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Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Chrysanthemum. C-h-r-y-s-a-n-t-h-e-m-u-m
I had the most interesting time in tutoring yesterday. I write about it here because it is likely to be the one and only time I can say such a thing, since usually tutoring is deadly dull. Another graduate student came in, from the sociology or anthropology department, with his letter of application for a professorship, and he wanted me to look it over and help him revise it. It was so fun because it was already a well-written essay, and you could tell that he had spent a lot of time on it, so I didn't have to do the normal checks for spelling, articles, verb/noun agreement and so on. Instead I could talk to him about his sentence structure, how to make things more clear by putting the main point of each sentence in the independent clause and the reasons and qualifications in the dependent clauses, how to reduce redundancy, and how to make his sentences more powerful and confident. I guess it was just really fun because I was able to actually use some of the skills that I have for the first time, perhaps the same way an artist who has been painting lines on the road would feel being given the chance to paint a mural in an expensive office building. And I was happy because I could feel really good at something. I'm certainly not as well-versed in literary criticism as most of my classmates; I haven't read as many 18th century novels as them; nor can I write the most insightful paper of the class; but grammar, darn it, I know!
Labels: writing lab
0 commentsTuesday, January 25, 2005
I may be forced to faint if my imagination gets the better of me
I hate scary movies. In the "Horror" section at the video store, I just walk by with my eyes averted. It's not that I don't like the deliciously scary feeling that you get from ghost stories--I love Dracula and Frankenstein and The Phantom of the Opera books--It's just that imagination thing again. Seeing a chainsaw murderer or a rotting zombie or a deranged wild animal has a much more powerful effect on my imagination than just reading about it, and I can't help thinking about it, mulling over it, and imagining other possibilities and endings and effects of the scary characters. For normal movies, this is ok. I can watch Anne of Green Gables and get hours of entertainment from imagining myself having a tea party with Anne, or how the story might have gone if Anne had forgiven Gilbert right away, or if she had been sent away from Green Gables at the beginning. But with scary movies, I can't help imagining how I would try (and fail) to get away from the demon-possessed child or what would happen if the hero hadn't found an antidote to the deadly virus. And if those musings happen at night, what do you get? Nightmares, of course. Which, when you live by yourself, with no friends to invite over for the night, and no parents' bed to crawl into, are no picnic.
This applies both to the thriller-type horror movies, where crescendoing music meets a sudden loud noise and something jumping out behind the main character, and carnage-filled horror movies, where they feel impelled to parade their makeup artists' abilities to recreate the most ghastly wounds that can be inflicted on living things. (This also is part of the reason that I have not seen The Passion.) Once, the movie Final Destination was on TV, and I started watching it because the main character's actor has the same name as me. Well, once I started, I couldn't stop watching it, because I had to find out how it ended. It was broad daylight, but I still had to change the channel every time I could feel a scary part coming, and then change it back because I had to know what would happen. Well, let's just say that the scene where the plane crashes at the beginning still comes to mind every time I get on an airplane, the scene where the teacher has all the knives fall on her still comes to mind every time I see a knife rack, I still occasionally spend idle time trying to reconcile the logic of the premise of that movie (which is that somehow Death will find you if you manage to escape the time you were predestined to die), and I still think of the guy who gets decapitated every time I see a train go by. And all of those things continue to scare me just the slightest bit, a couple of years after watching the movie. This is why I don't watch any more of them--think of the accumulation of fears after years of watching scary movies when I'm like 60. I'd be a nervous wreck.
Well, last night I was forced to watch Seven, which definitely falls into the carnage-horror category, being about an insane murderer who finds gruesome ways to torture and kill seven people, according to what he believes to be their seven deadly sins. It was required for my Sacred Violence class, and then I had to go home afterward at 9:30 to my little apartment, where I turned on all the lights, put Bedazzled into the VCR, and called Christin to console me. I may be wrong--we haven't talked about it in class yet--but I fail to see any redeeming intellectual value to that movie. It seemed to me simply an exploration of the methods of a sick, deranged guy who thinks he's doing God's work of shocking people out of their spiritual apathy. Like somehow we need to be told that there are evil people in the world. I don't need to watch a movie to learn that, I can just open a history book, or easier yet, a newspaper. And now, for the rest of my life, whenever I'm scared about anything, or hear about something horrible happening, images from that movie will leap eagerly to mind to disgust and horrify me. This is not ok.
On another note, I would like to bewail the fact that after eight or so years of having a relatively spam-free hotmail account, I have somehow managed to get on an email list that sends me offers of various "free" items several times a day. I don't know how it happened, but here we are. And this particular company has gotten wise to the spam-blocking functions, and changes its own email address and subject title with every entry. If anyone has any ideas, I'd be happy to hear them. I hate seeing "4 new messages" and then finding that none of them are from my friends.
This applies both to the thriller-type horror movies, where crescendoing music meets a sudden loud noise and something jumping out behind the main character, and carnage-filled horror movies, where they feel impelled to parade their makeup artists' abilities to recreate the most ghastly wounds that can be inflicted on living things. (This also is part of the reason that I have not seen The Passion.) Once, the movie Final Destination was on TV, and I started watching it because the main character's actor has the same name as me. Well, once I started, I couldn't stop watching it, because I had to find out how it ended. It was broad daylight, but I still had to change the channel every time I could feel a scary part coming, and then change it back because I had to know what would happen. Well, let's just say that the scene where the plane crashes at the beginning still comes to mind every time I get on an airplane, the scene where the teacher has all the knives fall on her still comes to mind every time I see a knife rack, I still occasionally spend idle time trying to reconcile the logic of the premise of that movie (which is that somehow Death will find you if you manage to escape the time you were predestined to die), and I still think of the guy who gets decapitated every time I see a train go by. And all of those things continue to scare me just the slightest bit, a couple of years after watching the movie. This is why I don't watch any more of them--think of the accumulation of fears after years of watching scary movies when I'm like 60. I'd be a nervous wreck.
Well, last night I was forced to watch Seven, which definitely falls into the carnage-horror category, being about an insane murderer who finds gruesome ways to torture and kill seven people, according to what he believes to be their seven deadly sins. It was required for my Sacred Violence class, and then I had to go home afterward at 9:30 to my little apartment, where I turned on all the lights, put Bedazzled into the VCR, and called Christin to console me. I may be wrong--we haven't talked about it in class yet--but I fail to see any redeeming intellectual value to that movie. It seemed to me simply an exploration of the methods of a sick, deranged guy who thinks he's doing God's work of shocking people out of their spiritual apathy. Like somehow we need to be told that there are evil people in the world. I don't need to watch a movie to learn that, I can just open a history book, or easier yet, a newspaper. And now, for the rest of my life, whenever I'm scared about anything, or hear about something horrible happening, images from that movie will leap eagerly to mind to disgust and horrify me. This is not ok.
On another note, I would like to bewail the fact that after eight or so years of having a relatively spam-free hotmail account, I have somehow managed to get on an email list that sends me offers of various "free" items several times a day. I don't know how it happened, but here we are. And this particular company has gotten wise to the spam-blocking functions, and changes its own email address and subject title with every entry. If anyone has any ideas, I'd be happy to hear them. I hate seeing "4 new messages" and then finding that none of them are from my friends.
Labels: grad school, movies
0 commentsSunday, January 23, 2005
Some books are better left on the shelf
The conclusion I have come to this week is that holidays are a curse to the grad student. Last week, we had MLK day off, which you would think would give me a chance to get caught up or maybe even a bit ahead. Not a bit of it. Instead, the class that we missed on Monday was rescheduled for Thursday, which means that all the reading for that class this week has been squeezed into three days instead of seven. Plus, all the professors in the other classes seem to have taken the opportunity of the holiday to overload the reading for last week, since obviously we must all have extra time to read it, having a whole day off. So the result is that I came into the weekend today having absolutely none of my reading for this week even started, and I'm only now taking a brief break between books to post to my blog. Let's hope there are no more school holidays coming up. I don't think I can handle it.
And just to tear down any illusions you may have about my spending hours curled up in a chair reading beautiful literature, you should know that I don't actually read just books, I read books about books. And occasionally books about books about books.
Now, I have to take a moment to commemorate Friday night's opening episode in the new season of my favorite TV show: Monk. Mr. Monk found himself a new assistant in this episode (Sharona having suddenly disappeared from the show), who promises to be funny, charming, and (dare we predict?) romantic. So, you can all find me on the couch at my parents' house on Friday nights at 9pm, taking advantage of the Dish TV, watching the adventures of my favorite Obsessive Compulsive Detective.
And just to tear down any illusions you may have about my spending hours curled up in a chair reading beautiful literature, you should know that I don't actually read just books, I read books about books. And occasionally books about books about books.
Now, I have to take a moment to commemorate Friday night's opening episode in the new season of my favorite TV show: Monk. Mr. Monk found himself a new assistant in this episode (Sharona having suddenly disappeared from the show), who promises to be funny, charming, and (dare we predict?) romantic. So, you can all find me on the couch at my parents' house on Friday nights at 9pm, taking advantage of the Dish TV, watching the adventures of my favorite Obsessive Compulsive Detective.
Labels: grad school, TV
0 commentsWednesday, January 19, 2005
Well in body, although considerably ruffled in spirit.
So, remember what I was saying the other day about threes? I knew it was coming, and this morning my third accident found me. I rear-ended a guy on the way to school. Luckily for him, he had a nice sturdy trailer hitch, so his car escaped unscathed. Not so for my mostly-plastic Dodge Intrepid. My front license plate is currently sitting on my front seat with a trailer hitch-sized hole through it. And my front bumper looks like a taco. Poor little car. At least it's still drivable, especially with the impending bus strike here in Eugene. Ah well, c'est la vie.
Labels: car trouble
0 commentsTuesday, January 18, 2005
There's no meaning in a name like that
Well, I've decided to officially change the title of my blog to what the web address says. Titles always intimidate me a bit--they seem like they ought to be so grand and clever--which is why I didn't even bother trying when I created the blog. But now, since the weather has turned balmy and thoughts of spring intrude on my studies, I've decided that "Talk of Summertime" is really the perfect name--just the right blend of fancy and reality (since what is complaining about school but hoping for vacation?). Plus, I need a change. I can't handle having things the same for too long--whether it be my hair, my furniture, or my blog.
Well, I don't have much more to tell you that's interesting, other than that I didn't fall into a coma from my concussion yesterday. (I actually considered having someone call me at 2am to make sure that I would wake up, but decided to chance it... and here I am!) I pay attention during the day for things to write about, and imagine how I will write them (my interior monoblogue, you might say), but today has turned up pretty fruitless. But stay tuned in... I have the wonderful Sacred Violence class tonight, so more hot news from the grad school front is on the way! (And I mean hot--did I mention that about my SV professor?)
Well, I don't have much more to tell you that's interesting, other than that I didn't fall into a coma from my concussion yesterday. (I actually considered having someone call me at 2am to make sure that I would wake up, but decided to chance it... and here I am!) I pay attention during the day for things to write about, and imagine how I will write them (my interior monoblogue, you might say), but today has turned up pretty fruitless. But stay tuned in... I have the wonderful Sacred Violence class tonight, so more hot news from the grad school front is on the way! (And I mean hot--did I mention that about my SV professor?)
Labels: meta-blogging
0 commentsMonday, January 17, 2005
I think I've been rendered unconscious
I've had a series of mishaps lately, and I'm hoping that adage about bad things happening in threes is not true, because otherwise I'm going to have to start wearing a helmet.
First of all, in Washington, after we went to see The Phantom of the Opera, we came out of the theater to find that it had snowed a few inches. However, we decided to run over to the craft store for a bit before heading home. I stepped out of my aunt's car, took a few steps on the ice, and found myself lying flat on my back, hip and elbow smarting, wondering what had happened to me. Well, I limped into the craft store and soon recovered my movement and dignity enough to enjoy the rest of the vacation (I even learned to knit!)
But then today, I was putting up the curtains my mom made for me, standing on my bathroom counter, and when I stepped down, I misjudged the distance to the floor, tripped, and landed again on my butt, in the bathtub, banging my head against the wall (hard!). That's the scary thing about living alone--if you knock yourself out, nobody knows. So, having fallen twice in three days, I'm a little wary of heights, slippery surfaces, and my own feet in general. I feel like a clumsy eighth-grader again, when I used to fall down the steps at school or slip in the hallway on the way to class. Maybe I should invest in one of those emergency beepers old people wear on their wrists--if I'm conscious enough to use it...
0 comments
First of all, in Washington, after we went to see The Phantom of the Opera, we came out of the theater to find that it had snowed a few inches. However, we decided to run over to the craft store for a bit before heading home. I stepped out of my aunt's car, took a few steps on the ice, and found myself lying flat on my back, hip and elbow smarting, wondering what had happened to me. Well, I limped into the craft store and soon recovered my movement and dignity enough to enjoy the rest of the vacation (I even learned to knit!)
But then today, I was putting up the curtains my mom made for me, standing on my bathroom counter, and when I stepped down, I misjudged the distance to the floor, tripped, and landed again on my butt, in the bathtub, banging my head against the wall (hard!). That's the scary thing about living alone--if you knock yourself out, nobody knows. So, having fallen twice in three days, I'm a little wary of heights, slippery surfaces, and my own feet in general. I feel like a clumsy eighth-grader again, when I used to fall down the steps at school or slip in the hallway on the way to class. Maybe I should invest in one of those emergency beepers old people wear on their wrists--if I'm conscious enough to use it...
0 comments
Saturday, January 15, 2005
featherbrained ways
This post comes to you from the icy town of Sunnyside, Washington, where it is presently very un-sunny. I'm visiting my Aunt Darla and Uncle Ivan with the rest of my family, and I've stolen a few minutes on the laptop while my mom and Aunt Darla practice knitting, to update the blog and tell you about my crazy day last week.
On Thursday I had a paper to finish before going home and I had hoped to get back to Lebanon in time to get some work hours in before 5pm. But you know how it goes, one thing after another happened--the paper took longer than I expected, as papers always do, there were readings to copy at the U, I had to get my stuff from my locker at the rec center, I had to pack and tidy my house, and then, just when I thought I was about ready to go, I got a call from the Springfield Public Library:
" Hello, this is the Springfield Public Library. Is this Devon VE?"
"Yes, this is her." Oh dear, what did I forget to return? How much is the fine going to be?
"Miss VE, do you know someone by the name of Westenberg?"
"Uh, yeah?" My grandparents. Strange.
"That name is on an envelope you seem to have left in a book you recently returned."
"Oh, is it?" Probably an old birthday card or something that I grabbed as a quick bookmark. No big deal, just tell them to toss it....
"The envelope has some money in it..."
Oh.
So, yeah, I turned in a book to the library with my Christmas money in it. Typical. I do remember thinking when I dropped it in the book drop that it looked like there was something sticking out of it, but I just figured it was junk mail or something along those lines, like I generally use to keep my place in books. At least it was nice of the library to call me.
Anyway, today's big plans include a trip to the craft store to get some more yarn for the knittingnics (hee hee) and then on to see Phantom of the Opera! I saw it earlier with the girls, and loved it. I was definitely thrilled that it was being made (I would nearly go into hysterics when the trailer came on at the theater), but then as I was watching it the first time, I found myself a bit disappointed. I was not a fan of the Phantom actor, who's voice is just not up to the task of songs like "The Phantom of the Opera" and "Music of the Night." So the first half I was sad, but then the second half more than made up for it. At some point around the middle of the movie the Phantom finds that scary/sexy presence that makes him so compelling in the live version. Christine and Raoul are both great, especially "All I Ask of You." And I loved "Past the Point of No Return." OK, moving on...
Ah, I miss having a laptop. I had one through my first few years of college, but it never really worked on the battery for more than about 20 minutes, and by the time I was ready to buy a new computer I was so sick of messing with the battery that I just bought a desktop. But when that one wears out... we'll see. 0 comments
On Thursday I had a paper to finish before going home and I had hoped to get back to Lebanon in time to get some work hours in before 5pm. But you know how it goes, one thing after another happened--the paper took longer than I expected, as papers always do, there were readings to copy at the U, I had to get my stuff from my locker at the rec center, I had to pack and tidy my house, and then, just when I thought I was about ready to go, I got a call from the Springfield Public Library:
" Hello, this is the Springfield Public Library. Is this Devon VE?"
"Yes, this is her." Oh dear, what did I forget to return? How much is the fine going to be?
"Miss VE, do you know someone by the name of Westenberg?"
"Uh, yeah?" My grandparents. Strange.
"That name is on an envelope you seem to have left in a book you recently returned."
"Oh, is it?" Probably an old birthday card or something that I grabbed as a quick bookmark. No big deal, just tell them to toss it....
"The envelope has some money in it..."
Oh.
So, yeah, I turned in a book to the library with my Christmas money in it. Typical. I do remember thinking when I dropped it in the book drop that it looked like there was something sticking out of it, but I just figured it was junk mail or something along those lines, like I generally use to keep my place in books. At least it was nice of the library to call me.
Anyway, today's big plans include a trip to the craft store to get some more yarn for the knittingnics (hee hee) and then on to see Phantom of the Opera! I saw it earlier with the girls, and loved it. I was definitely thrilled that it was being made (I would nearly go into hysterics when the trailer came on at the theater), but then as I was watching it the first time, I found myself a bit disappointed. I was not a fan of the Phantom actor, who's voice is just not up to the task of songs like "The Phantom of the Opera" and "Music of the Night." So the first half I was sad, but then the second half more than made up for it. At some point around the middle of the movie the Phantom finds that scary/sexy presence that makes him so compelling in the live version. Christine and Raoul are both great, especially "All I Ask of You." And I loved "Past the Point of No Return." OK, moving on...
Ah, I miss having a laptop. I had one through my first few years of college, but it never really worked on the battery for more than about 20 minutes, and by the time I was ready to buy a new computer I was so sick of messing with the battery that I just bought a desktop. But when that one wears out... we'll see. 0 comments
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
...the best teacher serves as a guide
I felt impelled to write this post since I'm feeling more positive about grad school, having just finished my favorite graduate class, than I was the other day, and I thought you all should know about it, lest you think that I go home from school every day and weep (which I don't, usually). I'm taking this class called "Sacred Violence," (something which my dear old friend Helen--a strict pacifist from the Brethren church--explained to me could not possibly exist). I had the class this evening for the second time, and for three straight hours, I was in heaven. Sheer bliss.
We're talking about Flannery O'Conner and symbolism and allegory and grace and the grotesque. It's so, so wonderful. The professor is brilliant, and helps us untangle O'Conner's web of fallen characters to try to find meaning and some kind of overarching theology. It's really so interesting. Tonight's class just flew by. And I always feel like I have something to say that could contribute to the discussion, which I NEVER felt in Sayre's class. And unlike Sayre's class as well, I never feel intimidated or stupid in this class--just challenged and inspired to keep reading and studying. People, this is what grad school is supposed to be.
We're talking about Flannery O'Conner and symbolism and allegory and grace and the grotesque. It's so, so wonderful. The professor is brilliant, and helps us untangle O'Conner's web of fallen characters to try to find meaning and some kind of overarching theology. It's really so interesting. Tonight's class just flew by. And I always feel like I have something to say that could contribute to the discussion, which I NEVER felt in Sayre's class. And unlike Sayre's class as well, I never feel intimidated or stupid in this class--just challenged and inspired to keep reading and studying. People, this is what grad school is supposed to be.
Labels: grad school
0 commentsMonday, January 10, 2005
You've tricked something out of that imagination of yours
Sometimes I agree with Anne that having an imagination can be a trial. Apart from disturbing my teachers by grinning at inopportune times in class because I've imagined them without noses or being unable to watch horror movies because I lie awake for a week afterwards imagining scary things, I imagine all the bad things that could...might...probably will happen to me in the near future. For example, I just found out that my new schedule for the writing lab is from 1-5 on Tues and Wed. That means I probably won't be able to find a parking spot when I want to come to campus at 12:45. I'll have to come at 8am to be sure, and then spend five hours sitting in the library doing nothing. I'll have to pack my lunch and dinner, which will be boring and difficult, so I'll probably end up just buying food from the Quiznos around the corner. Then I'll spend all my money and be broke. Plus it will be unhealthy so I'll be fat. And I'll be on campus from 8am to 9pm, which is 13 hours, so I won't have a life. I'll get burnt out and won't be able to concentrate on my homework or ever see my friends, and I'll probably flunk out and be a failure.
This is how my thoughts run.
Another example: I received my final draft back from the wretched professor from last term in my mailbox, covered with more sarcastic, irrelevant comments. Immediately I relived all the horrible things he wrote on all my other papers, and realized that he must be right. Anyone who writes that arrogantly must be right about something. It must be that I'm a bad writer. It must be that I don't really have anything meaningful to say. He'll probably convince all the other professors in the department that I shouldn't really be here. Probably everyone that has sympathized with me has really just been pitying me for my own self-delusion. Probably I'm going to flunk out by the end of this year and be left with no prospect of a degree and thousands of dollars in debt. And everyone that mentions me from then on will say, "Devon, the girl who didn't make it through grad school. Works at Quiznos now, poor thing."
So you see I can imagine awful endings for myself as well as lovely ones like the last post. If only I could turn off the one and keep the other...
This is how my thoughts run.
Another example: I received my final draft back from the wretched professor from last term in my mailbox, covered with more sarcastic, irrelevant comments. Immediately I relived all the horrible things he wrote on all my other papers, and realized that he must be right. Anyone who writes that arrogantly must be right about something. It must be that I'm a bad writer. It must be that I don't really have anything meaningful to say. He'll probably convince all the other professors in the department that I shouldn't really be here. Probably everyone that has sympathized with me has really just been pitying me for my own self-delusion. Probably I'm going to flunk out by the end of this year and be left with no prospect of a degree and thousands of dollars in debt. And everyone that mentions me from then on will say, "Devon, the girl who didn't make it through grad school. Works at Quiznos now, poor thing."
So you see I can imagine awful endings for myself as well as lovely ones like the last post. If only I could turn off the one and keep the other...
Labels: grad school
0 commentsWednesday, January 05, 2005
House O' Dreams
Today I saw the house that I'm going to have some day, when I'm a eccentric old former English professor living on Social Security and the tiny royalties from my book, which won't become famous until after I die. It will be a tiny, square, mustard yellow thing, with a little front porch peeking out, all overgrown with climbing roses and other vines, and two cats, one black and the other black and white pacing back and forth along the railing. Through the little front window, you will be able to see a shelf filled with plants and books, and beyond it a crowded cozy little room with more stacks of books in odd places, a fireplace, rocking chair, and orange rugs. And there I'll sit, hour by hour, rereading Harry Potter for the 2000th time, rocking in my chair and drinking tea. And come summer, the bravest neighborhood kids will get dared to come knocking at my door, and will get blackberry scones and lemonade for their trouble. And when I'm feeling particularly spry, I'll get out an umbrella and walk through the neighborhood, muttering to myself and jumping in puddles.
Labels: ambitions
0 commentsMonday, January 03, 2005
Glad I meet with your approval on some approximation.
Monday in general is not a particularly fun day, but this Monday happens to be not only the first day of the week, but also the first day of the new term and my first day of new classes. I'm taking three classes this term and I'm about half as nervous as I was the first day of fall term. Even though I've been here for several months already, I haven't actually taken what would be considered a regular "graduate seminar," so I'm still kind of freaked out about how I'm going to do. I ended up getting an A- in both of my classes last semester; a grade that one of my classmates who met with the same fate dubbed "not quite good enough." Still, it'll have to do, and as Julie Straight put it, "If you make a few friends and don't flunk out, you've succeeded your first term of grad school." I'm still not entirely sure that I belong here, or that I'll make it though, but it does feel good to have taken at least one conclusive step towards my degree.
I spent this last weekend in Newport at the little beachhouse that we always rent for coast getaways. This particular time was the continuation of the Bowen-VE tradition of New Year's get-togethers. The first year we got a big four-story house in Bend that was fantastic, roomy, and ever so Victorian and romantic. But then the unromantic owner of said mansion accused us of leaving her hot tub dirty (despite the fact that poor Ryan got a rash from it the first night we were there, suggesting that it was dirty to begin with) and refused to return our deposit, and that put an end to that. The next year we rented the not so roomy (2 bedroom) house that we returned to this year, and crammed 14 people into it. It was delightfully cosy and rowdy, so we decided to head back there again this year. The ocean is always a restful place for me, although my impending return to school put something of a damper on this trip.
Finally, I feel that is necessary to commemorate the fact that this Christmas was the first time in my life that I have spent significant time in the cuttings room and enjoyed it. Yes, it's true. I know you thought you would never hear those words from me, but I actually...well, I wouldn't go so far as to say "had fun"...but something pretty close to that. I'm not really sure why this year suddenly the raw fingers and chemical smell and pumice everywhere didn't bother me--I think it probably had to do with being able to work mindlessly and listen to the Chronicles of Narnia" on tape. Oh yeah, and the money. Money has become very, very precious. I'm even considering working there regularly for a couple of days a week this term. It might be nice to get out of my apartment and do something other than stress about papers that I should be working on, while watch Alias. And did i mention the money?
I spent this last weekend in Newport at the little beachhouse that we always rent for coast getaways. This particular time was the continuation of the Bowen-VE tradition of New Year's get-togethers. The first year we got a big four-story house in Bend that was fantastic, roomy, and ever so Victorian and romantic. But then the unromantic owner of said mansion accused us of leaving her hot tub dirty (despite the fact that poor Ryan got a rash from it the first night we were there, suggesting that it was dirty to begin with) and refused to return our deposit, and that put an end to that. The next year we rented the not so roomy (2 bedroom) house that we returned to this year, and crammed 14 people into it. It was delightfully cosy and rowdy, so we decided to head back there again this year. The ocean is always a restful place for me, although my impending return to school put something of a damper on this trip.
Finally, I feel that is necessary to commemorate the fact that this Christmas was the first time in my life that I have spent significant time in the cuttings room and enjoyed it. Yes, it's true. I know you thought you would never hear those words from me, but I actually...well, I wouldn't go so far as to say "had fun"...but something pretty close to that. I'm not really sure why this year suddenly the raw fingers and chemical smell and pumice everywhere didn't bother me--I think it probably had to do with being able to work mindlessly and listen to the Chronicles of Narnia" on tape. Oh yeah, and the money. Money has become very, very precious. I'm even considering working there regularly for a couple of days a week this term. It might be nice to get out of my apartment and do something other than stress about papers that I should be working on, while watch Alias. And did i mention the money?
Labels: beach, Christian sub-culture, grad school
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