In defense
Tomorrow I defend for my M.A., so today I’ve been pondering the thought of me and three people way smarter than me in a room for two hours. There is not enough antiperspirant in the world….
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published, um, author?
My comment got published on a blog post on ESPN! It’s not the most brilliant analysis but I think I got points for being succinct.
Broncos woes
ESPN.com and most of the sporting world have been enjoying the tasty morsels of the Jay Cutler–Denver Broncos breakup WHICH, I MIGHT ADD, BREAKS MY HEART. Not only did great players like Nalen and Lynch leave, but they fired Coach Shanahan who’s been the face of the Broncos for almost as long as I’ve been a fan, and then they hired McDaniels who looks like an overgrown frat boy.
Of course, it’s a little hard to trust a former quarterbacks coach who fucks with an elite quarterback and offensive line. And while I think McDaniels is more to blame, I think Cutler has either overplayed his hand for a new contract and/or is taking the diva route (which Shanahan would never have allowed), and frankly I’m mad at both of them because, yeah, I’m a Broncos fan and this doesn’t bode well for our upcoming season.
However, I did smile at one thing: a recent sound-off by Broncos fans on Bill Williamson’s ESPN.com blog had this gem:
“Is Cutler really being the hard headed, immature, unproven, pre madonna quarterback the media makes him out to be?”
Heh. “Pre Madonna.” I love sports fans.
A few notes from San Francisco
- Dude, Cindy Selfe totally logged in on my laptop to check her Google Calendar. (For those of you not in the know, Cindy is to computer and writing scholarship what Judi Dench is to film and stage.) Eep!
- Cindy Selfe and Gail Hawisher came to my apartment to talk about computers and writing with people from my uni. CINDY AND GAIL! AT MY APARTMENT! (See previous metaphor; Gail and Cindy are like the power platonic couple of computers and writing.)
- The theme of this conference is “making waves” (our panel’s presentation is titled “Making .WAVs” and you can thank yours truly for that little play on words), and after two days of presentations, I swear if I hear one more effing thing about waves, someone’s going overboard.
- Tomorrow is my presentation. I’m either going to (1) die, (2) pass out, (3) burst into tears, or (4) a combination of all three. But it’ll all be over soon….
things that are not my home
ticking clock
neighbors yelling through walls
trucks revving engines
pounding concrete stairs
futon
scent of vanilla and burnt carpet
no Trollop
no Husband
WHY MUST IT TICK? WHY?
On commuting
This post dedicated to Hilary and the Ming Dynasty.
Note: Forgetting iPod when you drive two hundred and fifty miles in a day is EPIC TRAGEDY. However, I did learn a lot about stem cells. Thank you, Tom Ashbrook. And I heard a country song, for about the first time…hmm, since the husband and I started sharing a car.
Blech. Too many prefaces. Anyway:
Coming home late and in the dark, I can honestly say that I was kind of surprised when I pulled into the driveway and couldn’t really remember having driven home. Apparently my manufacturing design comes with autopilot?
Also, perhaps not unlike Henry and the caged stairwell in The Time Traveler’s Wife, there’s this one section of road that I despise and fear. It’s coming down the windy road into the river canyon and there’s this reflector that ALWAYS looks like two eyes, gleaming in the darkness. Moreover, just opposite is a dilapidated house that always looks barely occupied — you just know that it’s a wall-eyed madman with a sawed-off shotgun living there. In other words, this is the place that haunts my nightmares, wherein I have car trouble and go to the nearby house for help…and end up running for my life across cacti in a desert. It could happen.
And on second thought, my life really isn't that bad
At least my dad didn’t marry me off at the age of 10 to some asshole who beat and raped me.
For anyone interested in knowing what writing an annotated bib looks like, I give you this snapshot
Not pictured: journal articles and notes (see computer hard drive and/or Google Docs), as well as the piles of dirty coffee cups and vodka bottles
Global warning
This weekend I have to finish a ten-page annotated bibliography. Who knows what books I’ll be throwing in there at the end to round out the page count (Harry Potter, anyone?). So. The reasons I’m telling you all this include:
- I will be in a very, very bad mood. I do not suggest that you try to talk to me. Games of Frustration, which I should never play even in the best mood, are strictly forbidden. Just to be safe, let’s say games of all types.
- I will probably procrastiblog. It will not be brilliant (is it ever?), but it is simply a mechanism to let out the crazy. Because either the crazy goes here or it goes in the annotated bib, and at least this blog doesn’t determine whether I get a nifty hood and the title of “Magister” in three months.
- I will still watch the Super Bowl, only it will be sandwiched somewhere between rereading Foucault and the Selfes (Cindy and Dicky, or their published names, Cynthia and Richard; I get to meet Cynthia in a couple months). I am so stressed that I actually don’t care which team wins. Put a gun to my head to make me choose and I would just ask you to pull the trigger so I wouldn’t have to finish the effing annotated bib.
- I will probably feel like a horrible student and scholar for the next two months. (refer to No. 1 and advice to avoid me) Ye be warned.
- No, I’m just going to keep saying it: I WILL BE A HORRIBLE PERSON FOR THE NEXT TWO MONTHS. First because I’m working on the portfolio, then because I’ll feel like I’m not a very good student, and then because I’m worried about my exam. STAY AWAY FROM ME.
This is in accordance with Educational Decree No. 27, or Stay the Fuck Away From Chelfea Because She’s Crazy, Yo
A plague on both the spouses
There was much shaking of the bed last night, and not in a good way. We thought The Husband was coming to the end of a light cold, but at about one this morning he was wearing two sweatshirts, two pairs of pants, three blankets, a heating pad, and Orwell, and the bed was convulsing violently beneath his shivering.
Then the fever kicked in.
At one point, I don’t know if he was hallucinating or dreaming, but he asked what hospital we were at. “We’re at home,” I said.
“Oh,” he answered.
Not long after that, he asked me to call Ted and Hathor.
“Why?” I asked, thinking that if he wanted me to call and tell Ted he wasn’t making it into work, I might wait until closer to eight. (You’re welcome.)
“I want to see Veronica,” replied his fever.
*
This is not a nice cold. This is the kind of cold that blindsides you with brass knuckles, sends you sprawling, and then kicks you in the face with steel-toed boots, just because it can.
Internets, I CANNOT GET SICK. Not only do I have the world’s longest to-do-in-a-day list, but I have a portfolio due in two weeks.
Oh please let that feeling in my throat be a deep sadness and not the swelling of my glands. PLEASE.