our living room for this monstrosity of a TV. If you've ever been to our place, you realize that 32" is 16/17ths of our living room.

I know 32" is comparably modest, particularly since that glut of 42" for a thousand bucks happened a few Christmases ago, but I just don't watch that much TV. Lost, sure, ok; Heroes, when I can be convinced that the episode won't be as inane as its predecessors. (I'm always disappointed, by the way). I do like to watch sci-fi shows by the series and have a religious respect for Battlestar Galactica*, which will be perfectly gorgeous. But I remember once, after having a fallout with my mother, I stayed with Linda at her sister Jennifer's house for awhile and watching some TNG with her brother in law and thinking "Not as if I'll ever be able to afford that, but why they hell is this necessary?" But I co-habitate with a technophile, so I'm not complaining--I'm just surprised.

I have so much grading to do this weekend it's not as if I'll be able to look at the TV, anyway. My students turned in their first unit papers last week and since I turned into Snot Monster around Valentine's Day I haven't given the stack a glance, but my day of reckoning is near. I have an interesting and spirited group of kids this semester, anyway, so their papers will be fairly interesting, but anything from reading to cleaning to going to the emergency room feels more preferable than that. I slept until eleven this morning, since the philosophy boys came over and we went to the Bourgeois Pig at 2ish...time to stop updating and start working.

*DON'T YOU DARE SAY ANYTHING. I watched about half the third season, and now in order we're halfway through the second season, but websites always feel fit to mention, you know, Adama strapped a bomb to himself after making out with Apollo and shoving a Cylon baby in his arms--but not all of us are on season four yet!

Salut

2009-02-14T19:05:00.000-08:00

I've decided I wanted to start blogging again, since now that I've
begun graduate school (and am, in fact, almost done with my second
year with it) I do and see and know more interesting things than when
I blogged before--not that I let it stop me, of course. Unfortunately,
I've noticed that the amount of things going on in my life is
inversely proportional to the time I have to blog, naturally, so I
haven't thought about doing it in a couple years. Plus I'm not a.
single, b. sad, or c. convinced of my own innate ability to fascinate.
But, here we are, and here I am.

Plus, I went to the zoo today for our VD date. Who doesn't enjoy
entries about zoos? (Although zoo pictures themselves tend to be skipped over--just indulge me here).

The Topeka Zoo is pretty fascinating in its low-keyness; the grounds
sit smack in the middle of Gage Park in Topeka, across the street from
a playground and, on the other side, some houses, and is much longer
than it is wide. The many signs that are around the land indicate that
it's a project rooted firmly in the care and contributions of local
business. This is not an uncommon thing I've noticed in zoos, but
Topeka's so little, and their tigers and orangutangs and bald
eagles are sitting between baseball diamonds for kids.

Most of their flora and fauna was inside the Tropical Rainforest area,
where they seem to shunt any sort of animal that can't handle the
cold--also, the large things that won't eat one's face. Consequently,
we ran around with many tropical birds, an iguana, a lion tamarind, a
sloth and its tiny baby sloth, and lots of bats. Observe:

A fabulous, low-key Valentine's Day. Nick got flowers for Friday the
13th delivered to my office yesterday:

And I bought him a binary watch, to help him with addition for D&D and
also because it's spectacular.

Kevin's in town, so instead of working on my presentation for Tuesday
(which is a neat topic--ballad revival in romantic stuff, in tangent
with our readings of Lyrical Ballads), I'm now going to a
coffee shop to pretend like I'm working on reading the books.

More about where we're at in life later. For now, content yourself
with pictures of our date which, as you'll notice, are not in
Arkansas, but in Kansas, where we are now.

This is the title of this story, which is also found several times in the story itself

2007-05-31T23:00:00.000-07:00

This is the first sentence of this story. This is the second sentence. This is the title of this story, which is also found several times in the story itself. This sentence is questioning the intrinsic value of the first two sentences. This sentence is to inform you, in case you haven't already realized it, that this is a self-referential story, that is, a story containing sentences that refer to their own structure and function. This is a sentence that provides an ending to the first paragraph.
This is the first sentence of a new paragraph in a self-referential story. This sentence is introducing you to the protagonist of the story, a young boy named Billy. This sentence is telling you that Billy is blonde and blue-eyed and American and twelve years old and strangling his mother. This sentence comments on the awkward nature of the self-referential narrative form while recognizing the strange and playful detachment it affords the writer. As if illustrating the point made in the last sentence, this sentence reminds us, with no trace of facetiousness, that children are a precious gift from God and that the world is a better place when graced by the unique joys and delights they bring to it.
This story describes Billy's mother's eyes and protruding tongue and makes references to the unpleasant choking and gagging noises she's making. This sentence makes the observation that these are uncertain and difficult times, and that relationships, even seemingly deep-rooted and permanent ones, do have a tendency to break down.
Introduces, in this paragraph, the device of sentence fragments. A sentence fragment. Another. Good device. Will be used more later.
This is actually the last sentence of the story but has been placed here by mistake. This is the title of this story, which is also found several times in the story itself. As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself in his bed transformed into a gigantic insect. This sentence informs you that the preceding sentence is from another story entirely (a much better one, it must be noted) and has no place at all in this particular narrative. Despite the claims of the preceding sentence, this sentence feels compelled to inform you that the story you are reading is in actuality "The Metamorphosis" by Franz Kafka, and that the sentence referred to by the preceding sentence is the only sentence which does indeed belong in this story. This sentence overrides the preceding sentence by informing the reader (poor, confused wretch) that this piece of literature is actually the Declaration of Independence, but that the author, in a show of extreme negligence (if not malicious sabotage), has so far failed to include even one single sentence from that stirring document, although (s)he has condescended to use a small sentence fragment, namely "When in the course of human events", embedded in quotation marks near the end of a sentence. Showing a keen awareness of the boredom and downright hostility of the average reader with regard to the pointless conceptual games indulged in by the preceding sentences, this sentence returns us at last to the scenario of the story by asking the question, "Why is Billy strangling his mother?" This sentence attempts to shed some light on the question posed by the preceding sentence but fails. This sentence, however, succeeds, in that it suggests a possible incestuous relationship between Billy and his mother and alludes to the concomitant Freudian complications an astute reader will immediately envision. Incest. The unspeakable taboo. The universal prohibition. Incest. And notice the sentence fragments? Good literary device. Will be used more later.
This is the first sentence in a new paragraph. This is the last sentence in a new paragraph.
This sentence can serve as either the beginning of the paragraph or the end, depending on its placement. This is the title of this story, which is also found several times in the story itself. This sentence raises a serious objection to the entire class of self-referential sentences that merely comment on their own function or placement within the story (e.g. the preceding four sentences), on the grounds that they are monotonously predictable, unforgivably self-indulgent, and merely serve to distract the reader from the real subject of this story, which at this point seems to concern strangulation and incest and who knows what other delightful topics. The purpose of this sentence is to point out that the preceding sentence, while not itself a member of the class of self-referential sentences it objects to, nevertheless also serves merely to distract the reader from the real subject of this story, which actually concerns Gregor Samsa's inexplicable transformation into a gigantic insect (despite the vociferous counterclaims of other well-meaning although misinformed sentences). This sentence can serve as either the beginning of a paragraph or the end, depending on its placement.
This is the title of this story, which is also found several times in the story itself. This is almost the title of the story, which is found only once in the story itself. This sentence regretfully states that up to this point the self-referential mode of narrative has had a paralyzing effect on the actual progress of the story itself--that is, theses sentences have been so concerned with analyzing themselves and their role in the story that they have failed by and large to perform their function as communicators of events and ideas that one hopes to coalesce into a plot, character development, etc.--in short, the very raisons d'etre of any respectable, hardworking sentence in the midst of a piece of compelling prose fiction. This sentence in addition points out the obvious analogy between the plight of these agonizingly self-aware sentences and similarly afflicted human beings, and it points out the analogous paralyzing effects wrought by excessive and tortured self-examination.
The purpose of this sentence (which can also serve as a paragraph) is to speculate that if the Declaration of Independence had been worded and structured as lackadaisically and incoherently as this story has been so far, there's no telling what kind of warped libertine society we'd be living in now or to what depths of decadence the inhabitants of this country might have sunk, even to the point of deranged and debased writers constructing irritatingly cumbersome and needlessly prolix sentences that sometimes possess the questionable if not downright undesirable quality of referring to themselves and they sometimes even become run-on sentences or exhibit other signs of inexcusably sloppy grammar like unneeded superfluous redundances that almost certainly would have insidious effects on the lifestyle and morals of our impressionable youth, leading them to commit incest or even murder and maybe that's why Billy is strangling his mother, because of sentences just like this one, which have no discernable goals or perspicuous purpose and just end up anywhere, even in mid
Bizarre. A sentence fragment. Another sentence fragment. Twelve years old. This is a sentence that. Fragmented. And strangling his mother. Sorry, sorry. Bizarre. This. More fragments. This is it. Fragments. The title of this story, which. Blonde. Sorry, sorry. Fragment after fragment. Harder. This is a sentence that. Fragments. Damn good device.
The purpose of this sentence in threefold: (1) to apologize for the unfortunate and inexplicable lapse exhibited by the preceding paragraph; (2) to assure you, the reader, that it will not happen again; and (3) to reiterate the point that these are uncertain and difficult times and that aspects of language, even seemingly stable and deeply rooted ones such as syntax and meaning, do break down. This sentence adds nothing substantial to the segments of the preceding sentence but merely provides a concluding sentence to this paragraph, which otherwise might not have one.
This sentence, in a sudden and courageous burst of altruism, tries to abandon the self-referential mode but fails. This sentence tries again, but the attempt is doomed from the start.
This sentence, in a last-ditch effort to infuse some iota of story line into this paralyzed prose piece, quickly alludes to Billy's frantic cover-up attempts, followed by a lyrical, touching, and beautifully written passage and wherein Billy is reconciled with his father (thus resolving the subliminal Fredian conflicts obvious to any astute reader) and a final exciting police chase scene during which Billy is accidentally shot and killed by a panicky rookie policeman who is coincidentally named Billy. This sentence, although basically in complete sympathy with the laudable efforts the preceding action-packed sentence, reminds the reader that such allusions to a story that doesn't, in fact, yet exist are no substitute for the real thing and therefore will not get the author (indolent goof-off that (s)he is) off the proverbial hook.
Paragraph. Paragraph. Paragraph. Paragraph. Paragraph. Paragraph. Paragraph.
The purpose. Of this paragraph. Is to apologize. For its gratuitous use. Of. Sentence fragments. Sorry.
The purpose of this sentence is to apologize for the pointless and silly adolescent games indulged in by the preceding two paragraphs, and to express regret on the part of us, the more mature sentences, that the entire tone of this story is such that it can't seem to communicate a simple, albeit sordid, scenario.
This sentences wishes to apologized for all th needless apologies found in this story (this one included), which although placed here ostensibly for the benefit of the more vexed readers, merely delay in a maddeningly recursive way the continuation of the by-now nearly forgotten story line.
This sentence is bursting at the punctuation marks wit hnews of the dire import of self-reference as applied to sentences, a practice that should prove to be a veritable Pandora's box of potential havoc, for if a sentence can refer or allude to itself, why not a lowly subordinate clause, perhaps this very clause? Or this sentence fragment? Or three words? Two words? One?
Perhaps it is appropriate that this sentence gently and with no trace of condescension remind us that these are indeed difficult and uncertain times and that in general people just aren't nice enough to each other, and perhaps we, whether sentient human beings or sentient sentences, should just try harder. I mean, there is such a thing as free will, there has to be, and this sentence is proof of it! Neither this sentence nor you, the reader, is completely helpless in the face of all the pitiless forces at work in the universe. We should stand our ground, face facts, take Mother Nature by the throat and just try harder. By the throat. Harder. Harder, harder.
Sorry.
This is the title of this story, which is also found several times in the story itself.
This is the last sentence of the story. This is the last sentence of the story. This is the last sentence of the story. This is.
Sorry.

2007-05-25T19:53:00.000-07:00

I am lonely. Please let me know you're thinking of me and I will call/email/skype something you. I feel forgotten.

I enjoyed the Van Halen hour the best <3

2007-05-22T21:59:00.000-07:00

I think I shall resort to using cocaine to lose weight.

Today I am slouching about after recovering from a three-day trip to check out the important things in Florida for my wedding--you know, the beach, the various specialties of alcoholic beverage available, even the casino--which, I might add, was the opposite of lucrative. Nick and I drove down Friday and when I wasn't passing out/wanting to pass out, it was fun. We ate at ridiculously priced restaurants, gambled for the first time, thought a combined total of three thoughts while sprawled on the sand and in the ocean, and had troubles using the bathroom the entire time. We also found out information about marriage licenses, talked to the notary marrying us, procured our vows and addresses, and checked out the fooking gorgeous wedding site, so it wasn't all joy, but oh wait, it was.

As a result of all this hard work, all I've done today is mess about the computer, eat grilled meat to my heart's content, and attend one grueling section of PiYo (Pilates yoga, oh my!) I think I'm developing a straight crush on my instructor, Charlotte. I grunted and rolled about with my mere but I think I feel my abs tightening already. Maybe cocaine is superfluous after all.

I think my identity is shedding its skin and that just I am left here, and I'm currently discarding all of my outer trappings. I don't know how much I like this, but it seems inevitable to my maturation and at least explains my debilitating depression. Even my own face looks different--my face has filled out, and I've not gained any weight; I think it's just me looking less youthfully adorable.

And hence I want to spend lots of money on clothes. Nothing like an existential crisis to promote the purchase of outward manifestations of personality :)

I post Florida pics when I get them tomorrow!

2007-05-10T22:51:00.000-07:00

Here I am at home, a college graduate, graduate student of the University of Kansas, adjunct professor of two comp classes (which should end up fairly amusing, as I've never taken comp before), and a sweatily relieved recipient of one rather large assistantship. I'm surrounded by the cheerful tumult of my stuff, being encouraged by my mother to spare her the anxiety that apparently results from knowing I have so many unorganized things lying about on the floor to get rid of my things to fund a wedding trip to Florida in June. I'm crestfallen that my attempts to pare my possessions down--particularly my clothes--has come to no avail, and am starting to be fed up with this constant pressure to get rid of things. I'm about to move into an apartment, eh? Leave me be. This is simply two rooms' worth of stuff trying to live in one room.

I am an enthusiastic collector of things, and if I see something pretty that I particularly enjoy to own then I simply have to have it. The subjects of my collecting avarice have both their positive and negative sides--I like to collect books that are interesting to read, clothes, shoes, and music. On the upside, they are A. generally cheap, since I'm not out for fine craftmanship persay, B. easy to find, since thrift stores, yardsales, and oh yeah, music piracy keeps me in constant supply, and C. it's never ending which feeds the pleasure of collecting. As things fade out of style or interest, they are constantly replaced. On the other hand, D. the easy availability makes for attaining all this shit too easy, E. it never allows me the satisfaction of a collection complete, and F. moving is going to be a bitch.

Ah, well. I have limited room, veritably no money, and I have just 5 gigs left on my music drive. Unless I plan on being crushed by a tidal wave of debt and books that I need to catch up on, it will drift itself to an end.

More importantly, I have graduated from college, to mixed emotions. The numerous (and usually unwarranted) mental breakdowns from the re-goddamned-diculous schedule I took this year payed of and I got all As, including one I'm fairly certain I didn't deserve in American Modernism. I wish I had seen my friends more in the last week, but I had so much to do with studying, writing, preparing my thesis, cleaning and packing the aforementioned junk...I was overwhelmed when I saw a few at graduation, though. I so glad they exist <3 I need to make my way back down to Conway when I have the time.

I am waiting for the giddiness in Nick coming back to kick in. I think I'm still psychologically exhausted from school, because when he comes over I just want to clean or sleep. Even the thought of enthusiastic makeout sessions makes me exhausted (although, admittedly, I can usually muster energy for that up). The towering dread of planning a wedding is making me preoccupied now, so I still can't just relax. And I'm caught in the middle of Nick and Mom wanting me to spend lots and tons of time with each of them and neither, I think, being entirely satisfied.

But oh! I am reading the new Michael Chabon book! And all the weariness and stress I could feel is being washed away by his anachrostic Yids and good humor. I only bought his hardcover because he was vaguely attractive and terribly nice to me when I met him and a speech & signing, but the story is absorbing and the characterizations are as quirky as I like 'em to be.

I should try to sleep. Good night, sweet ladies...

After considering, the most profound thing I've ever read

2007-04-22T20:47:00.000-07:00

"In a strange room you must empty yourself for sleep. And before you are emptied for sleep, what are you. And when you are emptied for sleep, you are not. And when you are filled with sleep, you never were. I don't know what I am. I don't know if I am or not. Jewel knows he is, because he does not know that he does not know whether he is or not. He cannot empty himself for sleep because he is not what he is and he is what he is not. Beyond the unlamped wall I can hear the rain shaping the wagon that is ours, the load that is no longer theirs that felled and sawed it nor yet theirs that bought it and which is not ours either, lie on our wagon though it does, asleep. And since sleep is is-not and rain and wind are was, it is not. Yet the wagon is, because when the wagon is was, Addie Bundren will not be. And Jewel is, so Addie Bundren must be. And then I must be, or I could not empty myself for sleep in a strange room. And so if I am not emptied yet, I am is.

How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home.

2007-04-18T15:40:00.000-07:00

"We should conquer the earth by driving stakes into its soil (tent stakes)."

I adore you, sir.

By the way, I've fixed this thing so that you can leave anonymous comments.

2007-04-15T18:33:00.000-07:00

The gents and I took a trip to Hot Springs this weekend--Jennifer, Michael, Sam, Brandon, Maegan and I drove down (through torrential rain) Friday afternoon, and Trent and his (soon to be ex) girlfriend Bekah met up with us Saturday. Michael's mother, who wants to be me when she drove up, was overjoyed to have us and served as entertainment, drink mixer, and story teller the entire time, telling us what great kids we were and how proud of us she was (she had just met a couple of us!) We giggled and drank and pillow fought through the night until Maegan and I passed out drunk and laughing in a bed.

Woke up the next afternoon and went through some thrift stores and flea markets where I found books, crazy earrings, a pineapple necklace, and a shirt that says "Everything is releasing energy all the time" inexplicably and managed to insult the woman working there by insinuating she changed her prices by who came along. And then after playing pirate golf in the freeeeeeezing cold, the boys decided to jump in the lake to be manly--pretty ironic, considering Quaid was scared of the green water and fish! Instead of watching Red Eye and making out with Cillian Murphy's image, as I had planned, I drank too much wine, read too much postmodern gay fiction, and felt petulant and shouted in the bathroom most of the night; what a waste.

And then! Today, when leaving, Michael and Jennifer and Sam got into a car wreck! Brandon, Maegan and I were waiting a stopsign for them to follow us, as we were in a caravan, and they went right through a yield sign and plowed into the side of a van of a carpet salesman. I think Maegan and I were more shaken up than the guys are, so we jumped out, dashed over, and called 911. Luckily everyone was ok, but Michael's car is totaled since the frame is bent to hell and the engine is leaking strange substances and some doors wouldn't open. Michael's mother pulled up and exclaimed "Mikey! You broke your car!" and then laughed when we dropped vodka transferring vehicles; I think I fell madly in love with her at that point...Anyway, we took hilarious photographs when the cops weren't looking, because car wrecks are just so amusing.

BRUSH YOUR TEETH!!

2007-04-10T14:16:00.000-07:00

Today I am wearing a shirt I found [stole].

I find war propaganda, especially that from World War II, to be so effective. I watched a documentary on women in the military today, and something about the soaring heroic trumpet line always makes me think of youth shattered and genuine patriotism--which I know is crap, so the propaganda is particularly clever, I guess.

I need to see 300, and, in particular, Grindhouse. These movies were made for my sort of terrible sensibilities--something about a girl with an AK47 for a leg. Call me creepy, but that's just hot.

Speaking of machine guns, I am having a troubling resurgence of religious feeling. Somehow, despite all of the scientific evidence and stirring philosophical discussion and years of doubt, the feeling keeps sneaking back steadily. The fact that I'm fairly certain that it comes out of a desire for it to be truth, rather than the actual conviction that it is truth, makes me feel pretty plaintive.

Today it's raining and it's carnival! No fair. I debated getting a funnel cake, but my shoes were getting wet--the 3 year old in me is pissed of at not caving into such sugary deliciousness over such a pathetic reason. And the 21 year old in me is pissed at missing Sharon Olds last night. Although I think I was less upset at the fact that I missed her (quite honestly, I think that no one can top Neil Gaiman, particularly not Feminist Warriors of Lit'rature) than that I thought Tim would great me in Milton today ranting about how he not only saw her read, he met her. But he was mourning about funding troubles, something with which I can certainly sympathize, so all my pitiful excuses and cunning remarks I had planned were all to no use.

It makes me feel convinced Nick is my soulmate when I can plot such face-saving actions with him participating with an equal, if not greater, degree of enthusiasm. My picture widget keeps flashing artistic pictures he's sent of himself, and I have come to the realization that I have missed him more intently in this past week than I have for the entire 8 months that he's been gone previously. Had a dream about strictly making out with him--no parts of our bodies touching but our mouths. The things I miss unexpectedly...

2007-04-08T14:23:00.000-07:00

Arguing with Nick makes me sick. I'm not sure if he purposely twists what I have to say around into me sounding like I'm constantly nagging him, and purposely puts himself down so that I'll (of course, always) contradict him, but it's impossible to have an argument with him without my grievances being taken seriously. I know I may not be the most perfect person to argue with, but I feel like at least I don't try to convince him that I'm an idiot so that, in the end, he forgets about his problem and then feels guilty for even having brought it up.

Every single thing that has bothered me that I've told him about emotionally has not gotten resolved and has ended with him blaming it on his stupidity.

He's a bloody philosophy professor. He's not stupid. I'm sick of that excuse.

I don't know what to do. I feel like somehow he is degrading my feelings, not taking them seriously or something. Even him telling me I'm wrong is preferable to it turning into the "put down Nick" hour.

I am starting to feel like nothing in this relationship ends with happiness--it's always guilt for both parties.

2007-04-07T20:52:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling pretty wonewy, not really sure why. Nick went to his cousin's house tonight to socialize, but it's not like he and I would be with each other anyway; my father is snoring in his recliner, mom's scrapbooking in the kitchen, jonathan's at his girlfriend's, and danielle is probably prancing about somewhere. But I feel lonely a lot lately.

Surely it stems from Nick being gone for so long, but I think it's also some sort of intropersonal loneliness at work here too--I don't know that I'd feel very good with anyone around. I have done a lot of personal growing this year, and while I am grateful for the opportunity, I've sort of shifted into a state of limbo. I feel like I'm caught between lives--I mean, I'm getting an easter basket tomorrow, and married in July. Strange.

It's probably because I'm PMSing. I lose :P

But say, I went geocaching in the cold today, and bought some scrapstuff and made sloppy but earnest pages; while I do feel sort of like a 37 year old housewife, it's terribly fun. I've also been reading this interesting book about the cultural impact of popular culture on women in the 1960s, 70s, and 80s, and while it makes some predictable assumptions, the woman is wry and witty and funny as hell.

Is it strange that I, sort of a fallen child of God, am a bit unsettled that Nick is going to get drunk tonight?

I think I'll go back to my book. This entry has been haphapzard but has accurately represented my state of mind; I can't concentrate, my thoughts are disjointed and melancholy, and even my happy little hobbies are being observed through a haze of sulkiness and sinus headache.

2007-04-04T21:52:00.000-07:00

Ah, the start of a new blog. I tried a resurgence of self-examination over at Myspace, but no use; while I thought that I'd enjoy writing for the people I hate (the only reason I keep a myspace, you know), it turns out it's pretty stifling. Not as stifling as writing for people you do know, though, because those mothers expect you to write all the time, and prettily, about events which they've observed.

So, for now, it's you and me, kid. And anyone else who stumbles upon this. This place doesn't seem overly concerned with sociability though, so for awhile it'll be me speaking to the echoes of myself.

The power supply in my PC blew, and I just had to spend 27 begrudging dollars on a new one. Since the birthday has rolled around, I have had delightfully more than I thought I would, but still, St. Joseph's collection of terrible vintage clothes is calling me and I'm quite cross that at least 27 useless items of clothing are now unattainable. Sonuvabitch.

I should be writing a one-page book review for women's history, due approximately a day and a half ago, but I think the thesis writing has made me unable to keep thinking, thinking, thinking all the time. I went to Something Brewing with Linda, hoping the scenery would change productivity, but mainly I just chatted with Justin about his life. Piss and vinegar. It seems like everywhere I go, no matter what I surround myself with, I feel this terrible malaise; at home I feel uncomfortable, like a guest, and here I feel unproductive and generally moody and prone to eating too many Cadbury Eggs.

I am getting married, blog, on July 21st. And then heading to graduate school, most likely choosing Utah or Kansas but desperately wanting to go to the University of Chicago, where I was completely out-of-the-blue accepted and where my fiancee was not. He has no problem talking about Utah and Kansas, which will keep me out of my dream school, gaily; why, then, do I feel so guilty talking about Chicago when it will keep him out of his? He talks about being happy, and established; at least he had the chance to establish himself without me inserting my interests into the equation.

I am not resentful that he is keeping me from going to Chicago, at all. I think that this malaise, in fact, stems from him not being here. But you'd think that he would show a little sorrow, or some sympathy at least, about me not going there. He says that he would automatically choose wherever I went, because he'd only be happy with me, but I don't see me making any demands on where he can go to school, so of course he has the luxury of the decision being made up for him.

I know I would be poor in Chicago but, quite frankly, it would be worth it. It's someplace I could reinvent myself. I'd probably feel the same way about my friends that I have felt in the countless other places I've lived--a little bit on the fringe--but all the music that would be there, and all the cool books, and the atmosphere, and oh God most of all the opportunity.

I feel like Nick, maybe a little unfairly, prioritizes his needs first. He tells me all the time that he wants to teach at a teaching university, no wait, a research university, no wait, a teaching university, but I've yet to hear him ask me what I want.

I'm not asking for him to completely sacrifice his future for me. He is only on the waiting list at NIU, and it's a highly competitive school, and I get the feeling that he genuinely believes he won't get in. That's fine if he doesn't. Then we will take the best we can get and run with it. But it seems that he can't muster any sort of optimism for my sake, and all I've heard about is him talk about what he, he, he will do. Is it because I'm a woman? Because he went to grad school a year earlier than me? Or does he not see my future in the same light as his. He says he's liberal, but when it boils down to me having children, for instance, does he just want me to stay at home, being intelligent and having fun, but taking a back seat to his career?

God, I hadn't expected all this to come out. I didn't even know that I was feeling so shafted. But I am itching to be an adult, and start a new life, and move out of the dorms and out of my parents' and go to someplace where I am in charge of the dishwasher, goddamnit, and I already feel like my choices are being considered secondary.

Speaking of things that I can purportedly control, I ate lasagna and french fries at lunch today, and cereal for dinner. So much for low freaking carb. Generally I don't let myself eat a meal if I weigh more than I want to--yeah, I know it's unhealthy, shut it--and then when I weigh a little less I go crazy. It's so frustrating. Can't I just control myself and eat a salad, or some hamburger? What is it about bread that's so ridiculously delicious looking?

I could pour lots more out, but I suppose I should just get to work.