A Brief Treatise on American Idol

Ryan Seacrest, who at this point is totally phoning in his appearances on American Idol, takes a deep breath and booms out "America voted last night, and Simon, a lot of people were complaining about your harsh criticism."

Okay, here's the thing, gang. I get that it's fun to talk about the results with friends and coworkers, and/or root for your favorite singer. I understand that the producers of this show have totally rigged things up so that heartstrings are tugged and that the maximum tension is felt to the bone. But guys. People actually called up and complained. I'm going to reiterate: People were actually moved enough to feel some sort of emotion, most likely outrage, and physically picked up a phone to call the show and complain. Um... Yeah. IT'S JUST TV.

Why I Haven't Been to the Gym, Although I Truly Should Go

It's pouring outside. Travis and I grimace and hesitate for a moment, but our combined resolve cannot be broken so easily or so soon. We open our umbrellas and begin the ten minute walk to the gym. Normally this is a nice thing, a bit of a brisk beginning to time on the treadmill or the weight bench. The rain is really coming down hard, though, and within minutes our pantlegs are soaked. "My feet are getting wet," Travis complains. "I don't even want to work out anymore. Let's go home." I tell him that no, that we can do it, we're halfway there! We continue.

By the time we get to the gym, my feet are soaked and cold. I hold my umbrella tighter to my head, to keep the water from splashing any further. I look up at the gym, placing my foot on the curb, and slip suddenly. I fall to the ground on my hands and knees, and my poor Guggenheim Bilbao umbrella folds in on itself and snaps in two. My knees are bleeding and my hands are sore and red.

This is a sign from God. "I'm going home." I spend the next ten minutes not on the treadmill, not on the weight bench, but walking home in the pouring rain. Really, isn't that exercise enough?

Dear Mr. President...

One of the most powerful songs I've heard in a long, long time.

Holding Patterns

The past few weeks have sort of blurred into vague replicas of themselves. I go to work, I come home, watch a good/bad movie via Netflix, head to bed by 11:00, and get ready to start it all over again. When Travis is home he shakes things up a little, but he's been traveling a lot for work. A similar holding pattern has blanketed other areas of my life, notably academic. After my blasé visit to the ugliest campus in the world, I sent in my acceptance letter to Stony Brook and am now just waiting for more school information from them before I can decide the next steps.

A couple of notable events have arisen, though. The first is that I'm apparently the most magical temp ever, the likes of which my office has never seen. I am a SuperTemp. The office staff love me to death, and I'm fairly inundated with work. The boss pulled me aside last week and told me she wanted me to work with them until the day before I had to go back to school for my doctorate. This sounds kinda threatening and scary, but in reality it's a happy thing.

The second exciting/scary thing is that we'll be moving in June to a location yet to be determined. Originally, Travis and I planned to continue here in this tiny little 1.5 Bedroom apartment in Astoria after switching the lease over to my name, since Travis' roommate is currently the only name on the lease. Long story short, the office Leasing Lady is the devil in disguise. She hated Travis, hated me, never returned our phone calls, and in general belittled us every step of the way. "I don't think you'll have credit enough to re-apply for the apartment." Gasp! Shock! Anyway, Travis called up the other day and bitched her out up and down the office. He also got her boss in it, who was so apologetic and moved for us. Happy on our moral high ground, we told them we were no longer interested in the apartment. The thing is, there's no way we could deal with that Leasing Agent again, especially after blowing the whistle on her nastiness. So off we go in June! I'll keep everyone posted on the apartment search for Travis, the pickiest boy in the world. Who knows what we'll find?

Regrets

i miss the bees

i miss their honey

i miss them humming

by the flowered vine

my time is short now

i feel it coming
(i see you darling
in the morning light)

lyrics by alt-country songstress Laura Cantrell

SOLD

To you, the young man in the front with no idea how to play! What kind of guitar did you just buy? Oh, you don't know. Is it a good deal? Really, you don't know that either? Well, why did you buy it? Because it's pretty, I see. Well. Ahem. How are you going to learn to play?

Well that's just ridiculous.

[no comment]

via the delightful bello

Stony Brook

This past week, I paid a visit to dear old Stony Brook University, home of the Spanish Department That Loves Me. And, if we're gonna be brutally honest about it, I was a little underwhelmed. First things first, it's a full two-hour train ride out to the University from my humble digs in Astoria. I read my scifi book and kept myself otherwise occupied during the morning ride, but getting up at 7:30 to be at the University by 11:00 wasn't the best beginning to the day. When I got there, I took one look at the campus and cringed. There was scaffolding everywhere, holes dug through the earth as the University apparently tried to catch up somewhat awkwardly to the 21st Century. Apart from the three new buildings that had suffered through modernization, the rest were big brown Lego blocks. Not a pretty sight, coming from the medieval castles and towers of Syracuse.

This is so tremendously negative it's a wonder that I accepted their admissions offer. All that negative is on the outside; it's stuff that doesn't relate to my education or my satisfaction with the department. I was pleased with the size of the department, which was much larger than Syracuse at 30 students, and more evolved. But it was similar to Syracuse -- the students, wide-eyed, warned me about the pressures of teaching and beginning your first semester of grad school. I shrugged a little. I've already been through my first semesters of grad school, and I got through. All was as I expected it to be, apart from the utter bleakness of the campus, so I just felt sort of exhausted and blasé about the experience. I'm sure I'm going to enjoy the University and I'm happy that I get to attend, but there weren't any fireworks, nothing blindingly awful or truly amazing.

And what kind of animal is a seawolf supposed to be?

Natural Talent?

SAGITTARIUS (Nov. 22–Dec. 21): "I always advise people never to give advice," said P.G. Wodehouse. Having seen the wisdom of his counsel, I will from now on fill your horoscopes with poetic and philosophical ruminations about your destiny, but I will never again give advice. There are enough people in this world telling you what you should do. I pledge to make this space your sanctuary. April fool! The truth is, dispensing advice is in my genes. For me to repress it would be like asking Howard Stern to stop being vulgar. Now here's my advice for you: Identify a natural talent that you were born to express. Then take one practical step to bring it into a fuller flowering. [via freewillastrology]

I wanna learn how to play the guitar.

And Finally, an Update

So I've been real absent lately. Sorry about that. I can whine or complain, tell you that working 9 to 5 is unlike anything in the known universe, but I have a feeling that most everyone has already experienced their first foray into the real world. Apparently, though jaunting through the world and living here and there and everywhere, I seemed to miss that bit of growing up. I guess I've always had non-traditional jobs that might require me to work from 3 to 9, or 11 to 7, or some other combination of hours. So how was I to know that the workday that everyone else has to suffer through really sucks? And notice how I begin complaining as soon as I say that I won't?