Mary Versus the Trumpeting Legions of Apathy

I've spent some time in NY and some time in DC and I can't shake the vibe that DC is cleaner, nicer and newer. But I also know that I need to like NY --everyone who's anyone is supposed to like NYC. And how can I make a statement about one of the largest cities in the world when there are so many different neighborhoods and cultures? Do cities really have a spirit to them? Or is it just our personal associations with them? Will be back in Provo on the 2nd. Funny I've been gone so long.

A bunch of kids from my theory class were trying to weigh the sincerity of compliments. And the validity of standardized testing. We all ought to be confident enough that we're supersmartypants and besides, it doesn't matter. But how do you know if you're smart enough? Compare and contrast. Pro Con Your professor thinks you're brilliant. Your professor thinks everyone's brilliant. You got a good GRE score. Someone in your class complained about a 780. Your friends love your writing. None of your friends are major journals' editors. You do some things well. You don't do everything perfectly.

I am mercifully deflected from dejection. Again.

that I apparently only post whenever there's a crisis. And crisis there always seems to be. I can't get my GRE scores. I know that they're already being sent to the school of my choice, but the school of my choice wants me to write them on the application and I don't know them. Maybe this is fate that I'm not supposed to go there. Or maybe this is just a good lesson on the importance of counting ahead the business days before deadlines. Dang. I hate to have all this worry in vain.

I've done a solid half of what I set out to do this Thanksgiving Break. But mostly the half about watching Japanese animation epics. And only half of that. And I started my applications to graduate school. But mostly and bestly, I spent a lot of time hanging out with my nephew and niece. We went to the park twice in one day, bought Christmas presents for a little girl without any presents at all, played Mario Party, watched The Incredibles (twice), cleaned up baby throw up, went to the mall, read The Flash's Book of Speed , had a birthday party, wiped fingerprints off the walls, surprised Grandma, learned 3 good knock-knock jokes (and infinite not-so-good ones), put up Christmas decorations and talked on the phone with Mom in Cambodia. Good times had by all (except, perhaps, the Bad Guys). I'm sleeping here two more nights, but I go back to regular college life tomorrow. I've enjoyed my exotic trip into the world of semi-motherhood (or just more engaged aunthood?) and

My three-year-old nephew is having his first fight with God. He refuses to say his prayers. He doesn't understand why a Heavenly Father that loves him so much won't let him have a little brother or sister. Frankly, it's an understandable complaint. My sister deserves to be a mother of whole nations and anyone would be lucky to have her for a mother. It seems pretty unfair, especially when we've all prayed and fasted and gotten our hopes up through two rounds of in vitro and nothing. Almost nothing. There being a library of what I don't know about the reproductive system, I can't tell you how it works but somehow my sister has ended up with the morning sickness and no baby. She's been really brave about it. She tells me this is the one thing that she's put entirely into the hands of God and not worry about. She worries about a lot of things, is very independent and motivated, but this is something she's willing to go on faith on. I haven't called

Any requests? (Poems or treats: I'm thinking store-bought frosting and graham crackers...you decide for what part)

Ah, yes. This is what I'm talking about.

I'm sick of complaining here. Here's some good news: I took a practice GRE which make me want to shower, but now I know I can get a 600 without studying. Let's see if studying does me any good. But I'm all registered and signed up and everything, which means there's no going back. There is potential not showing up, but going back? Not a chance. I've turned in my thesis proposal. I hope it gets approved in time for me to register for graduation. But it is one solid proposal. Woo-eee. I got accepted for a reading series, which is scary and fun. I need to practice. And make cupcakes. eg thinks I'm not so good when I read my own stuff--I get scared and go too fast and am apoligetic for having written poetry, which reminds me: I could have submitted something not-poetry, but I didn't know that at the time. I'm happy, though. Very happy. And it's a nice sunny day and last night I had a pretty good date and I think I'm going to go buy chocolate for

Evil...bad! Good...good!

Dear Eventuals, I hope you don't mind the Beehive-y feel to this assignment. I hope you don't resent that everyone besides you has had the opportunity to read this long before your even existence. But if you do mind and do resent, you at least do and therefore are and so what do any of us have to complain about? I wish for you all the best. All holiness and gratitude, all achievement and all comfort. I wish for you sensible, pleasant lives. But I'm not naive enough to believe that your lives will be all honeysuckle and backrubs (but let's have some of that in our lives, too, shalln't we?), because there never is any point to the untested life. But I can wish two things at least for you. One is that we'll listen to one other. I hope that I can teach you something and that you'll learn the things I know from me. I don't have all the answers, but I have done a lot of stupid things and seen the results and, let me brag a little on this, have avoided doing ma

Getting your wallet stolen, because you can cancel your credit cards. Missing a test, because nice teachers will let you take it later. Being late for an engagement, because the others are running late, too. Getting locked out of your apartment, because you get to talk with the neighbors. Chelsea poetry magazine folding, because at least it's not a rejection letter. There's a lot of mercy out there. Everything will be better.

You've been warned. Silence Dmitry Merejkovski How often I’ve wished to declare my love, But I don’t know how to say anything at all. I only thrill suddenly, strive forward... and stay silent: As it were, ashamed--I don’t dare say a thing. Your living soul is so close to me. Like everything mysterious, like everything uncommon, That all too frightening divine secret Love seems to me to speak of it. In us the better feelings, embarrassed and voiceless, And all that is holy is declared by silence: While glistening waves racket on the surface The sea deep keeps its silence.

I didn't get in a fender bender. I didn't cut open my hand on a tin can. My dog wasn't attacked by a Doberman. My landlord didn't evict me. My parents didn't get separated. My trousers didn't split in the middle of my dance number on stage in front of several hundred people. My hair didn't catch on fire. I didn't lose my take-home midterm for Critical Theory. My former companions didn't call me up to say that they decided to apostatize. I didn't get shut down by a boy I liked. I wasn't forbidden to play in a soccer championship because it clashed with my Punjabi traditions of women's roles. My brothers weren't drafted. I didn't get diagnosed with cancer. I wasn't kicked out of my home for my religious beliefs. The stock market didn't crash. Terrorists didn't bomb a US embassy. An untreatable plague did not strike major transportation hubs. An asteroid wasn't discovered hurtling towards earth. The undead did not rai

I sure didn't. Dang. What I'm hoping is that the computer GRE, which is offered year-round up in the SLC will be just as good. Otherwise...well, maybe I'll join the peace corp. Or something.

Right when you're caught up, on top of everything, they hit you with the flu. And you discover that you can carve out 8 hours a day for napping. I'm going back to sleep.

I finished my paper for Wednesday on Monday. I finished my paper for today last Thursday. I'm caught up in all my reading and have been studying economics for a half an hour a day for a week. Sudden burst of responsibility? Show week. Any Given Second is given for just a second, and so I read over my cereal (I mean, literally, although I am in the habit of reading cereal boxes over and over), debate Roland Barthes between applications of mascara, and check my planner eight, nine, ten times a day. I have no evenings. I have little in the way of late afternoons. Until Sunday night I'm not guaranteed much in the way of nights, either. I've got a lot to do: it's a show week. And yet, some how... How is it that when I'm doing more, I do more? I've been working on my portfolio, my thesis, keeping my room clean. I checked out the Fall Styles Lucky (thank you eg) and started reading one of those masterpieces of literature that has hijacked me in my ignorance and helped

Hurrah, I'm caught up on my submissions!! Now if only they would catch up on publishing me.

So, cleaning out my room today I came across a bunch of paintings from high school. (Why haven't I painted since high school?) So I decided to get rid of them. (Ah, that's why I haven't painted since high school.) Nah, I think. Maybe Sarah will want one for her Wall. So I go by her house, it's 10:30 at night but maybe she's still up; it's a Saturday night, right? No answer at the door. And then so here I am. Hey, I have a scanning option on my new, free printer. I can put them up on my blog. So there you have it: buy my high school artwork, the angst, and all proceeds will go to the Perpetual Education Fund, so that someone out there will get some good out of this. The Rules: Bidding for each piece starts at 1 (one) dollar. Bidding opens tonight, October 6, 2007 and closes Hallowe en 2007. Bidd ing will tak e place here, responses on this blog entry unless you want to offer vast amounts of money fo r a piece and are embarrassed about out-bidding my mom, in which

Look at me blogging! Look at me not being asleep like the entire rest of the day! Actually, sometimes I think I like the pain. No, not the pain, I hate the pain, but I like having had the pain; maybe it makes me empathetic. I cut two classes, but I did put on a suit jacket and get a free pen from Mercer. Sweet deal

Everything you wanted to know about me over the past few weeks. Much you didn't. Thesis Not coming along as well as one might hope although I made a startling discovery last week: if one works on one's thesis, it gets done-er. Not to say that I've actually finished the proposal yet, but I'm getting pretty close to it. It should be done by tomorrow, at least in draft. If you see me, please ask why I'm not currently working on my thesis. It's almost mid-term and this is supposed to take 3 semesters. Er. Social Life I did it. The big step, the social faux pas: I asked a boy out on a date. Boys in the audience, please weigh in on this. Is it offensive towards your sense of gender roles? Does it take the thrill of the hunt out of dating? Then ask me first. Okay, that sounded desperate. Just because it turns out I'm not so good at the planning the date thing. The play we were going to go to is sold out. Can I convince him that an evening at the International Cine

I'm listening to eels, classic sad haunting stuff. I'm reading poetry, self-loathing stuff. I'm hearing that literature serves a psychological purpose. People can solve tension in their lives through var carious living. The Illiad ends when Achilles realizes that there is pain greater than his pain, in Priam and my teacher says "this is literature. this is what it's supposed to do. we realize that actually, it's not just us who feel this way." I read this way. Do I feel this way?

The ice cream cake. From the brand-name store. The basket of peaches for breakfast. The envelope. The envelope. The envelope. The envelope. A roomful of navy and leaf-green balloons. At 9:15 in the evening, the shout unexpected. The crowd full of strangers celebrating me. I am twenty-three.

So now I'm feeling: a: maybe I'm not smart enough to compete in this game b: maybe I'm not disciplined enough to compete in this game c: maybe I'm no creative enough to compete in this game. But then I remember: a-z: I freakin' rock.

I have the new computer. I have the new apartment. I have the new iPod. I have the new shoes, the new backpack, the new haircut. Now what do I do? Please let school start soon.

Sarah, now I'm crow-eating. I must admit, I started Mary Zimmerman's Metamorphosis skeptically, probably because I made the mistake of paying too close of attention to the stage directions and stage directions always seem a little, I don't know, snobby and controlling. I even started to bristle at the Midas as Evil Rich Man because, afterall, it is the Evil Rich Man who supports the arts, isn't it? But I now agree with you that this is a fabulous play. 1. Fun with form, especially the narration/chorus type thing, which I bet you are using in your poetry, aren't you? Aren't you? 2. It was sweet. Tender, you know. Thank you for lending it to me. I may bring it in, if you'll lend it to me again, when I take the Classics course this year. To all else, I recommend it. And that's quite the change.

I hope that it fulfills all your expectations. Glad I finally got around to doing this. More later. Much more.