JD

Something I've noticed in grad school is that whenever I email people, they sign with their initials: "Yours, AW;" "Cheers, BS;" etc. (On a side note, I hate the 'cheers'... we're not drinking. What is that?!) And I feel somewhat out of place, and possibly even child-like, responding "Julie." Did I miss something in PSW? Are we to use our initials in place of our names now? I just find it so odd. Is it considered to be less formal than signing, "Dr. So-and-So?" Perhaps this is flagrantly obvious, or perhaps I'm even creating some conspiracy which does not exist. But I feel like I'm the only motherfucker out there who signs her emails, etc., with her actual first name, yet I simply do not want to blindly follow suit and start signing 'JD.' Any help? Or am I just crazy?

... I probably am just crazy, as I still have a good amount of writing left to do, and a good amount of writing behind me. Some of my hard work recently paid off (specifically, in Shakespeare), so I'm hoping that trend will remain in place for my other courses. Wish me luck! (or sanity, whichever).

It's official - I'm depraved.

When I bartend, I tend to watch a lot of game, one of which being "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?" One of the questions posed yesterday was, "Which of these businesses is usually ran by children?" and I answered (audibly), "Chimney sweeps!" And then the possible choices were revealed, of course, not including chimney sweeps, but instead, lemonade stands. I conclude, not only that I'm utterly depraved, but that I've read entirely too much William Blake and Victorian novels. 

STFU, Matthew McConaughey

Those of you who "MySpace" like I do are probably well-acquainted with the promotions on the log-in page for features on MySpace - namely celebrities, movies, music, etc. When I logged in tonight, I was greeted by one of my least favorite celebrities - Matthew McConaughey - and his pithy philosophy of j.k.livin' (which stands for 'just keep livin'). So now he's not just promoting his shirtlessness or his shitty movies, but his own philosophy. Sure, he's a college grad, so he's educated and whatnot, but remember that this j.k.livin' doctrine stems from his lines as the character of Wooderson in Dazed and Confused. Surely, I love D&C, but really? A philosophy based upon the fictional creepy statutory rapist you played over ten years ago? And then, it's like I just want to punch him for giving me this unsolicited stoner surfer philosophy, not to mention that millions of others that use MySpace daily who do not have the ways and means to access that stress-free surfer lifestyle. Sure, we'd all like to j.k.livin', live in a trailer (by choice), do peyote, and surf the world, but some of us have jobs to do and situations we cannot escape. I can't make a strong argument for my own strife, and I won't pretend that my life isn't cake compared to most others, but I do admit it is somewhat maddening to have Matthew McConaughey preaching at me to 'just relax.' Put a shirt on, Matthew McConaughey, stop telling me to relax, and stop selling these:

where's Phyllis Schlafly when you need her?

This year, my office assignment was changed to the fourth floor of Faner Hall, amongst the Administration of Justice Department, some linguistics GA offices, and Dr. Zimra's lair. Nearby, is a 'unisex' bathroom, which confounded me and somewhat alienated me for quite some time. Wow, Faner and SIU is quite innovative, I thought, and truly embodying Phyllis Schlafly's worst nightmare. So, finally, I decided to use the unisex bathroom one day, to learn that it is not truly a unisex bathroom (Phyllis Schlafly, you can officially unbunch your knickers) and that it is instead, a bathroom with flexible guidelines. Before you enter, you must hang your respective gender's sign on the door, indicating whether a woman or a man is using the washroom (and doncha love it: the women's sign is pink, and the men's is yellow). Another sign claims that being conscious of the sign is the only way that the unisex bathroom will 'truly work.' So, you really are not entering a true unisex bathroom. But I would go on to argue that it is not really a unisex bathroom, but rather a men's bathroom that allows women, sometimes. You see, there are no receptables for used 'feminine hygiene' products (my favorite euphemism). Instead, us menstruating women must take the used products and/or wrappers outside of the stall and throw them into a garbage can, outside of the privacy provided by the stall. In every standard women's bathroom, there are containers provided for this type of thing within the stall. So, this really isn't a unisex bathroom - I mean, in a women's bathroom, I'm provided with the opportunity to not announce to everyone that I am in fact menstruating. I'm given a little privacy. I just want the same from the said 'unisex' bathroom. Is that so much to ask? Really.

a slight vituperation for fickle/fairweather Cubs fans...

I realize that Saturday was devastating, yes. And that the Cubs can lead to feelings of anger, disappointment, rage, melancholy, and psychological distress. I can certainly commiserate with all of you. But that is really no excuse to not only swear off baseball itself, but switch to the other side: the Chicago White Sox. Sure, their Saturday win offered a slight glimmer of hope, and maybe that was what you all needed to cling on to life and not throw it all away. But switching to the other side is NOT what you do. Claiming you're just a general 'Chicago' fan is NOT what you do. Let me illustrate this for you: let's say, you have a child who runs track. He/she is rounding the track, making promising headway, and BAM! falls over and breaks his/her leg. Do you start to cheer for the kid who lives in your neighborhood, merely because he/she is still in the race and you want to 'see someone from your area' win? No. You help your kid and cheer loudly AGAINST the neighbor kid, hoping that he/she breaks their leg as well (and hopefully, breaks both at the same time). I don't want to hear any more bullshit about people wanting to return their Cubs jerseys, or cheering for the White Sox next year because they got one more measly game than the Cubs. Because, after all, there's only one thing worse than a Sox fan: a fickle or fairweather Cubs fan who switches to the other side.

key lime pie recipe

Ingredients:

1 Container of Yoplait Key Lime Pie yogurt

1 or 2 Oreos, crushed

Mix crushed Oreo(s) into container of Key Lime Pie yogurt; stir and enjoy.

I hope you all aren't too put off by my sophistication in the culinary arts. I love this snack because it is reminiscent of the key lime pie my mother makes with an Oreo crust. The inclusion of this 'recipe' is a joke, yes, but not an entirely accurate representation of my cooking/baking skills. I do love to bake, but I really haven't made the time for it. Or, when I get the urge to make cookies, I find that I am out of milk, eggs, etc., and am too lazy to run to the store (or rather, 'Han-Dee Mart,' down the street from 'Ho-Made Pies.' God bless DeSoto). The most pathetic part is that I ate all my Oreos yesterday, so now I am suffering through Oreo-less key lime pie yogurt. I suppose I will live.

In other news, I am reading Othello for the first time, and I am pretty sure that I am the only person to make it out of high school and an undergraduate English program without having read it. I am enjoying it, but had to spend the greater part of the evening reading it - it's not going as quickly as the other Shakespeare plays I've read this semester. 

For awhile, I couldn't find anything that scared my cat, Holden. He's unfazed by the vacuum, shower, and other sorts of loud and/or wet things. However, as I was opening a bottle of club soda the other day (my new obsession), I noticed that Holden was disturbed and frightened by the loud fizzing, and when the bottle sprayed and he was doused with club soda, he writhed and wriggled like a demon being splashed with holy water. While it is somewhat sad and pathetic, it really was quite funny... and really, club soda? I would think that the vacuum, or something larger and more powerful, would pose a much greater threat. He is so silly.

Alright, off to bed... tomorrow marks another wonderful day in the world of teaching, office hours, classes, and all the other trimmings of graduate school life... 

old age comes at a bad time.

I want to take a moment here to congratulate one of my best friends, Corinne, and her husband Bob on their new baby, Jaxon Richard Reggio. He was born on Sunday, and was seven pounds, three ounces, and 19 inches long. I'm really looking forward to going home and meeting him! This is my first close friend to have a child, which is really surreal, yet awesome. Corinne and Bob are going to be great parents... I look forward to seeing Jaxon grow up! It's strange, because Corinne is my 'first' friend; we met when I was five years old and she was six. We were pretty much babies ourselves. I guess Jaxon's birth, coupled with other events, have made me feel really old lately. First of all, I was walking to the library, and saw a flyer for some bar in town having a 90's party... you know you are getting old when the decade you grew up in is becoming 'nostalgia-ized.' Then, some undergrad almost ran into me the other day when I was carrying a pile of library books, and my kneejerk utterance was, 'Fucking kids.' Really, Julie? Wow. And this fall saw my brothers off to high school and kindergarten, respectively. It doesn't seem like that long ago that I started high school, and now Alex is there, eight years my junior. I realize that this is just the beginning of feeling old, but I didn't realize it would start when I was 23... 

a little bit of Stanhope to brighten your day.

Doug Stanhope is quickly becoming one of my favorite comedians/political commentators. Here's a nice tidbit he posted on MySpace that I'd like to pass along to my small, yet captive, audience:

If you want to toppl​e the gover​nment​,​ stay out of the arts,​ stop writi​ng poems​ or songs​ and comed​y bits.​.​.​

Get into the ranks​ of the polic​e,​ the FBI, CIA, polit​ics,​ big busin​ess,​ big oil, the upper​-​ranks​ of the milit​ary,​ etc - Make your life a long-​term "​Punk'​d"​ who can event​ually​ turn Serpi​co.​

You knee-​jerk,​ pomp'​n'​circu​mshit​ scumf​ucks who dont mind getti​ng tear-​gasse​d at WTO prote​sts but wont go so far as to spend​ twent​y years​ in the syste​m so as to turn coats​ and blow it out when its most neede​d - wear your plast​ic cuffs​ the way I mastu​rbate​ a penis​ limpe​d by cocai​ne.​ All show with no payof​f.​

One cop on the force​ who is on our side is more worth​ than a thous​and "​Fuck you I wont Do What you Tell Me " dance​rs-​with-​gasma​sks at a telev​ised event​s.​

The cause​ will not be helpe​d until​ you turn them on their​ ear using​ their​ own tacti​cs with bette​r skill​.​

Okay then.​.​.​

stanh​ope

the hamburger on the porch

I know one of my worst qualities is that I get annoyed very easily, and when I do, I can't get the fuck over it. Particularly when it comes to living situations and neighbors. I feel like my nearly 60 year old father with the gripes I have with neighbors... am I turning old? Yikes. I recently moved to DeSoto to live in a quieter environment (and, admittedly, to get more for my money, as far as space and amenities go). I live in an apartment building with four units, including my own, and I believe most are inhabited by one or two childless persons. The unit below me, though, has children intermittently visiting, so I will occasionally hear the banter and crying of young kids. I suppose it's not too bad - I mean, I did trade obnoxious undergrads for families and children out here in DeSoto - but I was most bothered by the hamburger on the porch. The aforementioned neighbors downstairs have (tacky) camping chairs on their front porch, right by the door that I use to go to my upstairs apartment. For days, they had a styrofoam take-out container with nearly an entire hamburger in it rotting on the porch. It was there on Friday night... and on Saturday, covered with scores of flies... and wasn't removed until today (Wednesday). Like, seriously... that is just gross. And the week before that, the woman who lives in that apartment complained to me about the hallway light and how I should turn it off because it shines into her bedroom at night. But I guess it's ok to leave rotting food sitting outdoors in 80+ degree weather for all residents to behold. Gah-ross. So, now I leave the light on freely. Bedamned, green lifestyles. In the years I've lived in a college town, I've encountered all sorts of people and strange behaviors in their living situations, but never encountered a hamburger on a porch. Let's hope this isn't some recurring pattern. 

In other news, I've decided I hate writing (academically, that is) and that perhaps I should really consider another career path. 

back to school blues

For some reason, I've been obsessed with this summer's Olympics. Normally, I don't really care, but this year I'm really into it. But you know who's more obsessed? My kitten Holden. I do catch him on occasion watching television along with me, but whenever I have the Olympics on, he sits right in front of the tv, head tilted up towards the screen, and he will bat at the athletes twirling and jumping on the screen. It is hysterical... and really, really cute. On a sadder note though, his buddy Roxee left the other day. Robin moved back to Carbondale and took her back to her place. Which has left Holden an emotional wreck. I left him alone last night and today, and ever since I've returned this afternoon, he's been meowing endlessly and following me around the house to smother me with cuddles. It's cute, but somewhat annoying when I'm trying to write a paper. I do realize that I am distracting myself right now with blogging instead of academic writing, but I felt I needed a short break. 

Today was the first day of the PSW, which, for those of you who are not in the SIU English Department, is the pre-semester workshop for GTAs. Last year was ten long days of mental overload on teaching composition to undergraduates... however, when you are a returning GTA, you attend a mere two and a half days of training. Still kinda blows, though. I have to admit though that I actually got some good ideas for my 102 class today. One of our textbook authors gave a presentation on using blogs in the classroom - which obviously I am keen to, as I am a fan of blogging. The students would have anonymous blogs that they would post in and would read other classmates' blogs to engage in discussions. The idea behind it is that students are reluctant to express their opinions in class (which is so true... trying to lead a debate or discussion is reminiscent of that teeth-pulling cliche), so they could use the blogs to engage in an ungraded, anonymous discussion of whichever topics they choose. I do have a few concerns, though - I would like their discussions to go beyond meaningless crap that should instead stay in Facebook or MySpace or those other social trots. I also hope that it can remain anonymous and that they will post some good stuff. We'll see. I can't imagine it could go any worse than that film paper I assigned last semester... Jesus Christ. What a shitbomb that was. In any case, I am pretty sure that I would like to implement blogging into the classroom and hope that it will bring more good than bad.

Mike is sleeping right now... he began his 1am to 9am, Monday through Friday schedule this week as he was promoted to the morning producer at News 3. I'm excited for him, even though our completely and utterly opposite schedules will be difficult. I'm trying to be as quiet as I can right now while he's sleeping... which is difficult with Holden being so emotionally needy and 'meowy.'

The US women's beach volleyball team is kicking ass and taking names. Hooray!

what is it that they say about the summertime blues, again?

During my undergraduate years at SIU, I was always told that Carbondale summers were/are "awesome." I spent my summers back home in the Chicago suburbs, though, so I could work full time, live rent-free, and make real money. And so this summer of '08 is the first summer I've spent in Carbondale, and I don't know if "awesome" is the word I'd use to describe it. We've had two really rad parties (if you weren't at both or either, you truly missed out), but besides that, it's been totally blah. I went to one of the Carbondale summer mainstays - the Sunset Concert - and mildly enjoyed myself. But now that I can't even afford a case of shitty canned beer, I can't very well go to one tonight. (Well, I suppose you could, but the draw of the said Sunset Concert is not the music, by any means - it is definitely the boozing.) I'm still totally broke and soooo looking forward to August 1st, which is so close, yet so far. I will have money in the bank, I will be moved into my amazing new place, and I will probably be a lot less crotchety. In fact, this summer is so boring and craptacular, that I'm actually looking forward to next week when I have to cover all Writing Center hours because my coworker will be out of town. That is pretty sad. Even sadder - I cleaned my bathroom for fun today. Granted, I am one of those who pathetically enjoys cleaning and finds it to be quite therapeutic, but still. I have to admit it was a last resort. It's just hard, because Mike and I are on totally different schedules, and he never wants to do anything later on in the evening (understandably) because he starts work at 4am each weekday. So, then I end up going to bed early, cos I figure, why not? And then I don't get anything done, and now I'm sleeping way too much.

But not everything has halted with the summer. I'm beginning to develop quite the workout regime. I'm sure all of you that know me have heard me praise the cult of Crossfit, which I try to do at least three to four times a week. And today, I even got up and ran at 8:30 am - only 2.25 miles, but considering I'll be doing Crossfit at 7pm, I think I'm doing pretty damn well. Since I've been going to bed earlier, I've been getting up around 7:30 every morning. I don't always do super-productive things, but I like being up for a few hours before I have to run out the door to work. I'm still plowing through the very dense Victorian ghost story collection, which is AWESOME. As tedious and soul-sucking my past summer office jobs were, the best part was being able to read copious amounts of books that I couldn't get my hands on during the school year. And I'm sure my best friend Jen can attest to the awesomeness that is/was the STC Public Library summer reading program... alright, once again, awesomeness may be a stretch, as the prizes were pretty paltry - but hey, it's better than not receiving an ice cream cone for reading a book or two.

I guess what I'm getting at here is that I'm tired of living so far away from the ones I love. I had to miss Corinne's baby shower because I had a pathetically low amount of funds in bank account, and I really, really wished I could have been there. I'm also nostalgic for more civilization and culture in general that the Chicago area affords. 

But until then, I will spend tomorrow, my day off from work, working on my tan and reading (for pleasure and for pain).

Why I Need an I-Pod, or the Horrors of Being Seated in Coach

After getting through a few more stories in Chicago Noir, I decided to put that down and start another (much more enticing) short story collection - The Oxford Book of Victorian Ghost Stories. So far, it's totally rad, and actually, kind of scary, although I found the Dickens short story in the collection to be a tad disappointing. I'm on the tenth out of thirty five stories so far. I thought about finishing Chicago Noir, as I don't like to leave books unfinished, but it's a short story collection and I thought I wouldn't really be missing much. Like I said earlier, there were a few interesting stories in the collection, but the most interesting (Claire Zulkey's "The Great Billik") could have been reworked for more success... at least from my humble, 'always the critic, never the writer' position. The narration in the story keeps us distanced as far as possible from the eerie happenings in the neighborhood. Maybe an omniscient narrator seemed boring or sensationalized to the author, but I would have liked to get a better glimpse into the fortune teller (the title character) and the actual events that allow the story to be classified into a noir collection. Boo. I also didn't enjoy the trite historical details awkwardly inserted into the story by Zulkey; for example, the inclusion of an unrelated trip to Detroit in which the women were exhilarated to attend a Detroit Tigers' game unescorted. Ok, I get it - it's the early 20th century and women's rights were limited. Gotcha. Thanks for proving to me that you stayed awake during your women's studies lecture in u-grad, Zulkey.

In other news, I learned the significance of $16 this weekend when I chose not to upgrade to business class for my trip home on Amtrak this past weekend. I endured a fitful sleep last night on our delayed train, waking up to conductors yelling at drunk morons for smoking in the bathrooms, obnoxious children, and other annoyances. I rue not paying the extra $16 that would have afforded me a much more comfortable seat and a secluded spot to sleep the miles away. I will return home this weekend to attend Corinne's baby shower, but this time, via auto. My first stop is Lincoln Park on Friday to visit Jen; I am even entertaining the thought of leaving Carbondale super early on Friday to be able to hit up North Beach around noon, and then picking up Jen from work around 5. We'll see what happens. I need a beach in my life, and that looks to be the only beach in my future.

Besides the means of travel, the weekend (ok, four full days plus parts of Wednesday and Monday) home was great and I'm really looking forward to graduating and being (physically) close to the people I love and care about again. One of the most entertaining events from the visit was martini night at Villa Verone with my mom and her girlfriends... wow. I guess I didn't realize that middle aged women like to dance to Justin Timberlake. And 50 Cent. Or talk about weird things from their past that I may not have wanted to know. But it was somewhat encouraging to see that fun doesn't have to die in your 20s, and that you can still look good and have fun with your girlfriends even when you're married and have children. I know that sounds so lame, but I worry that old age will suck and it's nice to see that a good portion of aging is optional. Granted, my mom is not like the mom from Mean Girls or anything; she doesn't have a boob job, try to act 'cool', or wear Juicy Couture sweatpants or anything horrifying like that. But she and all of her friends look good and it's nice to know that my future won't necessarily have to be depressing, drab, or flabby.

so viel Arme!

Those who have the privilege to know me well know that I do not deal well with being hungry. Call me high maintenance or borderline hypoglycemic, but I get a little ornery. Today, during my break at the Writing Center, I decided to head to the Student Center to procure some lunch. For some dimwitted reason, they closed the Subway, ruling out one of my choices. You see, I'm still dieting - or eating healthy, rather. So, I got in line for the delicious sandwich man, but I was about the eighth person in line, and the sandwich man has a tendency to take his time, to put it lightly. (And anyways, I'm sure the delicious sandwiches are loaded in calories and fat as well, as he spreads about a pound of butter on each). I then left said long line to go to McDonald's and order a Southwest Salad (only about 300 calories, and delicious), but they're out of them. The rest of their salads and dressings are loaded in calories and fat, and not nearly as tasty. The soup du jour at the Student Center looked unpromising, and everything else was rather unhealthy (Chinese food, the rest of the McDonald's menu, etc.)... so now I'm hungry. Mike won't deliver me food. Perhaps I should give him a break, as he works an average of 13 hours a day, but how many times did I serve as his personal delivery girl, bringing him all sorts of delicious lunches from Arby's and Subway? I rest my case.

(Although I swore I would mainly stick to discussing books on this here blog, I have obviously strayed a bit. I do not intend to swing back to the prescribed topic, but instead, continue the discussion of food.)

It's been difficult to diet, but I have lost a little weight, and would like to keep up my good habits. I really haven't been eating out that much, whereas before I was nearly dependent upon take-out. But one area I still need to work on is my cooking. I am a good cook when I have a recipe to follow and I buy my ingredients ahead of time with a careful plan. However, it is really difficult for me to look at a pantry full of food and throw something edible together. So, I end up spending way too much money on food to make trips to the store for random ingredients, and I end up with a pantry full of food with (seemingly) no foreseeable options. I guess I thought that this skills were somewhat inherent - like a lot of skills I thought would come with 'adulthood.' As if someone would come along and hand me my Adult Hat, and I would magically have the abilities to cook, balance a checkbook (still haven't mastered that - more on that in a bit), and make life decisions. But 23 years have passed and that Adult Hat has yet to make its way into my hands. And I still haven't gotten any goddamn lunch yet, either. But I have successfully manoeuvered my bills in order to coincide with my way, WAY late paycheck this summer. So I'm getting there. And I didn't even cry!

Back to the balancing of the checkbook. I was making a simple calculation in my head this morning, and I realized how ass-backwards wrong I was. I got an email from Heartland Blood Center, an organization that collects blood donations/hounds people like me with type O negative blood, offering a gift certificate for $11 to Oberweis Dairy for donating blood over the Fourth of July weekend. For those of you not from the western Chicago suburbs, Oberweis produces milk, ice cream, and other delicious (yet expensive) dairy products; they also run a chain of ice cream shops with treats costing more than minimum wage a pop. In any case, I was delighted to see the opportunity to get a gift certificate to the glorious ice cream shop, so I tried to calculate the days between my last blood donation and the upcoming weekend. It is recommended that a span of 56 days elapses before the next donation occurs, and I don't even know WHY I possibly thought it would be 56 days or more, as I last gave blood during a break at the Writing Center. Keep in mind, the Writing Center opened June 9th, which could be the earliest possible date for my last donation. As it is not even July 9th, there is no way that 30 days could have even passed, let alone 56. And I don't really know why I delineated this whole 'thinking' process... it just boggles my mind how ridiculous I can be. I never said logic and/or mathematics were my strong suits.

To round out the fat girl blog, I look forward to visiting home this weekend not only to see my family and friends, but to experience Chicago food once again - specifically, Portillo's. And for those of you who are not familiar with Portillo's, you are truly deprived. Yum.

lackluster noir

At long last, my blog has finally been deemed 'non-spam.' This is exciting, because I've been looking forward to have a place to record my silly thoughts and ramblings.

Anyways, my first 'book for pleasure' this summer is Chicago Noir, a collection of (you guessed it) noir fiction set in Chicago. I'm feeling somewhat disappointed and frustrated by it so far; I've only read five of the stories, and only enjoyed two. The first, "Goodnight Chicago and Amen," had an inconsistent dialect and some (ok, most) of the other stories seemed pointless and stupid, in my own opinion. I did enjoy "The Gospel of Moral Ends" and "Destiny Returns," though. I'm hoping the book will pick up, but based on other reviews on goodreads.com, I don't think it will. I guess I was hoping for more typical crime noir, like Maltese Falcon shit. The preface claimed that the story collection was harking back to the 'old' Chicago, but all the stories seem to deal with fairly recent groups of immigrants and don't have the retro style I was hoping for.

I guess it is a nice break from Kafka, though. Dr. Zimra somehow conned me into incorporating some translations from the original Prozess into my paper dealing with Kafka's Trial and Marxist alienation. Hooray. Personally, I blame Brian for the task assigned due to his exaggeration of my German skills, which have been virtually unpracticed for the past year. Although, Katharina, my friend from Germany, claims my German is good, and even much better when I'm drunk. Does this mean I write my paper while drunk? No. Unlike some English grad students, I cannot write while intoxicated. I have a hard enough time writing as it is; I don't even want to imagine the results of a drunken Kafka tirade. Although that could be entertaining...