in praise of *my* red bicycle.

Over at Copenhagen Cycle Chic they have put up their best post ever-- In Praise of Red Bicycles. In honor of the best bicycle color ever, I took my ♥ beloved Granny Bike, Red Rider and Old Dutch Treat ♥ out for a spin. It was a lovely breezy evening, the air with filled with the fragrance of lilacs and mist from nearby sprinklers. Further proof (as if I needed it) that life is so much prettier when one is on a red omafiat!

more feminism, more thesis. yes, that's all there is for me right now.

Per the usual, I have about eight different things on my mind at once and feel like I'm kind of drowning in all the feelings that have piled up over the course of the day. The highlight of my day was meeting with the woman who now completes my advisory committee-- finally the form that's been on my desk since January can be submitted and this whole thesis operation can assume legitimacy. But she is hardly just a name on a form-- I got to experience the rare privilege of being in the presence of someone I connected with almost immediately. I love it when you find those people-- people who share your interests, people who just seem to get what you're doing and where you're coming from-- I was really impressed. Not only did she give me some great archival leads but she gave me some helpful perspective as to how I might approach my work.

I try to divorce myself from what I do as much as possible; I try not to impose my own feminism on the ladies I study and to strive for the futile objectivity that every post-modernist is supposed to pursue and I don't really think to feel anything about it or really to even form any opinions about the subject. My new committee woman pointed out the emotiveness of the whole ERA struggle and urged me to think about, as I work, how what I read effects me. So of course when I headed down to Special Collections at the library later in the day and noticed that I was slogging through a bunch of documents from NOW and court depositions and the like with my usual air of detachment, I caught myself and really started to look at what was in front of me-- which seemed so apparently irrelevant to what I was supposed to be pursuing. It was this huge moment of clarity-- it was like I finally got a sense of what it was like to be there, on the ground, and what a crushing disappointment the whole business of the ERA must've been for women who spent years fighting for it-- it hit me like thousands of little pinpricks as all their dashed hopes seemed laid out before me. Obviously, it wasn't all done in vain, but still it still made me sad. It made me want to work harder to understand the opposition. Anyways, interesting experience for my first day in the archives.

But the more uplifting part of my day-- the meeting I was in-- had another really awesome component, which is this: being in the presence of really powerful women just sends me into a feminist euphoria. I forget how much I need face time with those kind of examples! I pity my poor co-worker who had to listen to me babble incoherently about it afterwards, so for once I'll spare you, but trust me, it was awesome.

paddling up shit creek. or not.

So a couple of weeks ago I emailed the leader of a very powerful branch of a conservative womens activist group that I just happen to be doing my thesis on. According to my adviser, I was perhaps a bit audacious in asking her, in the first line, for access to her organization's records. I never heard back. I was starting to lose sleep over it. Finally on Tuesday I dug deep into the interwebs and found her phone number in a pdf on like, the fifth google search page. Of course, I was too scared to actually call that day, and decided to wait until Wednesday. Wednesday I finished Pedestals & Podiums and was of course in no condition to do history because of the author's emphatic epilogue about how so.many.Mormon.women. have gone inactive because of the Church's policies on women and attitudes towards feminism. I just felt so sad inside. So today, finally, I bit the bullet and made the phone call. I was still really scared, because naturally the last thing I want is a negative response, but sometimes something is better than nothing, right? I mean hello I have to sleep at night.

Anyways, the woman recognized me from my email and is like, oh sorry I didn't write back, but... (and the caps are all me filtering this as I'm listening)
WE DON'T HAVE ANY RECORDS.

What?!

Yep. It turns out I am doing an organizational history on an organization that allegedly doesn't hold onto stuff. It's not a huge deal-- THIS IS WHAT ORAL HISTORY IS FOR, PEOPLE*-- and the feminists held onto a lot of the materials my people put out-- but I have to admit my whole bike ride home from work, I kept muttering to myself in disbelief-- "No records! No records!!!" in this really aghast tone-- argh! And of course I started conjuring up images in my head of these cackling old Relief Society grandmas wearing frumpy cotton dresses (the kind with doilies at the neck) and sensible shoes from Stein Mart dancing around the flames of a bonfire they conjured up somewhere outside of Provo to thwart my attempt at making them subject to the demands and interpretations and judgments of history. But now we know the truth-- these ladies are above history!-- I think as I watch hidden in the sagebrush. More cackling, followed by refreshments served after they thank Carol for doing the centerpieces...

Ok, that's taking it a bit far... they probably just didn't sense their own historocity. But still, tell me you wouldn't be caught up in that daydream if you were me! Anyways, this woman did consent to an interview, and was gracious, even if it was perhaps the longest eighty-three seconds of my life. I'm not really sure what to make of this whole "no records" thing (though now you know what I'd like to make of it) but fortunately I have enough of the requisite sense of adventure found in historians to feel kind of excited about this ultimate test of my archival sleuthy-ness and oral history prowess.



*talk about instant argument for my "why oral history is useful in the intermountain west" paper! Handed to me on a frigging platter!!!

words of wisdom.

Conversation with Emeritus Director at work today:

ED: Now remember my advice...
Me: Stay out of jail?
ED: No. Don't riot when you're alone, it's just undignified.

Noted. Best work grandpa ever.

happy tomato.

And yet another embroidery project takes shape...

journey beyond the zion curtain.

As a matter of personal policy, I try to avoid Provo. It's nothing personal, it just weirds me out and the gas expenditure leaves me racked with guilt. But alas from time to time I simply have to go down there, usually for a much needed library book or just to be social. In last night's case, I hadn't really seen anybody this week beyond my coworker or my roommates, so getting out trumped basically any reservations I have about going down there. I had originally intended to blog about how awesome and entertaining the new Chronicles of Narnia movie is (Prince Caspian is H-O-T! Go see it!) but then my buddy took me to an awesome little place called Sammy's that deserves some serious blog love.

Sammy's is a cool little hamburger place filled with bar stool seating and all the standard acoutrements required for their genre. However, the way they do it is unreal. I recall this little edited-down chat I had with the owner, Sammy:

S: How's everything?
M: This is the best milkshake I've ever had. It's so creamy.
S: We put fresh whipped cream in them.
M: (Starts to weep little foodie tears of joy inside)

Their sweet potato fries are also amazing, and are of course served with plenty of fry sauce. I didn't do it, but you can also get your milkshake with a slice of pie mixed in. Basically they take anything you could have wanted in a little hamburger place and make it better-- at a beautifully low price. And they are open until 2am! If there was anything that was ever wasted on the teetotalers of P-town, Sammy's is it. Best incentive to go down to the Rival School for research *ever*.

i've got my work cut out for me.

Like all pretentious people, I like to consider myself reasonably well read. You know, I took all the obligatory AP and Honors English classes that pretentious people tend to take, and my summer reading lists have generally been guided my own pretentious desire to stack my bookshelves with books that would clearly identify me as well read. Well somebody somewhere authoritatively-- pretentiously-- made a list of the top 1001 books and even got a New York Times story about the list, so clearly the pretentious people at the NYT think this list has some kind of street cred.* It's not in numerical order, but I bet Big Brother would be pleased to see #301 is on the list, amongst others. I myself was validated in my pretentiousness by the presence of #242. Anyways, here's how I fared:

I've read 24 of the 1001 books.
I seen the movie versions of 9 of the books, and 1 is in my Netflix queue.
I've started 9 of the books but never finished them but probably got a nice nap out of the effort.
I would have read ~8 more if I wouldn't have taken advanced English classes in high school (verses the 2 from those classes that made the list).
My scores were greatly inflated by the presence of most (if not all) of the Jane Austen library.**
I will probably continue being pretentious, as I feel entitled to it.***

How did you fare?


*Tone of the article: "Two potent factors make “1001 Books” (published in the United States in 2006 by Universe; $34.95) compelling: guilt and time. It plays on every serious reader’s lingering sense of inadequacy. Page after page reveals a writer or a novel unread, and therefore a demerit on the great report card of one’s cultural life. Then there’s that bullying title, with its ominous allusion to the final day when, for all of us, the last page is turned." I read the list before I read the article and agree with the author of the article that the list author must have an Ian McEwan fetish. Also, bonus points to the article author for referencing currywurst, one of the world's most magical treats ever-- the mere mention of it sends me into a fit of nostalgia for little wurst trailers in a variety of German towns and cities. I might have to read that book just for shits and giggles. There really is nothing better than a currywurst on a cold day.

**I forgot to include her for the movies, so that makes the movies score more like fifteen and is probs pushing 20 if you include all the respective versions of Pride and Prejudice that I've seen, much less own. Also, listmakers street cred is seriously undermined by including the one where the cousins fall in love. Blech.

***which means I will continue to ask the waitress if "the nachos are forthcoming" because I will not be humbled! I am still too proud of myself for finishing War and Peace, the major victory of the winter of 2006-2007 and perhaps my whole life.

Picture at top can be found here. J'adore Christopher David Ryan's work.

i'm going back to 7-11 tomorrow.

So tonight I am enjoying a roommate free evening (they are in Yellowstone... I think they will make it back as the food they were taking literally took up half our living room floor) which means I am becoming hip by watching videos on MTV (which I haven't done since, oh, 1997) while sucking down a Cherry-Limeade slurpee mixed with something that rhymes with Smirnoff (the ultimate utility beverage!). Anyways, whilst on my musical journey into unfettered coolness and slurpeetasticness, I happened upon this video. I will buy this song* on iTunes based purely on the fact that I must support any band attacked by confetti and unicorns and rainbows during their studio recording process. Simply amazing. Like if I made a video, this is what it would be, though without the lip piercing because that just looks like it hurts.**



Really, what a treat. And I not just talking about the video.

*"Death to Los Campesinos!" by Los Campesinos... whom incidentally I have found out are Welsh, and not farmers but university students. I was really hoping they were playing mariachi music on MTV these days but alas no love... but at the same time there was love because there were unicorns. OMG I am so pathetically bored, it has finally come to this. Fuck it. I have to get a second job.

**And here I thought my video would be "Mo' Money, Mo Problems." Man things are really changing in America, and I am not just talking about the rapid increase in the cost of gas or our national displeasure with leadership (btw... I am so going to Rocky's protest on Wednesday... because I have nothing else to do :P). Yah that doesn't make anysense.

***Oh and while you're reading the notes, you will notice (you _will_ notice!!!) that Cycle Chic posted on Dutch bikes today... represent! woot!) Also, I love that they titled the post "Dutch treat" and will maybe have to start introducing my bike as an "Old Dutch Treat." That also sounds like the makings of a good anonymous email address, or maybe perhaps even a license plate holder that says, "My other car is an Old Dutch treat." Heh. Heh. Heh.

****also, I wonder when it became a legitimate activity to do flat punk covers of "Bloody Sunday." I mean really what is this world fucking coming too. Further reinforcing the previous **.

i am so lazy i don't even write real posts anymore.

"I think most people who maintain blogs are doing it for some of the same reasons I do: they like the idea that there’s a place where a record of their existence is kept — a house with an always-open door where people who are looking for you can check on you, compare notes with you and tell you what they think of you. Sometimes that house is messy, sometimes horrifyingly so. In real life, we wouldn’t invite any passing stranger into these situations, but the remove of the Internet makes it seem O.K. Of course, some people have always been more naturally inclined toward oversharing than others. Technology just enables us to overshare on a different scale."

--Emily Gould on why people blog . I agree, more or less, but I try to temper the overshare. Really. Though you know, I find I have a lot less to write about since I achieved some kind of weird and unfamiliar equilibrium with my roommates and like, got regulated and de-stressed and everything. I mean, I could tell you about all the stuff I've been up to while I hang out with myself, but that sounds so loser-y.

Read this. Then listen to this. Laugh. Feel guilty for mocking people. Wonder where you can get some sunglasses like that. Repeat.

This makes me happy. Not because I have ever cared about American Idol or even watched it (I recognize those two things aren't mutually exclusive) but come on! Ben Stiller, Jack Black and Robert Downey Jr. make excellent Pips.

One of these days, I am going to write an actual post. For reals. In the mean time, this song is stuck in my head AGAIN so I'm finally linking it. Argh. must.find.something.else.to.listen.to. (beware, it is offensive, but oh so fun to blast on the way to the Wal-Mart in west Salt Lake.)

Oh and btw, this is a great way to kill time. I recommend inputing the names of ex-boyfriends to current sorta but not-boyfriends or favorite beverages or perhaps your own name and why you are better than a squirrel, a chicken mcnugget etc. Not that I have done this. And not that I would tell you if I had because that would be a total overshare.

the best show you aren't watching.

Weeds. I know you aren't watching it because everyone I know is too cheap for Showtime or lives somewhere where they can't get it and well, I just don't think you are watching it because nobody ever talks about its greatness. The only other I person I know who watches it is the professor who recommended it to me, and now that I have watched two seasons of it over the course of something shy of a week, I am completely sucked in.*

Anyways, you should be watching it because who doesn't want to watch a strong widowed suburban mother deal with the day to day dramas of being a drug dealer? Especially as the shit hits the fan with a little more force with each successive episode? Sure beats all those frigging uninventive hospital shows out there. The third season comes out on dvd on June 3rd and I am in complete suspense... what on earth will I do until then? Oh... that's right. Research. And reading about doubting polygamists. I love summer!



*Ah, the glories of instant streaming through my Netflix account.

because i can no longer handle reading, all you get are links to pictures.

Food carving slide show... you know you want to see a poodle made out of broccoli.

People happy that they can get married... most joyful slide show ever?

I haven't actually read the story... but c'mon, Prince Harry!!!! Look!!!!

More food carvings, but crazier.

ralph becker loves bikes.

That's Mayor Ralph Becker there in the middle. He is a big proponent of institutional bicycle love (which explains our eagerness to be photographed with him, of course).* The Saltcycle people have posted some awesome pics on their Flickr stream... the granny bike makes a few appearances. Nice to go out and get some local bike culture on a lovely evening.

*this image apppears courtesy of Ralph Becker's people at the "Get your picture taken with the Mayor" booth at the UTA Bike Bonanza or whatever that thing last night at Gallivan Plaza was.

random goodies.

"The thing with me is I am smart-- and I'm self smarted." Tee-hee. *

Just in case you are looking for a vintage system of marital merits and demerits, click here.

The New York Times is offering "A Guided Tour of Your Body." Heh. That sounds so dirty.

And finally, PhD Comics once again validates the realities of my life:



*hat-tip to John for the link.

this is your desk on vacation.

So I'm a pretty regular reader of Apartment Therapy but I seldom do any on my own because I consider my digs pretty temporary. I love to think about the potential of being grounded a bit for my PhD in large part because hopefully that will mean sleeping on something larger than a twin bed, getting a furry little pet and never having to smell frog legs boiling away in my house ever again. I know, I am dreaming really, really big.

Nonetheless, I do have some obligation to my own sanity and that means my desk couldn't stay like it was. So I went to Ikea and bought the fortune teller lamp (kudos to my sister-in law for the name) and it was all good times from there. Excuse me while I have a vain moment of "look, I'm making progress!" as I bask in the surreal glow of the world's most awesome $12.99 lamp:

omg i love john edwards.

Oh for shit's sake. I'd just finished watching "Election" after a long hard day of my roommates accidentally breaking my cool old wooden bowl and working and whatever and was kinda agreeing with Tracy Flick about how you have to be lonely to be successful (fortunately I have a bottle of wine and Bridget Jones' Diary to convince me otherwise... later) when alas I turn on the news for the first time in about a million years AND JOHN EDWARDS IS ON TV.

So I'm like-- as I throw down the Pringles and the craft project and commune with my teevee set-- OMG I LOVE JOHN EDWARDS. And what is he doing? Endorsing Obama. Now of course you know all of the things that I can say no to-- chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, macaroni and cheese, snuggling with cute little babies, throwing pencils in class-- and honestly I had to exercise some of my famous restraint because well, OMG I LOVE JOHN EDWARDS. And like, if JE was starting some kind of Southern Populist Cult for People with Good Hair, I would probably join, not because I have good hair but because OMG I LOVE EDWARDS. But I swear I was all like, "give me like 8 seconds more of this populist rant and I will sport an Obama t-shirt."

And then the pundits started talking about how strategically perfect the timing of the endorsement was and for a second I got this image in my mind of scorned Tracy standing up too soon in the gym and I knew, I just knew that at that very moment, somewhere, Hillary is looking very, very scorned. It made me sad because at the same time I really didn't like that Tracy ended up winning. That thought really only makes sense if you've seen Election or saw Slate's no longer posted video comparing Tracy and Hillary. Oh well.

I don't know how to feel about any of this. And I am still very upset about my bowl.

secret boyfriends and mexican coke.

Some weeks ago, my Secret Boyfriend presented me with a bottle of Mexican Coke. That's one of the perks of relationships; when you find yourself with an inconvenient abundance of something, like say banana bread or valentines or something, you give it to your significant other and suddenly your unwanted bounty becomes a Gift representative of the Cornucopia of Your Affections laden with all this Meaning undoubtedly showing your s.o. that you are so much more than fussy and that your vocabulary goes so much deeper than the usual endless stream of profanity and bitching-- with a Gift, you speak The Language of... well, you get it because this is how it is. So it was with the Mexican Coke, which I of course stored in the fridge for a special occasion.

Time passes, and of course with the commencement of summer, Secret Boyfriend leaves and with this leaving becomes Former-Secret-Boyfriend-Who-Is-Now-Just-A-Friend-Who-Calls-
Periodically-And-We-Both-Still-Care-but-We've-Agreed-to-See-Other-
People. You know how it goes, right? Well anyways, he left, leaving me to ponder terms such as "Spring Fling" with discomfort as I realize how caught up I was in everything that was going on at the time. In the wake of something so monumental as a Secret Boyfriend-- hey, after a dry spell of impressive magnitude, such language seems appropriate, though inflated-- I have worked to quell any lingering longings by keeping the company of an immensely lovable two-year-old performance artist or listening to alternative music or This American Life or really anything that kills my over active inner monologue, like having a Screwdriver while I do a craft project on the airplane. Because of course, this is what you do.

So anyways, I finally found myself drinking this Mexican Coke tonight, amidst a stillness that can only be achieved when alone at work at 11:12pm on a Tuesday in an empty 100 year old building. I noticed everything about it-- the way the bubbles seemed tinier and finer, the way the Coke left the same corrosive grit on my teeth but had this sweet finish at the end. Mexican Coke is subtitled "refresco" on the label and I couldn't help but feel like for the first time Coke felt light enough to genuinely and honestly be called refreshing.

Secret Boyfriends are like Mexican Coke. You keep it to yourself, hoping that nobody has noticed it's there. You have no expectations of it really, until after a while you do. You worry that somebody will steal it for themselves. You savor it but you wonder about the consequences. You delight in its use of the metric system, and in drinking it-- experiencing it-- you find yourself realizing that you have never, ever enjoyed Coke like this. You know that at some point, somebody will offer you a regular Coke and it won't be quite the same. And that's ok, because by then your inner cynicism will be restored and you will be emphatically saying how you hate Coke and that it's personal policy that you avoid Coke at all costs, because all Coke will ever do is break your heart...

*ends metaphor before it gets out of hand*
*goes to bed*

done-zo.

Well, I did it. One year of grad school down, seven or eight to go! In a blaze of intellectual glory (please, pretend with me) I finally cranked out the last pesky, lingering paper and can now indulge in some sentiments that have been dormant for the last two painfully crazy weeks-- bust out the tissues folks-- you know, now I can go on and on about what a great year it's been and everything I've learned and all the awesomeness that's ensued since I loaded all my crap into my Honda to seek wide open spaces, room to make to big mistakes, blah...blah... blah... or I could watch "Muppet Treasure Island" with the cute niece squad.

I love how easy decision making is when there's no homework to do. Cheers!

it's come to this.

Are you tired of writing and rewriting a seemingly endless pile of treatises on womens history?

Do you long for the simple days when all you had to do for work was show up to a meaningless job you hated and put in nine long hours?

Have you consumed so much Diet Dr. Pepper and coffee today that you are on the fast track to an ulcer?

Cease your miserable lamentations! Try S'mores--
gentle on the belly and good for the soul!

rip-off vegetable soup.

This only looks unappetizing because you haven't tried it yet, sucka!

For dinner one night during my recent camping trip, I had a can of Progresso vegetable soup. I thought it was pretty tasty and of course returned to civilization with a yearning in my belly for more tasty soup. It might have been easier just to go to the store and grab a can, but it occurred to me that soup would be the perfect way to use up my veggies before I travel this weekend and to make a dent in my stockpile of frozen vegetables before they get freezer burn. Yes, I really do have this problem.

Here is more or less what I came up with, though in retrospect I have eliminated about eighteen steps from the process. What's awesome about soup is that before I trave; tomorrow, I can freeze it and enjoy this soup again and again without having to eat it every day for two weeks. Soup is a miracle solution to the food waste issues of a single person.

Disclaimer: all measurements are complete approximations and should really be read as "to taste." I like my food uber-potent so that comes out here. Tone it down if you like your food bland and lame. See if I care! This soup is all about doing whatever you want anyways.

Rip-Off Vegetable Soup

1/2 box rotini pasta

1 can condensed tomato soup

2 tablespoons italian seasoning

~1 1/2 cups chicken stock (vegetable stock would probably work too) (this will make your soup so savory... seriously don't settle for water)

Whatever veggies you have about the house (I used 1 1/2 roma tomatoes, 4 red potatoes, about 1 cup each frozen corn and peas, and close to a cup of baby carrots) (Green beans would be good too)

salt and pepper to taste (remember: if you want to be a good cook, use some more salt; if you want to be a great cook, use a lot*) (pretty much with every step I just shake some salt on there)

1. Boil pasta. Toss in fresh carrots at the halfway mark.

2. Meanwhile, cook & strain your frozen veggies in a fashion pleasing to you.

3. Cook up soup and chicken stock and cubed tomatoes with italian seasoning in a big pot.
Use the stock instead of the water. Don't worry if it looks runny-- it will cook off a bit and the potatoes will eventually thicken it up. Yay starch!

4. Cook potatoes in microwave and cut into pleasant little chunks. Add potatoes and veggies and noodles to soup. Stir vigorously.

5. Taste your soup. You might add a 1/4 or so of Newman's Own Marinara sauce for more tomato flavor (any kind of tomato sauce would probably work). If it's not quite flavorful enough, add some more stock or salt or italian seasoning or whatever sounds good.

6. Crank your stove to high and boil until your soup looks hot and thick and so yummy.

7. Eat. Enjoy. Freeze your leftovers. Feel self-satisfied because for the cost of one can of soup you made yourself like, four cans. You show that recession who's the boss!


*Even Jesus talked about the merits of salt. Do not underestimate its power!

better a virtual vagina, i suppose, than none at all.*

Good thing I would rather spend what little money I have on booze and ice cream than support patriarchy by going to the movies.



*title comes from the article. genius.

look at what you missed out on.

If you aren't in Salt Lake today, I feel so sorry for you. If you are in Salt Lake and don't have a bike, I also feel sorry for you. The weather today is unreal-- sunny and hovering at 75 degrees (weather perfection, in my book)-- perfect for shorts and flip flops. There is nothing like feeling the warm wind on my legs while coasting down a hill. During the winter, a ride down the hill made me feel naked; during the spring, the ride makes me wish that I was.

Some scenes I saw on this magical day:

Cute puppeh! I think he wants to come live with me. Too bad he won't fit in my basket so I can live out my Miss Gulch fantasies.

Bike carnage outside the library. Heartbreaking and astoundingly typical.

The fragrance of this flowering tree greets you as exit the bikeavator. Magical.

Mysteriously wet sidewalks.

My lower limbs, freed from the torture of wool, denim and closed toed shoes.

because i care about your needs.

Stephen Colbert in a dance off with a Korean pop star.

I don't know what's better, the dancing or the red jeans. Heck yes-- there are red jeans in that video clip. Click at your own risk. Colbert makes them look impressively legit.

san rafael swell's greatest hits.

Wedge Overlook

So I am trying to dig myself out of the leftover debris of the semester... namely five loads of laundry and some unfinished class stuff, which means it's as good a time as ever to post about my camping trip in Southern Utah. We drove all over the frigging San Rafael Swell, saw tons of cool scenery (who knew there were so many variations on rocks? and so many colors other than brown in the desert?) and ate a shit ton of smores. You would not believe how much land the Bureau of Land Management just has out there, waiting to be camped on. Anywho, I am back and grateful for running water, toilets, and alone time. Here are some of my fave pictures:

Buckhorn Wash

Goblin ValleyRandom cute little desert flower

i am the fun committee.

Straight up.

fierce.

This is how I feel right now. Can I please be done?

Picture from here.

i'm still working hard, i promise.

Really. I interrupt my regular intensive German translation programming to bring you the most magical song I have heard in a long time. And not only because the lyrics are so incredibly catchy and fabulous. Oh who am I kidding, that's exactly why I love it. I mean come on: "I don't give a hoot about what you think"? Genius.

Weezer: "Pork and Beans."

And when you listen to it, bob your head and smile and dance a little.

Ok, so what if that's what I'm doing right now. Getting back to the German...

bigger than my britches.

Yah, I know I should be working on like, the bazillion things technically due tomorrow, and I will get to them, honestly (AND I will make it to the Humanities Graduation! boo-yah!). Admittedly the barrage of good news this week has left me with an impressive lack of urgency in wrapping up my semester (I'm not really sure how there's a correlation). As many know, not only did I get official affirmation of my assistantship for next year (and a raise for the summer!--probably to make up for all the hours not worked this semester) but I found out that I got accepted to an oral history seminar at the RivalSchoolThatMustNotBeNamed that includes (!) getting published in a book (it's like I start freaking out--in a good way-- every time I think about this and a big inevitable smile crosses my face) (talk about the most money writing sample for PhD applications ever) (excuse my boastfulness, this is all just really, really affirming). So yah, I got my big break this week. Excuse me if I stop to savor it oh, every ten minutes or so.

But I assure you that my laziness is not cocky-ness.

You know why? Because I just cozied up with my Oral History Association newsletter (I am so proud of myself for joining! I feel so legit now!) and some of the people accepted to my seminar were interviewed for their role in doing a 150 person interview project.* Holy shitbuckets!** Featured in the national newsletter! Now I admit that after I googled everybody who got into the conference-- and I'm the only MA student and one of 3 students admitted-- but the more I get a feel for the caliber of people going to the seminar, the more out of my league I feel. I mean cool, I got accepted, but shit, now I have to produce a paper for these really accomplished people with research I have yet to do. It's daunting. Really daunting. And humbling-- the uncomfortable kind of humbling that makes you want to crawl under the desk. It's like the strangest and most potent combination of ego-boost and self-doubt I think I've ever experienced.

But, as I say all the freaking time, grad school is a confidence game, and I can only benefit from playing up to their skill level, right?

*that is an pretty huge project. I'm hoping for 10 for the conference paper and 20 for the thesis and that's pretty good size, at least for one person.

**that's the word of the week... it emerged in a fit of pseudo-Tourettes road rage on Monday and has yet to go away (the word, that is--the road rage is long gone).