voluntary in nature: Cold Journey (1976)

I remember watching this movie as a kid.

voluntary in nature: Cold Journey (1976): Cold Journey , Martin Defalco , provided by the National Film Board of Canada *Really excited to see Cold Journey  finally available for...

two weeks to go

Got back from Seattle last night. Worked today, but went in a little later. I'll catch up this weekend. Seattle was great, and I'm so happy Nick liked it as much as I do. It wasn't all good, though. The guy I got to be really good friends with last year? He made noise about seeing us and taking us on a tour of IslandWood and then totally stood us up. No call, no show. A perfunctory message on Facebook late Saturday night (Sunday being our LAST day in town) saying he was apartment hunting and had to pick up his girlfriend from the airport Sunday and sorry but hope the trip's going well. I went from shocked, to hurt, to mad. I wrote him back, saying that I understand being busy, but we'd had plans for months and the least he could've done was say something before we worked a good deal of our vacation around spending time with him. I sent that Sunday morning and have heard nothing. Thankfully, I've learned not to take people at their word when they make such offers. I booked a regular tour at IslandWood and we had a wonderful time. The docent was a retired environmental architect from Chicago, and he offered us a ride to the ferry terminal so we wouldn't have to walk or wait for the bus. I'll write more later. I really need to work on the readings for this paper.

I survived the spring

Working on my next-to-last semester, and I'm trying to do things better this time around--no drinkies during homework, no distracting people, and no letting the yard-work slide. I'm taking nine hours: an independent study project on the sociology of aging in America, Psychology of Human Sexuality, and Recent Popular Literature. I've been to at least one class of each, and am pleased to report that Recent Pop Lit will not be about beach reads. The first project? Write a short story in the style of Cormac McCarthy.

We're reading The Road, and simultaneously working through The Use and Abuse of Literature. This class is more of a Lit Crit & Theory-type, without having to drudge through all of the post-whatever nonsense. Yes, I just dismissed Lit Crit out of hand. I read a Lit Crit textbook once, just for fun. Intriguing, but not something I'd like to discuss for six hours a week. I like that the teacher wants us to find the good in all of these books, even The Help.

In Sexy Psych class, my first project was a short article disseminating (heehee) research info to the unwashed masses. I did mine on a report showing that Playboy Magazine, Barbie dolls, and the like have convinced millions of young men and women that female bodies should be hairless and prepubescent from the ribcage down. Sadly, a majority of young men now think that women with narrow hips and an anorexic BMI are the most ideal mates with which to partner up and have children. Just let that sink in. Sociology will be mostly reading, and then July will be paper-writing time. As it happens, my Psych class will be over at the end of June, so I've managed to stagger the timing in my favor. There's still a metric-ton of articles and books to cram into my thick skull, however. It's a good thing I don't watch television.

this sums up my mood as well as anything these days:

vignettes

In lieu of actual writing, such as I should be doing for my classes, I present highlights from the last few weeks: Today: reading an essay regarding the Musee Cluny, realizing I've stood exactly where the author describes, and grinning like a fool.

Yesterday: walking around Hastings with Nick, after a day spent eating, wandering, and catching up. grinning like a fool.

Friday: walking over to the Spencer to see the Food Utopias project I was a part of, seeing my name in print, grinning like a fool.

Wednesday: an exhausting, busy day. the Kansas Union stairwell smells like a congregation of farts. I sit in my chair, feeling isolated from the rest of my class. one of the girls takes my picture for the London Review book. I look better than I feel, but my mood brightens a little. Courtney presents on number stations at this month's nerd Nite. hearing the metallic recitation of numbers makes my blood run cold.

last Friday: Middle of the Map fest. Nick and I walk around, listening to bands and seeing familiar faces in the crowd. Grizzly Bear's set captivates me. they have gigantic jars full of lights, encased in netting and suspended by pulleys. by turns, they resemble: floating jars of fireflies, translucent jellyfish, liquid fireworks, sperm swimming heavenward.

last Monday: I have several great visual pieces for the London Review book. in idea form only, though. I sit at my computer, realize I don't have Photoshop. I despair. I submit a page of overheard quotes, instead, after a futile attempt at corralling classmates with Photoshop skills into bringing my ideas to life.

Wed March 27: in Environmental Sociology, we begin watching a documentary about strip-mining, titled The Last Mountain. I despair for humanity. it takes us three classes to get through the entire piece.

February 2013

Why haven't I been writing in my journal? Well, I've been writing in the paper journal and taking pictures with the MagicSpacePhone I bought myself for the London trip. It's a phone, camera, e-reader, note-taker, and occasionally makes tiny hops into the future on a subatomic level. So, without further ado, February in pictures:


We had to replace our antique desks with cubicles. I pouted. Then I got to work. First thing, address the lack of natural light. Our office was once an x-ray room. I made a pretend skylight out of the fluorescent light panel.


I'm hell-bent on transforming the office into a rainforest cave of sorts. There's a small tree on the other side of the cubicle wall to my right.


Then it snowed, and Stealth was pleased, and I was like, "Oh, lovely! Snow!"


I helped my friend Ruth, since she had a knee replacement. then I did a little light reading.


Then we had a weird false dawn, thanks to city lights and cloud cover. This was taken an hour before actual sunrise.


Then the sun actually came out, and I was pleased. People in Russia were not so pleased.


During a break at work, I figured out how to do fishtail braids.


Then it snowed again, and I was like, 'Oh, boy."


KU closed campus, but I had to report for work.


Then, it snowed AGAIN. And I was like, "Just. Please. Stop. Before the trees collapse."


Nothing to do that night but read and commune with Stealth.


KU closed campus AGAIN. I still had to report for duty.


Reflecting on how, even at 37, I feel like a teenager sometimes.


My favorite blizzard pic. No alteration, just a combination of lamplight and reflected city lights.

I happened on a house built of living light where everything evil disappears and dies

Big plans on the horizon. In between the exploding-bomb dreams and daytime reveries, I'm planning a tiny documentary of the London trip. No matter what I get, I'm setting it to this song. Some days, I feel like I'm living my 20s in my 30s. There are worse things, considering what my teens and 20s consisted of.

To everyone in those tiny factory towns, who said I couldn't and shouldn't: thank you for the reverse psychology. It worked. I never dreamed I'd be having so much fun with this life.

When they love you, and they will 
Tell 'em all they'll love in my shadow  
And if they try to slow you down 
Tell 'em all to go to hell 
When they love me, and they will 
I'll tell 'em all they'll love in your shadow 
And if they try to slow me down 
I'll tell 'em all to go to hell...