January 2005 Archives

I just altered the user admin settings on ReserveWeb so that it says "Welcome to ReserveWeb Administration, Almighty Ruler!" when I logon.

Last night I did finish Jonathan Strange. It was 10 o'clock, and I felt I needed something to shake off the fairy dust. So I picked up my library copy of Strunk & White (incidentally, that link is to the full text on Bartleby.com--didn't even know Strunk was online) and read the first 25 pages. I had only ever flipped through this, never really read it. I am in love with William Strunk, Jr.
Through most of the first 25 pages, I can smugly pat myself on the back and think, "Yeah. I know that. Totally with you, Bill." But occasionally there is that terrifying moment when I come upon a rule that I forget to follow or that I remember having broken before.

If I'm going to drum up a writing sample for my application to grad school (still haven't pulled out my old floppy disks to search for an undergrad paper), I will need to beat my old self into shape.

Oh, who is this idiot? At the bottom of the page is "Anderson's addenda." I assume this is just a professor giving his students allowances, but really. Indefinite singular pronouns? Fuck that noise. Annoys me almost as much as when people say "between you and I."

God, I don't know how many pages I've scanned today. Classes start tomorrow, which means that all the professors come to me with their electronic reserves. (Never mind that the "deadline" was January 3rd. Some of them come in with apology upon apology, and I have to keep from saying, "It's all right. I fully expected all of you to ignore the deadline. This is, to be sure, Bard." Instead I leave it at "It's all right." Whatever, it's fine. It's what I'm here for. Also, as the daughter of a professor, I can appreciate the power of the ever-changing syllabi.)

I am horrified with how much paper the Reserve Office uses. Never mind the photocopies coming in to be scanned for ReserveWeb. Those are returned to the professors, and who knows whether they recycle. But then there are all the print-outs I have to make, and then toss. ReserveWeb forms, old archived reserve lists, the CD list, the video list.... I feel I should go to environmental confession. I try, God knows I try, to conserve paper as much as possible. That's why I've started printing our reserve lists to PDF and storing them on the hard drive, rather than printing them on paper and binding them, etc., at the end of semester as we used to. But still. I will blind myself with reading things on the computer screen. Help me.

***

I am 70 pages shy of finishing Jonathan Strange, finally. That's 790 (or thereabouts) pages of pure joy, there. And I don't even like fantasy. But then, fantasy doesn't usually take place in the reign of George III. Now I have to figure out what to read next. I do have a pile of Graham Greene waiting in a paper bag in my living room. Perhaps I'll finally finish Power and the Glory? That's an idea.

• Removed threaded comments. Only rarely works, and, frankly, I'll never need them. Nobody comments anyway (sniff, sniff, pity, pity).
• My new host rocks. I send in support tickets and within minutes the problem is fixed. I want to marry my host.

It's been extremely, extremely cold in the Reserves Office. I have been forced to wear my coat on a number of occasions.

Today, at lunch, Toni (AKA The Wonderful) told me that she found out that her heater in the lower level does not turn on automatically. When we got back to the library, she showed me how to turn it on. I went back up to the 3rd floor, removed the grate on our vent, and found the hidden switch to turn that bad boy heat ON. And now, for the first time in a long time, there's some hot air coming out of our vents. I love everything.

But this also makes me just a little annoyed. Who was the frigging genius who made turning the heat on so counter-intuitive? You have to physically lift up a grate (one of three, in our case) and then reach in to turn some moldy old dial to your setting of choice.

Anyway, I feel like a lot of time has been wasted shivering. Screw that.

Is it Studs TERK-el or Studs Terk-EL? Because I have always said Studs Terk-EL, and was once ridiculed by my peers for doing so. But, considering my peers are all 20-something little wise-asses, and I have heard it said my own way by much older and wiser beings, I take this with a grain of salt. But really, which is it? I am open to being wrong. I just don't want to be afraid anymore.

Changed hosts once again. Turns out Movable Type was banned on the last host's servers. Who knew? Anyway, I was within my first 30 days of service, so I should be getting my money back.

Nice thing is, my new host is the kind that I usually just really can't afford. But they had a hosting special, sort of like a cell phone plan, where the charge is cheaper per month the longer your contract is for. So, the upshot is, I've got a TON of disk space on this bad boy and a TON of data transfer. What this means? More Jake Monstrosity. Maybe this weekend.

Maybe.

Toni and I left for Philly on Saturday and came back on Monday. It was fantastic seeing Patrick and Jaren again, after 2.5 years of nada. Figured out that the last time I saw Patrick was directly after commencement, when we said hi and bye and he met Nina for a moment. P & J are funny, funny people. Went to the Academy of Natural Sciences and looked at the stuffed animals in the dioramas. Their dead, dead eyes. Wise cracks such as "It's not right that they keep these in captivity, you know" ensued. Jaren got into the live animal show before P, T, and I wandered inside ourselves, and she was witness to a small boy raise his hand, while the keeper was showing them a type of duck, and say, "This show is making me sleepy!"

T and I drove home yesterday, but first stopped off at Target so that she could get new curtains and I could get a measuring tape and batteries. Because, you know, this is the most important thing for me to buy right now. No, not food. I LIKE being hungry in the morning at work.

When I came to my parents' house last night after Target, Nina and Lucy were there. They told me that Looch could now say Aunt Sara. This apparently involves her stretching her mouth out and saying, in a Danny-from-The-Shining kind of way, "Ah-yah-yah-yah-yah" or "Ah-ba-ba-ba-ba." It was cuter than everything ever. And then the blood came flowing out of the elevator and dad went nuts, etc etc etc.

1. Joined Netflix, on a trial basis. This is my very exciting news. I may cancel my account if I find that I can't keep up with the movie watching. I barely have time to hammer NAILS into the WALLS of my APARTMENT in order to hang PICTURES because I never get to BE in my apartment. If this continues, no paying $18 a month just to watch 3 movies. The thing that does excite me about this is what I've put in my queue! The first thing I went for: the entire first season of Xena: Warrior Princess. Don't yell, I'm just trying to re-live a dear part of my past. I can re-create the golden days of yore, when I was fourteen and watched a helluva lot of the WB on Saturday. First Hercules, then Xena. Try to shut out the negative comments of those who would wander into the TV room. "Why do you watch this crap?" I associate Xena with Chef Boyardee and nights when Nina and I would have the house to ourselves while our parents were out at a dinner party. Actually, this was one specific night. Best Night Ever, in fact. We watched Xena, Buffy, and I forget what else, but the important thing is that every show was the Best Ever. And oh my god, when Callisto goes back in time to save her family from Xena, and she ends up killing them herself! Holy crap! That wasn't season 1, though. Probably season 18-- [This item cut short. Too much geek.]
2. Going to Philly tomorrow with Toni to visit Patrick and Jaren. Road trip. Yeah! I'm bringing Monster Ballads. Tonight I have to pick out CDs.

I ordered two Cinquemani sweatshirts for my sisters for Christmas. It's all right. I'm not giving away a secret. I already told me they were getting them when I hadn't received the shipment from Neighborhoodies ON CHRISTMAS. They were both very excited, having often admired my own sweatshirt.

The sweatshirts still haven't come, though I paid for mega rush delivery. I e-mailed Neighborhoodies about it last week, as a preliminary step to calling and laying the smack down. I've dealt with them before. Their employees must all be in the 18-24 range. When my last sweatshirt came, there was a postcard inside with a handwritten (ballpoint impression and everything) note in blue ink saying, "Awesome sweatshirt, Sara! Hope you totally rock it!" or something akin. Surrounded by wonky stars and perhaps some hearts too. (Deep down, I'd like to think that this was written by an underprivileged immigrant factory worker somewhere in Brooklyn, who has been painstakingly trained to imitate the ways of an American adolescent.)

So when I saw that there was a reply to my very courteous, hip, colloquial inquiry into the matter of these missing sweatshirts, I was very curious what the response would actually be. I would like to say that it was, "Dude. Duude. DUDE. DUUUUUUUDE. I'm sorry about your missing sweatshirts. We fucked up. We fucked up bad." Instead, it was something more like my courteous, hip, colloquial inquiry. "So sorry about this!" Something about refunding the shipping charges. I haven't heard much since.

But the guy's signature does have "viva indie fashion!" in it. God, if I had known this was INDIE fashion....

***

The other day I was watching VH1. There was a show where they took Nikki Sixx of Motley Crue and made him over for some comeback/reunion show. This reminded me of a guy I knew when I was in middle school. His name was Eric, and he was probably about 4 or 5 years older. He was on my bus route, and I used to sit with him all the time. Eric was pretty much the last person on my bus route I was ever friends with. He was a really really nice guy, and unfortunately graduated while I was in junior high. The odd thing was that he was friends with me (and by friends, I mean, he teased me like a bratty little sister -- there was nothing untoward in this) but not with my sister, who was his age, more or less. I vaguely remember noticing that he seemed a little embarrassed around her, either because a) he liked her and she was, well, a nice, smart, pretty, popular girl and, in his mind, out of his league, or b) he knew he was considered, by her, a friend of her BABY SISTER'S.
Eric was a metal head and had long, straight blond hair. As I remember it, very Aryan. His little brother was my age, but that guy (can't remember his name, no matter how much I try) was totally too cool for me, especially once we got to high school.

One day, on the bus, I sat down in a seat in the back. A few minutes later, Eric climbed aboard, went to the back, and sat down next to me. He looked depressed. Said, "Motley Crue broke up today."

I saw Eric once after he graduated. I was at UCCC for some workshop or other in I think 8th Grade, maybe 9th. He was walking down the steps outside of the library. I assume he was going to UCCC. He recognized me and stopped to say hello. I was shy and awkward, as 13-year-olds usually are, especially around 19 year old guys. I didn't have much to say. He was still as nice as ever, though. Had cut his hair. I would say he patted me on the head when he walked on, but he really didn't.

Thank you, Nikki Sixx, for that wonderful memory. I'll cherish it for-never.

Correction: Not Nikki Sixx. Vince Neil. I am an idiot.

Maybe I'm crazy, but I've almost decided that I'll start my MA in English in Fall 2005. True, my life will be a living hell for a number of years, but at least I'll have my self-respect. So, New Paltz here I come. Or maybe not. I'm still not absolutely decided. Will driving to N.P. after work two nights a week break me? Will reading a shitload break me? Being judged by academics again, will this break me? These are things I must consider.

But a couple weeks ago, I was reading in bed, and suddenly (wherefore I know not) I remembered this old plan I had for getting my MA. The thought gave me such joy that I'm now almost convinced my heart is telling me to do it as well as my head. I'm still leaving it open for both to curse me in the end, however.

In addition: why do I get this feeling that I graduated from Bard without knowing a goddamn thing? I was a writing major. I didn't have to read.

Which is why I stand before you now, having read not much other than Dickens and Graham Greene.

Incidentally, right now I'm in the thick of Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, a good 780 + change pages of Victorian fantastical joy. I recommend it to anyone who likes fantasy (mild) and the Victorians (heavy). Also, anyone who likes to read 800-page novels, as I do.

1. Changed hosts, which is why things will be messed up until I can get everything up and running again.
2. Cancelled Chinqwamania and am allowing the domain to expire. Feel free to buy up the domain name and satirize my pathetickitude.

Got tired of finding that inadequately had gone down, contacting my host support, then not hearing from them until a day later when the site was back up. Response: "Your site seems fine. There is no server down." Yeah, thanks buddy. So I'm changing hosts. In a couple days, everything will disappear, before appearing once again. Like a phoenix rising from its ashes.

Christmas Eve

... was great. As usual. Lots of feeling good about family. Lots of, you know, warmth and togetherness. Watched Return of the King extended edition with my mother till 2 AM, when we could no longer stay awake. That Mouth of Sauron addition sure is Christmassy.

Christmas

Frankly, I don't remember Christmas. I believe I slept half the day. My memory really is going. I couldn't remember having gone to my grandparents' on Christmas Eve in 2003. Thought that we had stopped doing that years ago. I only just remembered last year yesterday.

Boxing Day

The day of faraway siblings coming. Nieces and nephews everywhere. Cramped around a table. The threat of everyone getting sick.

The 27th

I think I stayed at my parents' for this one. Did next to nothing?

The 28th

Came by my parents' to help clean for the next wave of visitors, coming that night.

The 29th

More family.

New Year's Eve Eve

Got revenge on my enemies. Prepared to go to Rochester.

New Year's Eve

Literally was about to get up and get ready for the long drive, when it suddenly hit me that I was utterly exhausted and would never survive a 4.5 or more hour trip. This was probably a wise decision, but certainly not a fun one. Call up the 'rents, tell them I'm not going. My whole family breathes a sigh of relief, as they all thought I was going to kill myself on the thruway.

So I ended up going to my parents' for New Year's Eve. Just as I have done for every... New Year's... I... have ever... had. I almost started to cry when everyone suggested we play Shanghai. The card game we always play. Because this is what I need, starting a new year doing the same old shit I always do. Life is crap.

The only good thing I can remember is this:
Dad: Le Francais est ma specialite. [Don't know how to do accents on this computer.]
Mom: Je voudrais barf.

New Year's Day

God, didn't we do this last year?