I am so glad I don't have the internet at home sometimes. The things I think about posting when I stumble home drunk ... oye. Last night, for example, it seemed to be a really good idea to post close-up pictures of my surgical scars.

I turned in a 29-page brief yesterday. I went to kinko's and had it velo bound and everything. It is so awesome. (hence the extreme amounts of 'celebration' that followed.)

Gotta gear up for work.

I don’t enjoy applying for admission to anything. First and foremost, it’s a hassle, second of all, I’m much more charismatic and/or enthusiastic for my subject in person than I am on paper, and thirdly, it’s a vulnerability—in an application, there is always a chance of rejection, and rejection is something I struggle with.

My academic record belies my actual intelligence. Though it’s difficult to tell from the bad grammar, spelling mistakes, and arrogant pretensions that riddle my posts, I am a rather smart person. But having always been a smart person, I have been able to get through life with extraordinary little effort and ease—everything I try I can do well with very little strain, which is why I think whenever I’m faced with a situation where I must struggle to be the best(hence, getting into the writing major, hence my job), I get very depressed and frustrated.

As a result, I’m a very lazy person in some regards. My high school and college averages were B+A- ranges, because I never wanted to put in the extra work to be that 3.75. I did a lot of extracurricular activities, but nothing that represented real ambition—like interning at a Chicago publishing house or working with a professor on a research project. And now I’m applying for grad school, and am worried that I will be seen as the fraud that I am and rejected, when in fact I’m probably overqualified for the programs I want.

And yes, I am aware that I sound like a massive tool. But in defense—I am going to die cold and alone.

But let’s hope. I am soliciting advice on how to get into NYU or Columbia’s MA programs, in particular Draper’s Interdisciplinary program and English, respectively. Anyone with tips (Steven, Anne, I’m looking in your polished, shiny directions), please pass them on so I won’t be rejected and have no way of learning things I very much want to learn about.

And then…

My mother was cleared of all her charges, which is excellent news for her health and sanity. No more parole officers, no more Monday court hearings. On the downside, there is a lot of residual fear and anger that had been pent up during the trial that is now bubbling too the surface. Some days she’ll be happy, other days there is sobbing and book throwing. I hate yelling, and I hate tempers, so I’ve been doing the best I can to help diffuse her and calm her down. Cleaning, errands, renting those cute little French movies she likes from Netflix. The most wearying is the catering service she runs, which I take over whenever she’s out of town (as she will be this week, as she was the week before). My forte is not baking, as anyone who knows me can attest. Still, most of these treats go out to nurses, so I usually just bake rice krispie treats, and boy are those awesome.

Ian called to make sure I was ok when Hurricane Rita hit. That was possibly the sweetest thing ever. I was in the middle of putting the kids to bed when he called, and couldn’t talk, but it was the sweetest gesture. And then the hurricane didn’t do anything and I had no stories to tell. And all those senior citizens were incinerated in vain.

But you know what? Americans always pull that kind of garbage. We’re never prepared, we’re never forward-thinking, and then there’s some kind of freak accident and for a minute we re-examine our lives and donate like crazy to some celebrity-studded cause, and we’re outraged and demand an investigation, and then everyone tip-toes around and overreacts to everything for a few months, and then we go right back to be consumer whores. Come on! Why leave Houston, you know the hurricane isn’t going to be as bad as New Orleans—you don’t have any levees! I get the feeling our country is divided into the idiots who won’t leave their homes in the face of destruction because a person of the wrong color told them to get on a bus, or anal-retentive pill poppers who wipe their house down with Lysol disposable rags and make sure their kids don’t go to schools near power lines or where God is mentioned. Will someone please, please, be a voice of reason and a sensible middle ground?

While a sizeable portion of my day is wasted going to thesuperficial.com, socialitelife.com, bestweekever.blogs.com, and perezhilton.com, I’m growing very VERY bored with celebrities. They’re all terrible. All of them. Terrible and self righteous and stupid. And while I knew this all along, it’s never the less annoying. Reading non-celebrity media is equally frustrating, but in a different way. I’m tired of intellectuals jut tossing off phrases about how terrible every single thing the Bush administration is, as if we all take for granted the fact that any sensible person would find him evil. I hate conservative media tossing off praise as if everything Bush has done has been calculated and thought-out, but we are too dumb as a nation to see his master plan. I dislike polemics, I dislike chest-pounding, and I hate being fed liberal and conservative propaganda under the guise of news.

I’ve been reading these reports from radaronline.com about the Kabbalah craze. It’s an example of the most amoral brilliance I have ever seen. Kabbalah as a study is legitimate—I studied bits of it in a Renaissance Lit class, apparently all the rage in Italy and France in the 15th century. But to study it to the point where you say you are a follower, you have to a) be a male, and b) go through intensive Talmudic training. The founder of modern-day Kabbalah had an uncle who was a Talmudic scholar, learned it from him, and then decided to mass market it to anyone who could cough up enough to study. The idea is mostly cash flow—using a religion for business purposes. What interested me the most about it was its parallels to scientology, another religion I’ve been studying recently. My interest in scientology was started, interestingly enough, by the disturbing behavior of a male friend of mine from college. I don’t think modern-day Scientology is as menacing as Kabbalah, but there are certain similarities in the inceptions of both religions.

Either way, I was disappointed to find the tom cruise lecture series was fake.

The Takes Photos

The takes a picture of The Catatonics.

Unfortunately this is the best picture I have of Laks and I from from the show. I'm not going to lie. We really looked hot that night.

"He was bookish, she was not; he was theoretical, she political. She called a rose a rose. He called it an accumulation of cultural and biological constructions circulating around the mutually attracting binary poles of nature/artifice."
--Zadie Smith, "On Beauty"

I do believe it’s true
That there are roads left in both of our shoes
If the silence takes you
Then I hope it takes me too

Words are failing me.

MaryJones! I've obtained the requested OK! magazines...two of them, because they stretched the Jordan/Peter wedding across two volumes. Just tell me where to send them. :-)

I went out into the night. I went out to pick a fight with anyone.

The most important thing is that The Catatonics played last night. And it was good.

This morning, as I was walking to work, a guy in a Salvation Army truck leaned out the window and started saying, "hey baby...." and so I stuck out my tongue. and then he stuck out his tongue and we both laughed. it was good.

I have to blog something. I cannot keep looking at that hideous Brittney thing. BLAH!!!

So here are a few items:

one: I feel murderous today! For no good reason! my life is great! yet I might punch a hole in a wall!

two: The Catatonics are playing tonight! at Bill's Blues! You should come! cheap drinks! music! lakshmi's cool new t-shirt!

three: I am very busy!

I suppose I am not a fully settled and confident adult, because I was very much effected by the “pathetic bitch” quote, but even more moved by responses. So much so that I now almost feel bad posting such a comment at all. I really wasn’t fishing for compliments, and was really touched when I received them. Right now, I’d completely discount the entire affair as ‘funny’, except for the mystery of who it could be.

The MMM has been causing me quite a bit of trouble lately, which is funny since I rarely update it, owing to the fact that I am a miserable spinster. Apparently, through lazy writing, I managed to unintentionally hurt a lot of people, which is sort of sad, because spectator casualties have no real glory. Take Katherine Solomon, who threw Monica’s bridal shower. She felt (rightly so) that I’d slagged off on her, while in fact I was slagging off on the mother-of-the-bride. Then Monica pointed out that I made it look like there was a turf war at her wedding, when in fact there was no intended slighting by either party. THEN the random ‘pathetic bitch’ comment—still a mystery. While I will make no effort to be more politic in my posts, I suppose that I should work on being more accurate when I criticize. For example:
Accurate: Katherine Solomon got thin and pretty.
Not accurate: Most of my friends from highschool are kind to me.
Accurate: Bonnie Cody is beautiful and an amazing human being.
Not accurate: Kiristin Krcher, (class of 2001) did pregnancy porn (I need proof, people.Get on it!)

Now let’s get back to what I do best—very passionate posts about absolutely insubstantial things! Look, Zach Braff’s Blog!



Naked celebrities!
E-List!
A-List!
By the way, the chick Hulk Hogan is carrying? Lizzie Grubman, the publicist? She went to my school. Oh yes indeed, Hockaday graduate. Perhaps you are getting a better indication of the caliber of woman Dallas money can buy.

I think I need to address the elephant in the room—the new Black Eyed Peas song. I know, we all feel confused inside when we hear it. On one hand, the music and beat are sexy and catchy—almost to an inhuman level. And then we hear the lyrics. “My humps/My lovely lady lumps/they got you/spending all your money on me/ and spending time on me.” Word for word, these are the most embarrassing hack job since “yummy yummy yummy I got love in my tummy.” But the music is a club DJ’s wet dream—serpentine, smooth, upbeat. Why Fergie? Why make lyrics so anti-feministic and so humiliating that we all face moral peril if we decide to listen? For shame!
Also, that rumor that I told you guys about or maybe I didn’t, the one about Fergie being so drunk she wet herself at a concert? Boo ya, I was right! Here’s the proof, bi-otches.

My claims all along that Britney Spears was really ugly but she just had good photographers and really she has no neck and an ugly nose and bad skin? Again, substantiated!

And yeah, maybe it does make me a petty, superficial person to point to ugly photos of celebrities and be like, “A ha! I caught you.” And normally I don’t—unless they are plain women who have been called sexy and then buy into it. Fergie has an ape face—we know this. Underneath it all, Britney has droopy eyes and a wide, bass-like mouth. We all know that without makeup, Gwenyth Paltrow is no prize. But what separates Paltrow from the other two, besides class, is that she doesn’t seem to walk around with the belief that she’s better than she is. She knows her place on the ladder—lazily sexy, but not a knock out. Fergie and Britney really believe they are Angelina, and they are wrong. Angelina doesn’t need a village to maker her beautiful in the morning

Britney was held up so long as this paradigm of sexy, an image she bought into, and all along, I’m here screaming in the side lines “Guys! Come on! Plain! Stupid! Mannequin!” It’s good to be vindicated, that’s all I’m saying.

Hilary Duff is Skeletor.

And speaking of Britney, where are my @#$*! baby photos? It’s been like, 4 days, and I haven’t seen one photo of Sean Preston Spears Federline I mean, I’ve found photos some nurse snapped on her camera phone

but that’s hardly what I would call a “photo”. I have bets going with Bonnie on the level of ugliness. I need proof! How ugly is this baby! Give it up!

And finally, in obscure-British-press-D-list-celebrity-news, Jordan finally got married to her Australian man beast/ pop star/baby daddy Peter Andre in a ceremony that was so lavish and tasteless Patsy Kensit didn’t even show up. Look at the photos. Look at them! Pink pumpkin carriage! Russian headdress! 35 foot pink train! Anne, so help me, when the official spread comes out in OK!, I will send you the money to send it to me. Please, you must. Buy it, tell me, and I’ll send you cost + shipping. This is everything I ever wanted it to be and more!

A couple of comments on Mary's anonymous critic.

1. Mary graduated from high school six years ago. No one was cool in high school; everyone was awkwardly trying to find him or herself, and of couse we did goofy things along the way. Do you want to be held responsible and criticized for who you were six years ago? I'm certainly willing to forgive myself and others for being young and arrogant. If you can't understand this, you either: a) completely lack perspective or b) were the same petty, critical coward in high school that you are now.

2. Lots of people do read Mary's blog with interest. Most of those people are people like me who love Mary dearly, but are sadly very far away from her.

3. Mary still has that same walk. It's called "confidence." You should try it sometime.

I'm always curious to see which people decide to create their own blogs. It takes an unusual amount of self-absorption, loneliness and social retardation to assume that anyone would give two shits about your personal thoughts and reflections. For these reasons, I was not surprised to learn that Mary Jones has her own blog. In school, she would gallumph down the halls with the kind of physical awkardness and pre-teen 'look at me- i'm an individual' gusto that makes one cringe and desperately want to suggest that she take a nice long bath. Now when her name is mentioned, the usual characterizations are poured over until a flicker of recognition appears: "You know, the one that looks kind of like Weird Al Yankovic with shorter hair" or "that girl with the big teeth and the tortured soul routine". Oh yeah, her. That girl that pretends to be open-minded but isn't. That girl who thinks she has talent but doesn't. That Mary Jones. What a pathetic bitch.

I just got this comment on my Mormon Meat Market website. At least someone out there was kind enough to reaffirm all the fears I had about myself in high school.

And for the record, I am not open minded. Don't let me fool you.

speak to me low
yesterday was very quietly sad. The change in weather always makes me nostalgic, and on the cusp of a wet, windy fall like this one, I have never once lived outside my memories. (Of first days back and basements and garages and concrete ledges and wavering cracks in walls and those hardwood floors and blurry pictures and old bedrooms and that certain-anticipatory-feeling.) Not having what you once had/not knowing who you once knew -- even if what you had was not what you wanted and who you knew was not who you wanted to know -- is disorienting. I can't shake the image of a dirty thumbprint on a white doorframe.

I am way too tired for my own good.

From veryverygay.com

My favorite excerpt?
While discussing Elijiah Wood's 'relationship' with "girlfriend" Franka Potente:

Clearly, these shots were all for the movie, because Elijah is very clearly gay. Also, Franka is German and therefore is probably a man anyway. More likely, she's a beard, as Elijah doesn't want to appear gay for his young, young fans who are very impressionable and should not be exposed to sex of any kind at all. Well, except for maybe gay sex, because that's really the only kind of sex that's okay for Elijah to participate in.

In refutation:

And yes, that is Elijah Wood.

Ignignot: You and your third dimension.
Frylock: What about it?
Ignignot: Oh nothing, it's cute. We have five.
Ur: ...thousand.
Ignignot: Yes, five thousand.
Ur: Don't question it!
Frylock: Oh yeah? Well, I only see two.
Ignignot: Well that sounds like a personal problem.

This sort of thing is always funnier at 2 in the morning

Hello - I'm back in Edinburgh now. It is windy. But beautiful. I am homeless and jobless and friendless and a bit bored, but pleased to be back and sleeping well. From the window in my room (I'm currently staying in a top-floor room in the home of the family I babysat for last year) I can see all the way over the FirthofForth to the chain of hills beyond.

And I think that I need to be realistic, and accept that the most sensible move right now - rather ironically given that the majority of my so-called sensible choices in the past involved additional schooling - is to accept dissertation defeat and a Diploma in place of an MSc. And I would do it, if I weren't so afraid of causing my parents additional disappointment. They would be horrified and most certainly disapprove! But if I don't do it, I will probably fail anyway, and if I delay getting a job until January, the immigration authorities will have legitimate grounds for rejecting my work permit application. And I'd have to leave, and all of my plans would be forfeit.

That said, I still prefer dealing with this than dealing with boys. And I haven't been to LupePintosDeli yet!!! Time to bathe and sprint into Tollcross! You know you're unemployed when it's 3pm on a Thursday and you're still in your pajamas...and not because you're a student. *the shame*

I really really really don't like it that someone googled my full name in quotes + "blog" and landed here. *shudder.* I AM SORRY! Whoever you are, I am so so sorry. I don't know for what, but there is probably something I should be apologizing for here. So preemptively allow me to say, I am sorry. Can I disclaim all of my future and past posts with a giant apology (for being mean and dumb and self-involved. I am sorry.)?

I wish I were just a tad smarter.

You know, it's not hard to find this site with my full name + blog. However, I am happy to say it is NOT the first result! Nor the second, third or fourth! (I have lofty goals. TO BURY THIS THING. Tom is of course, the weak link in all of these burying efforts.)

My living habits: the sordid story.

> I have had at least one alcoholic beverage in 9 of the past 11 days.
> Only one of those 9 days was a one-drink-night.
> I've slept less than 5.5 hours every night for the past 5 nights.
> I drink 4 caffeinated beverages per day -- two cups of coffee in the morning, a diet coke in the afternoon, a diet coke at school.
> I've had dinner twice in the past 6 days -- those dinners were: two Yodels on Tuesday night. Slice of chocolate cake on Friday night. (the chocolate cake was consumed in bed. the yodels were consumed while I walked down Milwaukee Ave.)
> I have cooked zero meals at home in the past two weeks. I scrounge at work during the day (I was the one daring enough to eat the expired yogurt). The "meals" I eat include french fries almost without exception.

I feel strangely OK, though. I haven't even fallen behind in school or work. Actually everything is going rather well on both fronts. In sum: Fuck man, BEING YOUNG RULES.

Went to the Empty Bottle last night. Mary Timony and Portastatic were both so much fun. I shook hands with Mac and told him how much I loooove bright ideas. Because I am a huge dork. Joel indulged my desire to stand two inches from the stage and sing along. It was a really good night.

I somehow made it to school this morning and gave my short oral presentation thing without embarassing myself. After I finish this, I am going to do some school work. And then tonight! ... big surprise... I will be having some drinks with some friends.

lather. rinse. repeat.

I miss Lakshmi. (mary timony was sporting a built-by-wendy guitar strap. you would have thought it was cute.)

today has been/ is shaping up to be a really terrible day. Instead of dwelling, here are some pretty distractions for us all to enjoy
I love the gym!


yelena yemchuk

Sydney Grahame


www.brandonbird.com


You're Luna Lovegood.
Which female Harry Potter character are you?

http://www.rosie.com/


brought to you by Quizilla

I have no recollection of having the following conversation, but apparently I did, in September of 2003, because it appeared on some random dude's weblog. The internet is a scary place.

"lexiaIscariot: everytime I read your website I'm reminded of how much infinitly cooler you are then me
Mobyfication: HAHAHA you are much cooler than pear genitals.
AlexiaIscariot: am I?
AlexiaIscariot: AM I?
AlexiaIscariot: your heart is a habanero
AlexiaIscariot: my soul is a pickle
Mobyfication: together we make the worst fucking chutney ever"

Hurricane Katrina and the Decline of Western Civilization

I can’t lie and pretend that I this disaster couldn’t have happened to a more deserving city. It’s no secret I hate New Orleans, in the same way I hate Amsterdam-it’s a testament to what happens when hippies combine with a welfare state in an “anything goes” environment. Great art, great shops, dirty, perverted populace—in short, wasted potential. But at the same time, my best friend from high school (Bonnie) went to school there, and newly married Monica has huge amounts of family there, so it isn’t as if I wished for the sea to reclaim the city. Normally, I would just turn a blind eye to the emotionalism and the irrational hysteria concerning the destruction of my least-favorite city, but after almost 2 weeks, we’re still in a fever, and things need to be said.

The Government
You knew as soon as this hurricane hit that all of the hatred over the Supreme Court nominees and the war would be focused directly on Bush, and that everyone would be looking for an excuse to start spitting some venom. And sure, there were things to be angry about. Three days after the hurricane hit he was still finishing up his vacation. Not really so cool. He was slow in federal response. Ok. These are obnoxious things, but not things that are ‘disgraceful’ or ‘horrific.

You want to know why? Because disaster relief, as my friend Amy Barr very eloquently summed up here (http://sia.lostchicken.com/~aibarr/80365.html) is not in fact the plight of the federal government vis a vis planning and protecting. The federal government is supposed to respond with financial aid, not deploying troops and medics. One of the reasons why Toqueville was so enamored with the American system of democracy was the concept of township and states rights—through local independent government, cities could better identify their own needs and provide to them. Botching up your own system of planning, then, is part of the responsibility that comes with RUNNING A STATE. If a governor can’t manage her own state’s affairs, she needs to own up to it and not blame the federal government for refusing to hold her hand.

And in point of fact, President Bush did telephone the governor of Louisiana telling her to evacuate the morning before the storm hit, even though it was outside of his jurisdiction. And the Governor blew him off, instead checking with the weather channel and three separate organizations before finally, in late afternoon, agreeing to evacuate the gulf coast area. There is no excuse then, for the local government to have full hospitals during the time of impact. All those people should have been taken to hospitals upstate.

There are other things, of course, that the government messed up on—poor crowd control, not communicating the state of the problem to the crowds, leading to widespread rumor and panic (http://www.reason.com/links/links090605.shtml). But again, these are failures that do not reflect on our federal government. So I’m not saying there shouldn’t be anger, but it at least direct it in the right place. Yeah, Bush is an easy target, but if we aren’t responsible in our critique of him, we come across as screaming children.

The Welfare State
I am guessing, and call me crazy, is that part of the reason that New Orleans is in such peril is because there’s a lot of water around. People are now in a swamp right. Well, that makes sense—NO is below sea level. Well then, if you have a city under sea level, you would try and really ensure that your levees hold, huh? But they didn’t. Why? Because they were EARTHEN. That’s right, in a city below sea level, we had earthen levees with concrete to protect the top from eroding. Why couldn’t New Orleans afford to build a steel dam benefiting a twenty-first century city? It didn’t have the money.

The city has been crippled by taking care of a burgeoning population of drug addicts and impoverished, state-dependent families. America has developed a bastardized, irrational form of welfare that creates dependence and strains local resources (just like Europe), but unlike Europe, everyone seems to be below the poverty line. We feel, as a Christian-tradition nation, that we should help the poor, but we are also a capitalist country, and believe that people need to help themselves. The result is so much red tape and unnecessary handouts that the only people who can understand it are those who study it—the welfare frauders, in itself a full time job. This creates an impoverished, poor group of people who feel both deprived and entitled, who have a permanent dependence on the government. And since only about 30% of these welfare families have both parents, the state raises children, buys groceries, but doesn’t actually teach anyone to get a job, get an education, get out. The money that should go to steel dams, good roads, urban development, instead goes to supporting a huge welfare state. I mean, the reason roads are a mess in the ghetto isn’t because of racism—it reflects what that neighborhood pays in taxes.

Suffice to say, once the hurricane hit, all of a sudden we’re barraged with photos of people waiting to be helped. Look at the latest Newsweek—there’s a family on a roof, some missing teeth, lying on a mat, listening to a radio, and under them is spray painted (water rising help pleas) and no, that is not a typo. Every member of that family is over 12, they all have limbs, why not use your resources and try and help yourselves? In general, most of the people that have been complaining the loudest about the governments “not taking care of them” are able-bodied people without injury who seem to have forgotten how to take care of themselves in crisis. Or at all. Don’t forget that this wasn’t a surprise. People knew that the hurricane was coming, the government provided buses for those that didn’t have cars, and NO ONE took them. You can’t help people who can’t help themselves.

The Race Issue
Hand in hand with the critique of the welfare state comes my criticism of the way the media is dealing with race. I’ll agree with Jason Mulgrew, that there is a level of hell reserved for those who exploit personal tragedy for their own agenda—hence, my disdain for media and minority leaders calling ‘racism’ every chance they get.

Whether these people want to admit it or not, there isn’t really a black-v-white war anymore. I’m not saying there isn’t tension, but it isn’t the full scale war they need it to be for donations, ratings, or power. In our country, the battle is between the rich and the poor. There isn’t much difference between a rich black family and a rich white family, but there’s a world of difference between a rich black family and a poor black family.

Now, in our society, especially in the south, the poor consist of predominantly blacks and Hispanics. I for one would not blame this on (modern day) racism, but on a variety of traditions and institutions, including minority organizations. (You think Jesse Jackson wants black people to get out of poverty? Where would he get his money?) Either way, minorities are the majority of welfare recipients. Whenever you have a class of people who are both impoverished and yet entitled or dependent, what, you think they aren’t going to go out and steal if they know they can get away with it? They’re used to getting things for free! Why not? It isn’t a black thing, it’s not a white thing—people who are raised to think that they deserve free stuff will be a lot more caviler about ownership than people who earn stuff.

The Media Issue
The Dallas Morning News had a headline the other day—2 white twentysomethings were carrying bags of food, and under the photo, there was the headline, “White people don’t loot?”

Imagine, if you will, we did the same headline with Asians, or with women, or with jews. It’s ridiculous. But we put up with it. Why? Why do we allow the media to divide us into race conflicts so they can sell more papers? And we buy into it. Kanye West on MTV swaying george bush doesn’t care about black people. Sensational reporting of child rape and helicopter shoot outs (and then not retracting such statements). And then reporting the political finger pointing and emotionalism as if it were honest political discourse! The whole thing is an embarrassment. I hate it. I hate all of it. Ever since the story came out, there has been nothing but shrill emotionalism. I had to go to underground and European sources to get the facts, stats on welfare and why the levees broke, honest follow-up reporting to rumors, the plain facts of who-was-supposed-to-do-what.

And I HATE being one of those people who blames ‘the media’, because we are responsible individuals who have an off switch on the remote. But with both sides claiming liberal and conservative bias but no one reporting facts, I’m left to wonder if William Randolph Hearst hasn’t finally triumphed overall

My final verdict? Justice is a greater value than empathy or diversity. Sorry your houses blew down, sorry you didn’t get on the buses, sorry you expected someone else to take care of you. Sorry your government couldn’t build you a proper levee, sorry your government is capitalizing on your loss by making it political. Unlike the tsunami victims, you knew.

And you know what? I don’t feel guilty about not caring.

right - I'm leaving Nottingham early Saturday morning to move back to Edinburgh for - a good long time. Earlier this week I notified my course director to let him know that the postgraduate office never reassigned me a supervisor for my dissertation, so I've been half-assedly working on whatever for the dissertation while focusing on my six days a week job in the real world...and the course director told me that I have to be supervised and to speak to the worthless office again. Which I did...they said - "oh, you don't appear to have been reassigned a supervisor - huh...shoulda told us sooner" *right...because I spent six weeks harping away at them about it and they did FUCK ALL to remedy the situation*

So I emailed them a new proposal and corresponded with the head office lady, who to her credit is the first truly helpful and competent person I have met in the UniversityofNottingham staff. And this afternoon, she emailed me to let me know that only one person in the ENTIRE business school staff has so much as offered *potentially* to do it...and his terms are that we have to meet first so he can evaluate my work to date and then decide what needs changing...and that I will probably have to do a major re-write and will now require an EXTENSION. And she let me know in no uncertain terms that if I reject this shitty offer of theirs, after all of their fucking up, then they will reject my dissertation and refuse to let me graduate.

So: they've rejected my topic - AGAIN - and are going to impose an extension on ME, on my NEW LIFE!!! And I have to meet with my new potential supervisor - the DIVISION HEAD of FINANCE - who will surely kick my academic ASS no matter what I write!! IF we can meet, which is a HUGE maybe because I'm fucking LEAVING, because my UNIVERSITY lease has run out!!

or i fail. After the most miserable year of my life and shit going wrong at home and shit going wrong at school and living in the fucking ghetto in a horrible city filled with ugly, uncouth, uneducated people and half of China and spending all of my Rotary money on this terrible experience - - they'll fail me! Not through my choice or action, but through their will and inaction. I haven't cried since my molestation in the pyramid three months ago. I was doing WELL!!!

And honestly...all I'm thinking is about how tired I am, and that I already have one master's degree...and that this year was free anyway, and Rotary don't expect you to graduate or pass even...and that I want this terrible year to go away, I want to start something new and better when I move back to Edinburgh on Saturday. I'm not the one who fucked all this up!! They did!! And the work experience that I got working at Powergen this year and serving as a RotaryAmbassadorialScholar are much stronger sections on my resume than yet another qualification from yet another another university...and there isn't all that much lasting shame from quitting while you're hopelessly behind if the negative consequences are minimal. I quit BC Calculus for AB and quit AP Physics alltogether when I was senior in high school because I knew I didn't need them and because I wanted to spend my time playing music instead. And Northwestern didn't give a shit! It's all in how you explain yourself...if I quit this now, I'll still get the Diploma and have some pretty respectable marks from the modules. And if they ask me in my job interviews this autumn why I quit, I'll tell them. And maybe it will lose me a graduate scheme or three...but I swear I'll lose my mind if this university fucks me around for another three months.

If I get an extension and have to rewrite through October, I won't have a job in time for my immigration interview, and my application might be rejected. And where is the magic income to pay $950 for the interview and work permit going to come from (honestly - that's what it costs) and paying for a flat for an extra month without a job?? I can do it in theory, I have enough money saved up over here to pay for the immigration interview and pay rent for a nice room in a nice flat for several months, because there was always the chance that I might not be properly employed until after I get back from Chicago at the end of December. And it isn't as if I can't ring my parents and ask them to give me some more money, and I can pay them pack from my accounts when I'm back for Christmas.

Or I can work part-time until December and work on the dissertation in my free time (and take the train to and from Nottingham on weekends maybe since most of the academic sources I need are only accessible via a university and then live with Gordon and Janet while I'm up here but my access to the university sources ends at the end of September and who knows how long it would take them to sort getting me access after that)....but then I won't have time for my real job applications and interviews (for September 2006) or to be in a local orchestra or band or - live. And those things are more important to me. And the previous scenario is ridiculous - I don't think I'm willing to do that.

Matador signed Jennifer O'Connor. Excellent. I know how to pick 'em!

an army of three

Thank goodness mom didn’t have an abortion
Or my birthday wouldn’t be today….

Errr…yesterday.

Yeah, um, yesterday I turned 24, with just as little fanfare and celebration as I had hoped. I have no desire to celebrate turning 24. I am 24 years old and live with my parents. AT this age, such a thing is humiliating. After this year, I will be TOO OLD to join MTV reality shows. In another year I’ll be a quarter of a century. Which you know, would be fine, if I were married and DIDN’T LIVE WITH MY PARENTS. My mom had a kid when she was my age, for crying out loud. 10 years ago I was living in a small, roach-filled apartment under the freeway with a poster of Keanu Reeves over my bed that I used to talk to whenever I was lonely. That year all my parents could afford was a pack of underwear, a stationary set, and a pair of earrings. It freaks me out that birthday was 10 years ago, because it honestly feels more like 5.

After last years birthday fiasco, wherein I threw a party for old high school friends and everyone behaved awkwardly and succeeded in humiliating me, I shied away from any sort of party. Still, people found ways to be nice. My parents took me to Fogo de Chao for lunch, and then ice cream for dinner, and gave me some of the most lovely presents of all time (Jane Austen action figure! A towel with the first page of Pride and Prejudice emblazoned on it!) Serge sent me some flowers, which always make me squishy and girly (they were red and had sticks in them!) Bonnie made me go out the night before and celebrate by watching “Arrested Development” and the “How Do I Look?” marathon on E! while Alan drafted his fantasy football league. Good stuff.

I have insomnia, and it’s getting in the way of me developing a good work schedule because I’m always in some state of exhaustion. Last night all I could find on TV was “Sex detectives: the art of the female orgasm” (no nudity!), and continuing my Brando fixation, I watched the not-sex parts of “Last Tango in Paris” (there are more of them then you think. In fact, I only had to cut away once in 2 hours.) That Bertolucci. He’s so adorable! Listened to the new Death Cab album and decided that while it has some choice songs, it seems an album gripped by fear. The lyrics are a bit dumber and less fanciful—the vocab is smaller, the metaphors less grand or wantonly romantic. And the music tends to be typical Death Cab music—the band doesn’t really experiment with the lush bombast that made “Transatlanticsm” great, or the delicate flitting and momentum-building that pushed the softer “Photo Album” around. Still, as with all Death Cab albums, it will reveal it’s charms with time. Still, I think big label money frightened our delicate Ben Gibbard.

My cousin is dying of lung cancer at 23. She wants to get chemo, which my family all feels is a bit of a mistake, but her family insists on. The cancer has already metastasisized and spread to her lymph nods, a cancer which because of her age and non-smoking history is a virtual impossibility in itself. She’s going to die, chemo or not, and she has no idea the house of horror that is chemotherapy. It’s worse than death. She will spend the rest of her time on earth covered in sores, vomiting up intestinal walls, aching, burning, and hospital-ridden. But then, there’s the hope factor, and who will argue with that one chance in a million when your baby girl is dying? Still, I was very close to Joyce, we used to vacation together, so this is a very sad situation.

Julia is not reacting to it in the best of ways. My sister tends to get very attached to people, so death is a huge betrayal for her. She’s having trouble eating and going to school, because, as she has insulated, the specter of mortality hangs above her. Or something. Pretty much, unless it’s my nuclear family, death is something that I tend to celebrate, as a passage, much like birth or marriage. Julia will need to learn that people will always leave or disappoint you, and that the sooner you can embrace this, the happier you will be.

In other sad news, Margaret and her fiancé are off-again. She realized that getting married at 20 is, in anywhere other than Mormon Ville, a bit insane, and that she should learn if she’s compatible with this man before she marries him. I guess it comes down to the fact that you KNOW someone’s right, that first spine tingling moment, but you don’t know if that person can be right for you. Just because you know you’re connected on a cosmic level doesn’t mean that you should bypass the ‘breaking in” period, which I feel a lot of Mormons do. Good partners are a combination of work and fate, and Margaret felt they had glossed over the work bit, and Chad’s feelings were hurt and now they aren’t speaking. And most of Margaret’s friends moved out of the apartment building she had moved into as soon as she had moved in, (a bit tasteless if you ask me), so now she’s alone in an empty apartment building and her boyfriend isn’t returning her call. Life is depressing.

And no, this isn’t the post where I yell at the victims at hurricane Katrina. I’m still educating myself to see if my knee-jerk reaction of horror and outrage at the ‘victims’ is justified.

Who is our reader from Hayward, California? Reveal yourself!

PS--I'm going to say some terrible things about the hurricane katrina fiasco in the next few days, so if you want to call me elitist and cold and racist or classist or anything else to try and disparage my opinion, now's the time, because I don't want to hear it later

What's up biotches? Give me some love.

my weekend was pretty good, all around. I'm still going through a nasty bit of depression since fall is coming. The first few weeks of fall and most of spring is very hard for me, as I think it is for any kid who grows up moving around. Spring is always when you pack up and get ready to leave your friends, fall is when you have to steel yourself for a new school year full of strangers. I can be 24 (eeeek!) and nearly grown-up, but spring and fall always have that sting of death and loneliness, especially now, living at home, being reminded that I'm living at home. But no matter--the school search starts tomorrow. Must get to new york and write my graphic novel.

Umm, yes, I said graphic novel. It's embarrassing, isn't it? That's like admitting I wear pointed white shoes and buy Les Savvy Fav releases on vinyl. But in truth, the idea of an illustrated novel has interested me ever since reading Harmony Korine's lifechanging book, "A crackup at the race riots." Laura really helped kick the idea into high gear by hooking me up with some comics that aren't as horrifically awful as "Jimmy Corrigan" (which she, by the way, loved.) I read "Maus," which caught my interest despite being Another Holocaust Story (yes, I know I'm going to hell). Now I'm riding my way through McSweeny's volume 13, which had some of the most brilliant things in it. I realize by reading new things I'm breaking one of the cardinal rules of my self-inflicted torture, i.e. no new literature, but I'm DYING. I must read something--a year is too long in book exile, especially with me giving up writing.

Friday afternoon we drove down to South Side Dallas, a la Oak Cliff, a la The Cliff, a la the bars-on-the-windows police-brutality, drug-busting-crack-whores neighborhood, all in search of a top-notch Mexican restaurant, or at least that’s how it was billed. In fact, the part of Oak Cliff we went to was very charming and old-world Texas, with shops made out of adobe and drink-venders lining the side walks. Our restaurant was right across the street from the movie theater where they arrested Lee Harvey Oswald, as a side note. Despite the $40 in gas it took us to drive there (stand up comic moment: what’s the deal with gas? I had to give up my first born son to fill up the tank today ba-bing-tish), the food was only so so. However-HOWEVER-they cut and serve their own fries. I don’t think any of you can appreciate what a rarity it has become to go into a restaurant and have them cut up big, thick fries and then fry them without thick oils and batters, so they actually taste like potatoes. Oh my GOSH.

I also saw "A streetcar named desire" for the first time Saturday night. Now, for some unknown reason, I had been under the impression that “Streetcar” was a bittersweet love story with some good acting set in, and this is my own naïveté on display, San Francisco. In fact, I was quite wrong. “A Streetcar Named Desire” incorporated all of the things that I hate into one movie:
1) Misogynism
2) The South
3) New Orleans
4) Spousal Abuse
5) Double-standards
6) Rape
7) Marlon Brando
8) Weak, emotional women
And you know what? I loved it. I frickin’ fell in love with this horrible, cruel, disgusting whore of a movie. The pathos was heartbreaking, and the story was impeccably crafted, the acting was great theatre acting, but unrivaled when compared to other movies at the time. And let me be honest—Brando was a looker. Pretty hot, actually. I certainly wasn’t expecting that.

Sunday I saw the Celebrity Fit Club finale. Dude, those people are like family. They aren’t like the terrible people from first season, they’re all (except for Wendy the Snapple lady, who is a complete freak) just the cutest people. Bonnie pointed out that “My date with Busey” was before it’s time, and they need to bring it back in wake of current events. I couldn’t agree more. And I want Toquare to hook up with that hot black doctor, because they would have beautiful babies.

Labor Day my family made another trek, into the wilds of west McKinney this time looking for The Best Fried Chicken north dallas had to offer. May I say that Babs comes pretty frickin’ close. You see, my family can only be described as food tourists, especially my father. Regions are not seen in terms of geography and sites, so much as it s part of a giant international buffet. Take pizza. Chicago? Giordano’s. New York? John’s Pizzeria. Boston? Santarpio’s. We go to Brussels for the chocolate, England for Cadbury bars and Sainsbury lemon tea cake, France for croissants and bread, Switzerland for yoghurt and Raclette cheese, Vienna for coffee, blah blah blah. And in each of these places, we even have the best stores whittled down, so we can tell you the best place to buy bread in the south of France (artisan bakery on rue de victor hugo in Avignon) or the places that give you the best sodas with ice while in Europe (Pizza hut, of all things). So it is no surprise that in order to get this reputation, my family must be constantly on the look out for bigger and better things. Having not yet discovered The Best Fried Chicken in dallas, we took my Great Aunt up on a tip and drove to the middle of nowhere to try Bab’s country kitchen buffet. Maybe it’s Babe’s. I don’t know. The point is they had stuffed chickens on the wall, a free jukebox, and all the free side dishes you want. You pay for meat and soda. And let me tell you, AMAZING. It wasn’t the best ever (Kansas City still holds that distinction), but it was by far the best I’ve had. I ate until my stomach showed signs of buckling. The whole thing was brilliant brilliant brilliant. Except that here I am today, suppose to be heading over to Fogo de Chao for a birthday lunch, and I’m nt even a little bit hungry. Oh! The sacrifices we make!

I felt like a criminal caught blinking in the light of 100 flash bulbs. Helpless and childlike and so uncertain. No one wants to embrace something that's all jagged edges and rough callouses. Yet, I'm not sure whether I have it in me to be soft.

According to the "Which Big Lebowski character are you?" quiz:

Why don't you check it out? Or we cut off your Johnson!

um...I've never actually seen the film - is that result accurate??

*eeeeeeeeeeeeeee* I'm back online. This pleases me. The fact that my stupid new European laptop doesn't come with Word, Excel or PowerPoint displeases me, but - - I chose to leave the US and then my US computer died and then I decided to buy a new computer over here. Mistake maybe, but I was desparate. There was no way I was going to make it four months without a computer. And it works...it's just that it's missing some very important bits and pieces. I feel as if I've just whipped off a really hot Scottish elf's trousers only to discover that he's circumsized and only has one testicle. I can work around what's missing, but I'd rather I had the whole.

Ran into someone previously slimy on the bus home this afternoon and had a surprisingly friendly and fun conversation. He's cute, he really really is! *perfect teeth* And he gave me some candies later when I was in the common room watching a movie with some of the guys and he patted my head and ruffled up my hair. And it reminded me that there are some things about not being so on your own that are nice and reassuring. Even to have the same person ask you every day when you get home how your day was and how you're feeling, and then give you a pat on the head or a hug. Coming home to a circumsized, single-nut laptop isn't the same. And my cross-trainer only ever causes me pain (the theoretical accompanying gains remaining so thanks to extraordinarily high levels of sugar consumption when *in a state* and not on said cross-trainer).

Someday, I'll post my Egypt pictures (and tell you where Rebecca posted hers), and you can all look at the lovely photo one of my *supposed* friends took of my massive posterior blocking out what would otherwise have been a fantastic shot of the Alexandria library. I had my LindsayLohan reality flab-check moment when that one flashed up onto the screen. And those pictures are posted online - eek!! For everyone in the world to see - EEK!! That said, I like having more than a handful...need to find the happy medium between ruining photos from the back and sporting HilaryDuff-style mammaries in the front.

I had to wear THREE tops today because the English sun was so bloody strong!! Not that it was, I suppose, but because even two years away from Chicago summer sun has so weakened what minimal natural sun defense I had that I can't so much as think about 1pm sun without going pink around the edges. Swear I accidentally caught the KnightBus this afternoon, as well...never in my life have I been more convinced that a bus was going to go careening off the road or smash into a parked car or spontaneously combust. The driver was INSANE!! And the back of the bus, where I was sitting, was packed with a group of hilariously uncouth, middle-aged nurses who had just finished a shift at the NottinghamQueensMedicalCenter. Had they been sporting matching pointy hats, I'd half have expected to end up at Hogwarts instead of Bulwell (and wouldn't have minded, as Bulwell is an utter shithole, and DracoMalfoy is hot!).

I think this qualifies as a "downward spiral" or a "slippery slope" or some other cheese-head metaphor that indicates things are going nowhere good!

Anyway! I am still completely obsessed with Hounds of Love. And I want to share it with you. FOR FREE. You pirates. Download it here. Ahoy! Murder on the high seas!

I buy CDs and records because they are really nice things to have.

http://cryingwhileeating.com/
The essays I should have written
Tom Cruise's Blog

Take your shoes off and I will throw them in the lake.

I am OBSESSED with The Futurehead's cover of Kate Bush's "Hounds of Love." iTunes $.99. Do it!