Another Day in Paradise

So, I'm chillin' at the bookstore right now, after a full day at school. Another "A" for one of my English classes...which means I think I'll have one "A" and two "B's" by the time the quarter is over. It's good: I'd give myself an "A" for effort across the board, and I think that's what matters most. So, in terms of number 77 on my list, let's say "it's not happening". At the same time, I am resolved to graduate with honors. This means a 3.60 gpa minimum to qualify. I think that's do-able. Consider it revised. (This doesn't mean I'll cease seeking straight A's in the future.)

In other thoughts, the music her is likely to drive me back to high school: Phil Collins (see title of this post), "Young Guns" by Jon Bon Jovi (dude, I own this single--on CASSETTE!!), and now, Mariah Carey (Love Takes Time). Sheesh. (Followed Hootie & the Blowfish. I'd better wrap this up before I go nuts.)

I was thinking about our trip to Oregon to visit Mom & Dad recently, and I recall being grossly underprepared for the cold (this was in November). Stopping at Wal-Mart, we stocked up on unfashionable jackets and proceeded to the front registers with warm things hung on plastic hangers. The young man who helped us proceeded to, save for one item of clothing, BREAK each hanger in half and remove the two pieces of hanger from the clothing. I actually found plastic hanger bits in my button down (read: hanger breaking easily avoided) jacket. Maybe you had to be there, but Josh & I found it hilarious.

Top 10 Names of Wireless Networks

"Discovered" last Saturday as Josh and I visited various friends in Laguna Beach and LA. I propped open my iBook and kept checking what my airport card was picking up.


1. Love Shack

2. Lola

3. Quentin

4. BigEarl

5. Reef Seekers

6. Matrix

7. CHOCHO

8. ThinkerII

9. Black on Black

10. Diablo

Reflexive

Last night, oh the ANTS, the ANTS. Just one of the beautiful things about living in Southern California. Returning home circa ten in the evening and my whole body tenses as I open the pantry, reach down for the tupperware bin of dry cat food and BAM! they're crawling in and around the cat treats and 4-pound cag of Science Diet T/D (Mango has teeth issues). I curve my neck around and see them going up and down the doorjam, face front and they're climbing to the Costco-sized box of microwave "smartpop" popcorn (which reeks of butter, mind you, but each bag is individually sealed) and the path they are taking: over the millions of plastic grocery bags stashed for future use (thank you, Mom!). So, becoming very un-packrat-like, I shove ALL the bags into a single bag for immediate recycling--out of the house.

After the battle, I'm scarred. Dry goods litter my kitchen table--my study/writing table these days--and that Bailey's left over from New Year's Eve committed hara kiri in the kitchen sink. My skin still crawls with phantom ants and my neck achieved a permanent kink in it. This morning, the shelves are lined with the dead and the kitchen reeks of non-toxic "agent orange". Sleep came and went at all hours of the night, but I am here. And it is still early.

Tell me about it.

From Erin, just for fun...

Click here.

In my best Starsky & Hutch (remake with Ben Stiller & Owen Wilson): "Do it!"

Doing Something

Last month I "talked" about it. But, a week from today, I'm actually going to start doing something about it. I will finally resume piano lessons with my first teacher, Linda. I'm thrilled at the prospect. Ecstatic.

Last night it got me thinking: what happened that I quit in the first place? I mean, how did I do it? Did I call her up one day and say I needed a break? I honestly cannot remember, which makes me feel strange. No matter. That was over ten years ago now. Just an odd thought.

Oh, and I joined Lauren in submitting a list to McSweeney's. If I don't hear back, rest assured it will be published here.

Magnetic Poetry

Time out. I'm working in the kitchen (cuz it's clean, yo!) and while I should be working on my essay, I'm solving mysteries. Recently, I came home and noticed that a bunch of my magnetic poetry had slid to the base of the refrigerator. Just now, I caught Moxie in the act of throwing himself up the refrigerater door to paw at a single word block. Regretfully, my would-be poet was overcome by writer's block (or shyness) and gave up. Or, not?

I give you my (almost) nine-month-old Moxie's first poem:

shall

Brilliant.

note...The following day I found "shall" on the ground, chewed up. So far Moxie seems ok, but there's a small bit of magnet missing...

Everything Except

Tuesday's Midterm + Two 5-Page Papers + Housework / Hard Work

= Spotless digs. Spotless Homework.

And boy, am I tired. In other news: I've picked my schedule for next quarter. It's getting harder to limit my classes to Tuesdays and Thursdays. I wish I could post something more titillating, but frankly I just don't have it in me these days. I'm halfway through the quarter. I'm still alive! Five more weeks....

What about the A's?

Yeah, what is up with that? I mean, honestly now, the class I thought I'd like the most I also suck at (according to the papers I'm getting back). Truly though, I'm having a hard time with the fact that it's called "Music Writing" and we're spending the bulk of our time reading. I do understand that good writing requires extensive reading. However, in terms of "How to Write X" we are getting zero hints. It's mind-boggling. I suppose a discussion section (or four) will help me, but I'm kind of missing out on the focus of the class based on how abstract it is. It's all a blur.

So, that thing on the list about getting all A's.... I blew it last semester at Saddleback with a B, and surely I've lost out again. It needs to be more about the effort made than the grade I end up with, even if that is how a school measures effort.

So, with A's on some papers and B-'s on my last 2 papers for my music writing class, I'm feeling mildly discouraged. In the thing I love the most. Actually it's playing music that I love the most. (At this point in the post, Moxie falls asleep on my lap between my belly and the iBook. He insists on propping himself up and resting his head on my left forearm/wrist. It's getting rather difficult to type.) Needless to say, I'm dreading the next assignment as my confidence has been beaten up twice and I'm not sure it can take another lickin'. Do I have a choice?

Dancing Days

To the not-so-private dancer in section 412 last night at The Pond... Uh huh? That's right. Stretchin' your arms wide-to-the-left-and-right as you bob & weave, dip down, raise up and point at the band? Taking your cues from Elaine, your section-mates got "drunk dancing" while you were aiming for "dirty dancing"? I thought you wouldn't stop, then Coldplay started in on "The Scientist" and you sat down. Sort of. Ah, no, you couldn't sit out an entire song, could you?

Last night's concert with Fiona Apple opening for Coldplay taught me a couple of things. First, sound always sucks for the opening band, no matter how cool they are. Second, merchandise is a rip off. The quarter-sleeved tee I wanted was $50, so I went without. Third, while it's possible for music to sound mildly good in a stadium, this may be the last time I buy tickets for an arena concert. I'd rather hear music in a place that's built for it (with the exception of the Wiltern...unless I bring earplugs). Oh, and fourth, it's worth $20 not to park on the arena grounds. Josh & I avoided the wait-in-line-for-EVER-to-leave-the-parking-lot syndrome. Yeah!

Number 29

Today I woke at 4am and decided to plow on the rest of my paper. By 8:30, slow and slug-like, I was ready to burn my copy of "The Rover" as a sacrifice to the paper-writing Muse. Alas, my final sentence was properly revised from the original state of "Behn was a forward-thinker who dreamed of a liberated woman in a kingdom that would respect her for her thoughts, feelings, intelligence, and not just as a piece of ass." Erin, I do believe I could start a novel on that.

And, Happy Groundhog's Day! (It's the thirtieth one I've been around to celebrate.)

dot dot dot

I'm doing a lot of writing. Really. Just not here. However, if you'd like some insight on Aphra Behn's "The Rover" or William Blake's "To the Muses", please let me know.