Top 5 reasons why the semester needed to be over (and now, thankfully, is)

ast night marked the official end of the semester: final papers graded, catatonic state (barely) avoided, semester grades submitted, congratulatory bag of Reese’s Pieces consumed, alarm clock deactivated… I could have even slept in ⎯that is, if the Insomnia Plane didn’t have the annoying habit of touching down just as I was adapting to the rhythmic rumbles. But still. The point is that I could have slept in.

Yes, the semester’s end marks a very positive move for me.

1. Turns out that one of my students is a raging misogynist. Or at least likes to pretend he is when composing a graded, argumentative essay in response to Susan Sontag’s text, “Woman’s Beauty.” Fortunately, I did not discover this interesting/disturbing tidbit until the day after our last class meeting. I’m guessing I would have found it rather difficult to listen to his in-class commentary without seeing the phrase “abuse of feminine power” constantly flashing like a running film in front of my eyes. It’s a good thing the semester’s over.

2. A few weeks ago, I had to report two of my students to the Dean for plagiarism. One student immediately confessed to having copied/pasted an entire paragraph from an online book review. Best case of a bad-case scenario for a non-confrontational coward such as myself. The second student, however, insisted, for over an hour, that he had done nothing wrong. Let’s call him Jimmy. Jimmy is a Chinese ESL student and a first-year student at the university. Now, according to Jimmy, apparently, in China, the internet poses as a virtual free-for-all, where “borrowing” someone else’s words (or whole sentences, or whole paragraphs) amounts to the distribution of a veritable MVP Award: you reward the ingenious word-play of the creator by (sloppily) integrating word-for-word examples into your own essay! What an honor! Oh, and the kicker is that, the actual creator? you know, the one you’re paying homage to by stealing borrowing his/her stuff? Yeah, s/he remains completely anonymous and receives no credit whatsoever! Because, let’s face it: that would be embarrassing, all that complimentary behavior and free publicity… it can just get to be way too much. Yes, it’s much easier to let Jimmy pass your words off as his own. Oh, and by the way, it’s not thievery, silly! Because, see, Jimmy shares the ideas of the actual wordsmith. So he’s not stealing the ideas. Not at all. He’s sharing them. And rewarding the person who came up with the best method of relaying those ideas. Altruism at its finest, really. Jimmy’s such a do-gooder. Yes, it’s a d@mn good thing the semester’s over. 

(*Just for the record, I do not for one second believe that China’s rigorously controlled internet actually functions in this manner. I do, however, believe that my student is highly misled. But I did get through to him. Two hours and several — well cited – examples later.)

3. One day, mid-semester, one of my very gracious students raised his hand and gladly offered me the following commentary regarding a poem I had assigned: “I think it’s completely pointless.” A touching moment for any educator. In his defense, though, the poem was heavily layered… and written by Arthur Rimbaud, who’s sort of (in)famously obscure… but still. The many layers proves that there are many points. Not a lack of points. Surely not point-less. So… so there! Ugh. Thankfully, he won’t have to read Rimbaud anymore. The semester’s over.

4. I share an office with about 10 other graduate students, but I’m fortunate (and sufficiently “senior”) to maintain a desk that’s sort of tucked away behind a partition, adjacent to the desk of another graduate student. Let’s call her Betsy. Betsy and I rarely pop up in the office at the same time. This is a good thing. This is a very good thing, because when Betsy does pop up in the office, she emits a quick, barely-there “hello,” which becomes upstaged by the emergence of red smoke, devil horns, a pitchfork, and a smug-@ss mouth from which a ferocious litany of questions spews in my very specific direction. What Betsy lets loose is the equivalent of a verbal ambush of the doctoral variety: the intent is to severely batter and permanently scar my ego. And preferably my intelligence as well, which then manifests itself via a split-infinitive, like the one above. F*ck. Anyway, the verbal ambush generally goes a little something like this:

BETSY, SEEMINGLY POPPING OUT OF NOWHERE (“nowhere” being the eternal flames of Hell fire): Well, hell⎯How is your work? You’re defending soon, right? (cue sick, twisted devil smile) You have finished your dissertation, no? NO?! Well, how far are you? When will you be done? You’ve been here a long time… What do your advisors say? Are you in touch with them? Are they helping you? Are you working on your dissertation this summer? Do you have funding? When do you plan on graduating? …

ME (taking advantage of Betsy pausing to stick her pitchfork further up her @ss): I don’t know, Betsy, but how nice of you to be so concerned. OH, NO! Wow, would you look at the time… I’m supposed to be somewhere…

ONE OF MY STUDENTS (with an impeccably ill-timed entrance): Hi, Professor, I’m here for my scheduled meeting with you.

ME (to myself): F*****************************CK…!

BETSY PROCEEDS TO BLOW RED SMOKE FROM HER FLARING NOSTRILS WHILE GIGGLING DIABOLICALLY AND STABBING ME IN THE CEREBELLUM WITH HER PITCHFORK BEFORE DISAPPEARING.

So, yeah. Jury’s out on whether or not I will retain my desk/office for the next academic year. It’s quite possible that my department will eject me since I am now teaching for a different department. I may become office-less. Very sad. Anyone have any leftover cardboard boxes I could use…? Oh well. At least I don’t have to think about that right now. The semester’s over.

5. In case Betsy or anyone else cares: I *am* working on my dissertation this summer. FULL-TIME, in fact. I figured I might as well take advantage of the Federal Student Loan program while I still can and, at the same time, FINALLY finish this thing that’s been almost a decade in the making. I deserve it. Right? Right. So, not to steal the thunder of Miss Cleo or Latoya Jackson or anything, but… I have a distinct feeling that the pogs of my not-so-distant future will include frequent (or at least semi-frequent) references to my life as a full-time dissertator. Which will probably involve a crushing need to vent frustrations, to seek humor in the not-so-humorousness (?) of the situation, to run ideas by anyone who cares to read, etc. etc.. Oh yeah, and I’ll probably just rip on myself a lot, too. But it’ll be good. I’ll be productive. I NEED TO BE PRODUCTIVE. I NEED TO WRITE MY DISSERTATION AND FINISH THIS D@MN DEGREE.

Thank goodness the semester’s over. Thank goodness it’s (academic) summer.

 

This list was prompted by the lovely Anna of abdpbt and her series of Listless Mondays. Check out her lists HERE.

(*Initial L found HERE)

It’s Monday. I have questions. And some random observations. And stuff.

ome days, I wake up and instantly feel extremely complacent and accepting. I easily take people, places, and things (uh, nouns?) for what they are, no questions asked. I’m not saying it’s a good thing or a bad thing, it’s just the way it is. Sometimes I just really am way too self-absorbed do not have the energy. Other days, however, I am less noun complacent. I have questions. Lots of questions. And I can’t simply let it slide, for example, that someone thought ballet flats-in-4-inches-of-snow was a good idea. Or that pains au chocolat have not become a permanent fixture of the American breakfast. Or even lunch or dinner. I don’t care. But it should definitely be a permanent fixture during at least one major meal. While we’re at it, so should crêpes with Nutella & coconut. That said, I amazingly never gain weight when I go to France. Curious.

Some other curiosities on this Monday of the StupidGroundhogThatSawHisStupidShadow:

Image: http://flickr.com/photos/creekrunningnorth/530921810/

1. What gave pizza joints the idea that cinnamon foods proved an appropriate accompaniment? I do not shovel a slice of sausage pizza in my mouth and think, “Ooh, I can’t wait to eat a cinnastick right after this.” Gross.

2. Who invented the Peep? because I’m pretty sure whoever it was suffered from some pretty freaky hallucinations.

3. Some dude is auctioning off his “867-5309″ number on eBay. Amazingly, despite the fact that this same number occurs under a bajillion other area codes, this dude’s number (in area code 201) has already garnered more than $34,000. WTF?!? Oh, and the winner also gets the dude’s DJ business. Because Jenny was a sick-@ss DJ.

4. Apparently, Puffs Ultra is not the same as Puffs Plus. The difference being that Puffs Ultra SUCKS.

5. Even though I completely agree that Heath Ledger was brilliant in The Dark Knight, I found Iron Man to be a more complex, cohesive film. Also, I love Robert Downey, Jr. Whether pre-, during-, or post- drug years, my RDJ love is unconditional. 

6. I kind of want to start a “Life is Bad” campaign to rival “Life is Good.” 

7. I’m not a total cynic, I swear. 

8. How does one “accidentally” air “10 seconds of eye-popping pornographic imagery” instead of the Super Bowl?! The best part is that the accidental airing only occurred in Arizona, just as the Cardinals “scored.”

Personally, I think tomatoes are heinous, whether stolen or not. (Image courtesy of: http://www.worldcommunitycookbook.org)

9. When it snows, my landlord’s son barrels into the driveway in his huge monster truck-with-plow, and he then continues right into the backyard. He plows the yard. Every time it snows, he plows the yard. I’m pretty sure plow-on-grass does not equate to healthy lawn growth.

10. WHY THE F*CK DOES HE PLOW THE YARD?!?

11. The same dude came over last summer, saw me reading in the backyard, said a quick/awkward “hello,” stole a couple tomatoes from my neighbor’s garden, and then promptly drove away.

12. Apparently they don’t have tomatoes where my landlord’s son lives?

13. Didn’t the copy-cat shoe thrower in England today realize that his shoe-launching would forever be eclipsed by The Shoe That Almost Whacked Bush?

14. Dirty Dancing: The Musical? SERIOUSLY?!? Gag. I’m pretty sure someone’s trying to capitalize on Patrick Swayze’s cancer “popularity.”

Another Monday, another List in homage to Anna at:

Monday Monday (cue The Mamas & The Papas).

think we can all agree that Mondays, as a general rule, SUCK. Mondays are proof that the weekend is no more, proof that another freakishly long week has mindlessly begun to putz along, proof that I need serious caffeine and/or Peanut M&Ms to get through the first half of the day (let alone the second)… Yep, Mondays kind of blow. And it seems like “every other day (every other day), every other day of the week is fine, but whenever Monday comes (but whenever Monday comes), you can find me cryin’ all of the time.” And that’s not so nice, Monday. Not so nice at all.  

But this Monday (as in, today) was very different. Granted, I still scarfed down a bag of M&Ms at approximately 2:15 pm, but I’d venture that I would have managed OK had I not. And that’s saying a lot. Please trust me. 

So… here’s why The Mamas & The Papas proved irrelevant aujourd’hui:

1. We found out that my baby niece gets to say “later, dudes!” to the hospital staff tomorrow, where she will snuggle herself into a heavily padded car seat and head home to meet her doggy sibling and greet her new sleeping and playing quarters! Her twin baby brother has to stay in the hospital just a little while longer, but we’re all sure he’ll be hittin’ his own car seat really soon. I mean, duh, he has a dog to meet.

2. Speaking of baby nephew’s awesomeness… the inaugural whizz occurred today. And by “the inaugural whizz,” I mean that I had my first victim-of-an-out-of-control-peepisode during a diaper changing. It. Was. Awesome! Like a renegade missile attack, yet streamlined directly across my wool sweatered chest. That is, before he whizzed on his own head. Still trying to figure that one out. Impressive. I’m also still trying to figure out why I’m so thrilled to have been peed on by my nephew… Rather than any freaky-deaky urophilia tendencies, I prefer to assume that I merely feel as though he has “marked his territory” and, therefore, he thinks I’m a keeper. Not that I equate him with a dog peeing on a fire hydrant, but… whatever. I’m just a proud aunt who’s ecstatic when a “first” anything occurs, OK?

3. I have a handful of ESL students in my writing course this semester, which I love, but which also proves an interesting dynamic within the class… and after class, during my office hours. Today, one of my adorable ESL students (let’s call him Ed), came to my office hours to discuss his comprehension of an assigned article (for which they must then write an analytical summary). Ed is a wide-eyed first-year student, somewhat soft-spoken and completely anxious to learn… he’s basically a dream student. And, as a longtime student of a foreign language myself, I can completely empathize with the difficulties he’s facing, his curiosities, etc. etc.. Anyway… it was a pleasure to meet with him and to discuss the text and the course in general. And then, toward the end of our discussion, he looked me in the eye and said, “You are a much better writing teacher than my last one.” And, OK, I realize that this is probably completely selfish/childish/lame/whatever of me, but… I wanted to freakin’ HUG the boy when he said that! I mean, I of course played it off professionally (and somewhat evasively) and simply asked him what course he had taken last semester, how he felt the course improved his writing, etc. etc…. of course I did not ask about the professor he had… but, meanwhile, a lavish party was unfolding in my mind. And this was the first “compliment” I’ve really received about my teaching in a writing course, so… I relished it.

4. Oh, so remember back when I rambled about Revolutionary Road, and I mentioned a dude who played a supporting role, and I was completely blown away by him? “Him” is Michael Shannon, and he was nothing short of extraordinary. I immediately did the IMDB thing to find out what other films he’s been in (which I then promptly added to my Netflix queue), and to read his bio, find out if he’s married or destined for me, etc. etc.. Anyway, as it turns out: my future husband was nominated for a Best Supporting Actor Oscar for his role in RR! So that’s pretty awesome. Awesome for him, of course, but also awesome for me because the news of the Oscar nod oddly legitimizes my film/acting reviews and, in my mind, brings me one step closer to getting into red carpet premieres and schmoozing with the likes of Ebert & Roeper. Speaking of: god, poor Ebert and his non-existent voice, huh? I mean, he’s kicking cancer’s A, which is phenomenal, but… I can’t help but want to hug the little guy whenever I see him and his wrapped throat.

5. I weighed myself at my sister’s for the first time since early last fall (I don’t own a scale and generally tend to ignore their existence). After passing out, I promptly high-tailed it to the gym. I made it four times last week, and even though I got home late tonight and wanted to watch The Bachelor at 8pm (priorities), I still busted a move to the gym to get in 45 mins of cardio and 25 mins of weights tonight. And then I watched that psycho-”do what I tell you to do”-dominatrix Lauren get the axe. Nice work, Bachelor. 

6. Speaking of reality TV… Olivia on The City is a slightly less diabolical Blair Waldorf.

7. The freakin’ Paper Source 2009 Wall Art calendar is finally on freakin’ sale!!!! I’ve been waiting for weeks! Once January 1st hit, I figured, “Awesome, Paper Source will hack the hell out of the calendar prices.” But no. They tried some “buy one, get one half off” bullshiz, which is ludicrous because, come on, who wants two of the same calendar?! Anyway, I kept revisiting their site (and their shops) to see if, perchance, they had come to their senses and knocked some bucks off of their calendar prices. But no. Until… now. Way to hold out, Paper Source. You almost got me. But now… your calendar is ALL. FREAKIN’. MINE.

Another Monday, another List in homage to Anna at:

How I celebrate MLK Day.

artin Luther King, Jr., probably didn’t think that his monumental, historic fight for civil liberties would result in a holiday that spawns huge clothing sales and a free day for students to go gorge on buttery popcorn and Sour Patch Kids at the local multiplex. 

Kevin Mazur/Courtesy of HBO via image.net

This year is, of course, a hallmark year for MLK, Jr., appreciation. One word: inauguration. I’m so ridiculously ecstatic that Americans have chosen to reinstate intelligence (among other positive — and greatly missed — qualities) in the White House. Obama represents progress, hope, change… the list goes on. And it’s wonderful to feel that energy and see it displayed across the country through the various celebrations, posters, etc.. But… I don’t know… something about the several-day-long inauguration celebrations seem a bit, kind of, overkill? Not that I don’t think President-Elect Obama (or America) deserves it — of course he/we do/es. But… I don’t know… considering the financial/economic state of the union right now, it strikes me as a bit bizarre to hear of all the lavish parties and top-notch concerts and opulent balls. Celebrities have invaded Washington, and suddenly the presidential inauguration has become a pop culture phenomenon, the hot ticket, the “it” place to be. I mean, socialite-infested inauguration parties probably offer swag and are sponsored by Nintendo Wii or Ugg or something. I don’t know. Something about it kind of makes me cringe. I’m excited about Inauguration Day tomorrow, of course. OF COURSE. But… I just feel as though it’s all become rather circus-like (Britney?). Thousand-dollar tickets, people trying to make a buck (or a few thousand) off of it… How disconcerting when one of the brightest moments of our/our nation’s life gets transformed into a Super Bowl before our very eyes. A Super Bowl with an endless supply of halftime shows.

Anyway. 

I’ve been occasionally checking in with CNN and various Twitter birds so that I can be sure not to miss any all-important updates. But, other than that, here’s how I’ve spent my MLK, Jr., Day off from teaching:

1. I ate Grape Nuts

2. I checked my kitchen ceiling, which began leaking last night when my upstairs neighbor drew a bath. I was on the phone with a dear friend when, suddenly, I heard what sounded like water sloshing down through my kitchen walls. I was pretty sure the Deluge was coming. But it hasn’t come. Yet.

3. I read the latest issue of Time and felt conflicted about Pope Benedict XVI’s comment about Jesus and putting patches on an old suit.

4. I greeted Maintenance Man, who came in to investigate aforementioned leaky ceiling. Maintenance Man’s investigation involved: a. me directing him to leaky culprit, b. Maintenance Man looking directly at leaky culprit, c. Maintenance Man deciding to go knock on upstair neighbor’s door to check out her leaky pipes (Perv.), d. Maintenance Man driving away.

5. I chatted online with another dear friend. For, like, 45 minutes.

6. I watched some cheese-infested Lifetime movie about a bad girl-of-divorce-gone-good (standard plot of 98.7% of Lifetime movies) while filling up some pages of my Creative Journal, which felt lovely.

7. I watched as a dude in a truck snowplowed our driveway, and then proceeded right on through to our backyard and plowed the grass? No clue.

8. I took pictures of Nor’easter loveliness. And plowed backyard.

9. I ate leftover pizza. I actually reheated it in the oven rather than in the microwave. I am becoming more and more domestic. I make me proud.

10. I looked back (several times) at pictures of my baby niece and nephew and, more specifically, me feeding baby nephew and wanting to run away with him. It could have been so easy! Sh*t.

 

Another Listless Monday:

Lip List

OK, before I move on to my Monday List, please allow me to address the cracked-out elephant whisping around the room: 

Oh, Drew. Drew Drew Drew… you’ve had your share of fashion f*ck-ups, it’s true:

But you’ve also proven that you know your fashion sh*t:

So… OK. It’s OK. I get it… we all have our learning curve… our own timeline… one step forward, two steps back, yada yada. So, I’ll be patient with you, and I’ll retain hope and faith that this:

never happens again. ps) you and your pal Jessica Lange were sippin’ some of the secret sauce before the Globes ceremony, weren’t you? It’s OK. Our secret. 

Now then… In keeping with the cracked-out Hollywood theme — wait, one more thing: I actually really really like Drew Barrymore. Truly. Despite stunts like those pictured above, her obviously genuine demeanor has always stood out, and I’ve always admired her “I could give a sh*t what you think” attitude. And… come on… two words: E.T.. Way too cute for her own good. And she still is. OK, tangent over. Back to my cracked-out Hollywood list. I’ve decided to make a Lip List. That is, I am going to attempt to enumerate those celebrities who’ve gone a little bit majorly freakin’ overboard on the whole collagen thing. As a result, they look like honorary members of The Dark Crystal and, therefore, inhabit my nightmares and freak the living h*ll out of me. 

Lippy stars of The Dark Crystal

List of the scariest lips in Hollywood:

(in alphabetical order by scary celebrity)

1. Lara Flynn Boyle. Remember when she dated Jack Nicholson? ALMOST as scary as this:

2. Courteney Cox was so much cooler when she was snappin’ her fingers on stage with Springsteen.

3. Kathie Lee Gifford has always been obnoxious and scary. So I really don’t have anything else to say.

4. Melanie Griffiths. I am led to wonder whether the collagen was a pre- or post-Antonio development? Either way, those lips speak volumes about the MG-AB dynamic.

5. Nicole Kidman. Good ‘ole Nic. I used to be rather infatuated with her in high school — particularly her spirally red curls and her “screw you”/Ms. Independent attitude in Far and Away. And then she had to go and dye her head blonde and straighten it out and tighten her face and plump her lips. And now she just makes me sad.

6. Jeff Lewis, who is very gay and very OCD, and I LOVE him for it and want to be his straight girlfriend. I also want to be his new assistant: the guy definitely needs some help in the lip department, what can I say?

7. Heidi Montag. As if her choice in Spencer were not terrifying enough, she had to go and choose to do this: 

8. Brittany Murphy. CLUELESS:

 

9. Dolly Parton clearly took some time off from her 9 to 5 work schedule to get some other kind of work done:

10. Joan Rivers. The hypocrisy of THIS woman judging how OTHER people look on the red carpet is pure insanity.

11. Meg Ryan used to be that cute girl from When Harry Met Sally, remember? 

12. Big-time Golden Globe winner last night, Mickey Rourke. He kinda looks like Michael Myers of Halloween fame. Not a compliment.

13. Jessica Simpson. Chicken of the Sea.

13. Ivana Trump can clearly afford to look nothing like what she used to look like.

14. Kim Vo, “Shear Genius” host and celebrity hairstylist for the likes of Britney. Maybe Britney paid him to do that?

Another Monday, another list:

Abandonment, Season 1: CANCELED.

n my world, the joyful holidays would not be complete without the inevitable, inescapable feelings of abandonment.

First, you go “home” again. There, you convene with family and friends, try “festive” on for size and, for a few brief moments, feel like it might even fit. Then you stumble upon the cornucopia of stupidly fattening foods that will eventually make your @ss explode, but your mouth says carpe diem and you stuff five more cookies in your face before you even think about caring. Suddenly, while sinking into your food/dessert coma, you find yourself singing along to sappy lyrics from sappy songs about being “snuggled up together like two birds of a feather could be,” which really marks the beginning of the end as you recognize that you’re one bird of a rather flimsy feather, and there ain’t no snugglin’ goin’ on. And then you drive your freakin’ cracked-windshield Honda Civic back to Boston in the bitter cold and stop for a fill-up and some food, and the Golden Arches promises hope in the form of a giant Egg Nog Milkshake, but the nameless voice of doom at the other end of the speaker tells you “NO MORE.” No more bird of a feather, no more cookies à volonté, no more Grandma hugs, and no more freakin’ Egg Nog Shakes, got it??? Sh*t.

Either you’re leaving someone, or someone’s leaving you at the holidays. And that just SUCKS. Especially when that “someone” is an angelically flavored ice creamy anti-depressant.

So, in light of the severe  mild abandonment issues I’ve been coping with lately (and by “coping with,” I mean “watching TV to escape from”), I thought I’d jump on the Listless Monday bandwagon and make a list of all my favorite TV shows that have also cruelly left me hangin’, dry-mouthed and broken-hearted.

Television and movies have always been my escape method of choice. And of necessity, really. And, before the days of TiVo and DVR, you had to rely on the weekly network schedule to produce that escape route. When shows got pre-empted because of some mindless, long-@ss football game? I was pretty much traumatized for days, suffering the most severe forms of escape withdrawal. Which usually involved foaming at the mouth and downing a whole box of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese. But when network execs decided to play Robespierre and hack the heads off of the friends fictitious characters to whom I most profoundly related, well… I couldn’t take their Reign of Terror lying down! Oh no. I stood up. And ran to the nearest video store. Once the shows were on VHS. D@mn it.

Anyway, the following amazingly brilliant shows were wrongfully guillotined in their infancy, after only the first season, thereby leaving me to weep in despair and overdose on Reese’s Pieces in my bedroom. Oh, I’m also including a favorite quote or two from each show. Just for kicks. Just because I can. 

Top Four TV Shows That Abandoned Me (yet occasionally visit via DVD): 

1. My So-Called Life (1994). Quite possibly the best coming-of-age television drama EVER, let alone the best one with a female protagonist (The Wonder Years takes my carrot cake for best coming-of-age show with a male protagonist). Honestly? I firmly believe that every single character on this show was complex enough to have his/her own show. There could have been a ton of spin-offs if anyone felt like it. Particularly with Brian, who was hilarious, and who did, in fact, have “his” own episode, “The Life of Brian,” narrated entirely by him. But, of course, Claire Danes was as brilliant and awkward as they come. Also, two words: Jordan Catalano. 
Angela: People are always saying you should be yourself, like yourself is this definite thing, like a toaster. Like you know what it is even.

2. Relativity (1996-1997). Relativity birthed itself into existence my junior year of college, just after I returned from my semester abroad in France. I didn’t have culture shock when I arrived in France, but I definitely had some type of thunder bolt hit me once I came back to the US. But Relativity centered on a girl who had gone to Italy to pursue her passions and just so happened to meet magnificence-in-the-form-of-a-dude while she was there, and… well, the girl was played by the insanely likable Kimberly Williams(-Paisley, though I prefer to think of her as NOT being married to a country singer). You know Kimberly Williams… she was the one in the Father of the Bride movies? Oh, and Randall Batinkoff was in it, whom I had been mildly infatuated with ever since seeing him in School Ties and the TV adaptation of the book series Christy (which is another show that got prematurely canceled, after just two seasons, and which starred Kellie “Becca” Martin and some oddly attractive, older Scottish dude). Anyway, I’m pretty sure the Friday scheduling was Relativity’s kiss of death. Isn’t that ALWAYS the kiss of death? I mean, *I’m* always a loner at home watching TV on a Friday night, but… I recognize and acknowledge that the general public has a life. ps) Same creator/writer as My So-Called Life. Go figure. I don’t have a quote for this one, d@mn it. It was too short-lived, and IMDB.com isn’t being nice to me.

3. Freaks and Geeks (1999-2000). I discovered Freaks & Geeks, rather randomly, on ABC Family, after it had already originally aired on ABC. I couldn’t believe I had never even heard of it… let alone that ABCFamily had the balls to broadcast a show that included intelligent adolescent and societal commentary on a bunch of pot smokers (led by the then-anonymous James Franco, Seth Rogen, and Jason Segel). Freaks and Geeks was the brainchild of Judd Apatow. You might have heard of him. He went on to make a gajillion dollars with movies such as The 40-Year-Old Virgin, Anchorman, Knocked Up, Superbad, Forgetting Sarah Marshall… I’ll stop. Another intelligent coming-of-age show with a female lead, AND it was set in the 1980’s Midwest? You had me at “Freak.”

Sam: What am I gonna say to Cindy? 
Bill: Don’t say anything. Be dominant. It’s all, all about dominance. I saw this monkey show on PBS, if you talk to her first, it’s a sign of weakness and she will not pick you to be her mate. 
Sam: Are you drunk? 
Bill: I think so, yes I am. 
Sam: Aw, man, go into my room, lock the door, and don’t drink any more. 
Bill: [after Sam leaves] That’s very dominant. 

4. Related (2005-2006). I’ve mentioned this show to people recently, and nobody knows what the h*ll I’m talking about. Except for my friend M, who bore a similar obsession with the Sorelli sisters. It was an hour-long drama on the newly minted WB/UPN hybrid, the CW, so… I think people were generally skeptical and expected that all new shows would resemble Dawson’s Creek or something. Which is, I would guess, the main reason for the failure of this show. It was picked up by the wrong freakin’ network. The CW is home to rich-b*tch high schoolers who OD on sex, drugs, self-absorption, and Louis Vuitton (not necessarily in that order). The CW is also home to America’s Next Top Model, which I suck down like Courtney Love and her crack pipe, so I better be quiet. But Related was a compelling family saga about four sisters and their widower father coping with life after Mom and a lot of unsatisfying identity-searching. And Lizzy Caplan played Marjee Sorelli! And she RULES! (and then she was in a little sitcom called The Class on CBS, scheduled just after How I Met Your Mother, and I thought it was hilarious. But then that got hacked, too) So… that was sad.
Rose Sorelli: I transferred from Pre-Med to the Experimental Theater wing. 
University Registration Lady: Your parents must be so proud. 
—–
Rose: Why am I always at the bottom of the phone chain? 
Marjee: Because you’re the youngest and we don’t care about your feelings.

*NOTE: I placed the above shows in chronological order per abandonment date, NOT in order of residual abandonment issues. Though I’m pretty sure My So-Called Life would still be number one.

And there are a TONNNNNNN of shows that got canceled either in their prime or after they had run their course, and those were sad too. (I’m talkin’ to you, Arrested Development, Wonder Years, Gilmore Girls, Felicity, Once & Again, Everwood, et al.)

But the four above hurt the most. They were so young and bright-eyed, with so much potential… and yet they were ruthlessly killed into TV oblivion, thereby abandoning me and so many others. WHY WHY WHYYYYY?!? I mean, sure, there are some shows that should DEFINITELY get the axe. Like, who the h*ll thought Cavemen would be a good idea?!? Seriously. Issues. I didn’t even notice that the Cavemen had abandoned me. That was fine. But Angela Chase and then Lindsay Weir?! Way to kick a girl while she’s down, TV people. MEAN.

Happy HOLIDAYS ARE OVER!

10 Things my mom would say if she walked in my living room right now

ith Christmas looming (TEN FREAKIN’ DAYS, ARE YOU FREAKIN’ KIDDING ME WITH THIS?!), I have entered the annual phase I like to call: MomPrep (MP). There are several components of MP, none of which I care to share with you at this juncture (you’re welcome); however, a residual effect of said MP is that I unfortunately “hear” my mother’s voice in my ear pretty much constantly so that I may begin to anticipate potentially frustrating/enervating/absurd motherly confrontations that would make me want to slam a candy cane up my nose. So to speak. The whole point is: once I can successfully identify Crazy Mom Patterns (CMPs), anticipation and recognition of predictable CMPs will allow me to save myself (and my gram, and my sister if she’s around) and our collective sanity and, therefore, our familial Christmas experience as a whole. So, basically, MP and recognition of CMPs represent the means by which I shall become my own Christmas Savior.

Amen. 

So, as I sit now in my living room, ruminating on this Monday list, with ungraded student papers strewn about and CNN on in the background, I can’t shake my mom’s running commentary. Which really just means that I’m progressing nicely through my MP, don’t you think? Thank you.

Here are 10 things my mom would definitely want to tell me RIGHT NOW (because nothing can wait with my mom — that’s, like, step 1 of MomPrep.): 

1.) “I like what you’ve done with the place. It looks cute. But… (adjusts plant-lamp ratio on end table) … there, that’s better.”

2.) “Wow, you’ve received a lot of Christmas cards… (goes to mantle and pretends to read/appreciate the cards… thinks I do not notice when she “fixes” the card order). Very nice.”

3.) “What’s that bright orange ticket sticking out of your mail file?” (umm, a parking ticket that is 99% hidden behind other envelopes, thereby further proving the existence of Mom-(ra)Dar)

4.) “Have you paid all your bills this month?” (yes.) “HOW have you paid all your bills this month? Do you still owe a bunch of money on your credit cards?” (ugh.)

5.) “Are all those papers graded?” (no.) “Well don’t you think you should stop typing and watching Larry King and get them graded? Aren’t grades due on Wednesday? Isn’t it going to take you a long time? How long does it take you to grade one paper? Why have you waited this long to start grading them when you only have a little over a day? Come on… how long have you been in school and teaching? You’d think that over a decade in higher education would teach you a thing or two about procrastination.” (you’d think.) *note: notice that my mom strings along a ton of questions without a break for me to have a chance to answer. This is a common CMP.

6.) “Why do you have my wedding picture hidden in the corner behind your coat rack? You can barely see it!” (umm… because, I don’t know, I guess, for some reason, I thought that maybe a photo of you with step-dad #3 could be viewed as an optional design feature that probably wouldn’t gel with the overall comforting aesthetic that I’ve tried to create for myself in MY HOME.)

7.) “And why do you have that horrible, old picture of me and your father on your bookshelf where everyone can see it?” (umm…)

8.) “Are you still seeing that guy who’s friends with your good friend?” (no.) “Well, what happened? I thought you really liked him? Do you think you’ll get back together.” (NO.) “Why not?” (ugh.)

9.) “I know you don’t have much money, so why don’t you just make Step-Dad#3 and me something for Christmas?” (because I almost feel more pressured to make you something?) “Well, Jesus, I’m trying to help you here. Fine, then spend $20 or $25 on us, tops.” (gee, thanks.)

10.) “You spend an awful lot of time on that computer. Wouldn’t it be nice if you could get paid for it? Have you still been looking for a part-time job? Have you called the temp agency? Do you know for sure if your Writing Fellowship will be renewed next year? because, if it’s not, that means you need to look for a full-time job, have you thought of that? and if you have a full-time job, how will you find the time to write your dissertation? and you need to finish your dissertation. What are you going to do???” (*coma ensues*)

Yeah… definitely still a lot of work to do in my MomPrep before I hit the road on Sunday. 

Think happy thoughts, please. And I will think happy thoughts for all of you and your family (dys)functions this holiday season.

GLORY TO ANNA IN THE HIGHEST!

15 December associations I tend to make

1. December = the smell of pine, which is mildly orgasmic. For me, anyway. Lucky me.

2. December = Egg Nog Shakes at McDonald’s. Other than the Shamrock Shake for St. Patrick’s Day (and the sadly fleeting Arctic Orange Shake, which I haven’t seen since my adolescence), the Egg Nog Shake encompasses McDonald’s best achievement. I mean, other than that whole Super Size Me thing.

3. December = SNOW HATS. Snow hats provide me with infinite comfort and protection from the elements. And by “elements,” I mean, well, everything. Truth of the matter is, I’ve been known to wear a snow hat even during the summer months. Whenever I feel like I need some heavy-duty protecting, the snow hat is there for me. The snow hat does not discriminate by season. The snow hat loves me, unconditionally. I love you, snow hat.

4. December = Andes mints. I’ve been to Peru, but I didn’t see any mint. What I did see, though, were mountains of sheer awesomeness. It is, therefore, no surprise to me that the extensive South American mountain range produces this smoothest of chocolatey-minty decadence all wrapped in a thinly veiled, metallic-green wrapper. One love, Andes. One love.

5. December = A Charlie Brown Christmas. You’ve probably noticed that I’m sort of a Peanuts fan. Pretty much no holiday would be complete for me without Vince Guaraldi’s accompaniment and that spotted beagle jigging around. But A Charlie Brown Christmas takes Charles Schultz’s brilliance to a whole other level: not only do the Peanuts characters make an impressive statement about the over-commercialization of Christmas and holiday depression, but they also take part in this incredible dance number that could put all Dancing With the Stars coaches to shame. For real. That kid in green was doing the Running Man before the RUNNING Man was doing the Running Man! And the mohawked dude in orange had some crazy-@ss double-jointedness happening with his shoulder that remains inexplicably innovative. I mean, you try that sh*t!

6. December = unfortunate and excessive lawn ornamentation (particularly the blow-up variety), which serves as a physical manifestation of the yard owner’s insatiable need to be coddled and also his/her inability to streamline. The result is terrifying and nightmare-inducing. See my previous pog. 

7. December = boots that inevitably make my socks fall down inside of them and, therefore, drive me insane. Thanks a lot, boots.

8. December = homemade Christmas gifts when I’m too poor to buy any. Which I am every this year. I hope my gram likes her homemade family tree this year.

9. December = crazy fabric wreath that my maintenance dude always hangs up on my porch, which leads neighbors (and fellow tenants) to believe that I have masterfully bogus holiday decorating taste, which is CLEARLY not true. I mean, come on. I have nothing against fabric wreaths, mind you. I am all about the handmade. Still, just because I support handmades doesn’t mean all handmades are good. It’s sort of like how, in the past, my family would just buy me anything they saw that had any French language on it. Including a Celine Dion CD. Their logic being: she likes French, Celine speaks French; thus, she must like Celine. Umm… faulty syllogism, family members. Likewise, Maintenance Dude’s fabric wreath has no relevance to anything even remotely pleasing — to the eye, or otherwise. It’s sort of like your old elementary schoolteacher’s tacky holiday sweater barfed a wreath. So, I let the fabric pseudo-creation have its day (or ten), and then I stealthily swipe it off its hook and stash it in the shed… until Maintenance Dude resuscitates the wreath next year. It’s this little game Maintenance Dude and I like to play. Four years and it hasn’t gotten old yet.

10. December = 10.5-hour trek to Ohio to see family and friends for the holidays. Always therapeutic and often amusing (what with my various interpretations of Broadway show-tunes, first in a French accent, then in a British accent, then in a Pakistani accent, then as my mom, etc.), the drive from Boston to Cleveland has become almost automatic by now. Which just seems wrong, doesn’t it? Ten and a half hours of wrongness.

11. December = birthdays. Lots of good friends with birthdays this month. Yeah, Scotty and Denise, I’m looking directly (and accusingly) at you two. I’m sure you’ve gotten the shaft over the years because, let’s face it, birthdays around Christmas pretty much equate to “combined present,” and that just blows. Sometimes quantity is better than quality, ya know? So I feel pressured to get you two separate gifts (or more), and to make them awesome and meaningful, first as a birthday gift, then as a Christmas gift. And it’s so hard to decide which gift equals birthday and which gift equals Christmas, so I ultimately end up in a near-catatonic state, choking on my own saliva. Umm… as opposed to someone else’s saliva? I don’t know. But it’s not pretty. So… thanks a lot. Way to be born during the holiday season. Poor planning. Your parents’ libidinal clocks BLEW. And you can tell them I said so.

12. December = holiday hours. And holiday hours RULE. Not even because I necessarily want to go Christmas/birthday shopping at 10pm, but it’s nice to know that, should the urge pinch me, I could hop in my really loud car, barrel past a ton of scary-@ss blow-up ornaments that have no business infiltrating my field of vision, and go buy my friend a Homer Simpson Chia-Pet. Awesome. 

13. December = my gram. Gram comes to visit us from South Carolina each Christmas. Ninty-years-old, and the woman still mows her lawn and landscapes. In pumps. STEP OFF. Gram is my favorite person in the world. No contest. And I usually see her at least a few times a year, but… Christmastime is always the most special, because it always equates to literal and figurative strolls down memory lane, made even more poignant by the surroundings: my Gram was born in Cleveland, just as I was. I love asking her questions and hearing her stories. Like when she first went out with my grandfather: she was a bookish high schooler, waiting outside her house for a blind date to arrive and pick her up. Only he was late. And the next thing she knew, here came my grandpa, sidling up  in a convertible with a friend of his. He made some comment about how Gram’s prospective date must have been “a real louse” (or some other such groovy term), and that she should get in the car and go out with him instead. And so she did. And they were married four years later. Studs.

14. December = advent calendars, which I will relish till I’m old and decrepit. You should probably check out my other blog for crafty examples of advent awesomeness.

15. December = CHRISTMAS COOKIES!!!!!!!!!!!!! Enough said.

 

Top 5 reasons for why my frontal lobe hates me

y Monday list centers on the headache that throbs right through my skull. I’m pretty sure that, were you to stand in front of me from one foot away or less, my current headache would knock you senseless. It’s throbbing that hard. I swear. It’s like my brain-womb is pregnant with some horrific wildebeest that can’t or won’t stop rampaging around my frontal lobe, kicking me into submission. 

You could say it hurts.

There are plenty of reasons for why my head despises me right now. Good ‘n plenty. It’s quite brutal to whittle down my list of potential causes to just 5 things, actually, but…hey, I’ll do my best.

Top 5 reasons for why my frontal lobe hates me:

 5. Certain members of my family prefer to play “She said/She said” and act like infants rather than speak directly to one another. What a novel concept that would be. ps) instead of directly speaking to one another, they choose to call me and vent and ask why so-and-so said X, and why so-and-so did Y. Why must people involve me in their crap? LEAVE ME ALONE.

4. Apparently I’m not a good listener (see #5).

3. No matter how many times I tell my students to focus on the texts we have studied ALL FLIPPIN’ SEMESTER rather than the biographies of the authors, they continue to construct (pseudo-)arguments about experiences from writers’ lives. WHY WON’T THEY LISTEN TO ME?

2. Apparently I don’t know how to sink in to others’ brains (see #3)… only my own (and way too much).

1. I have a brain tumor. Or Ebola. Or both.

Happy Monday.

Sincerely,
Debbie Downer
xoxo

Random Tuesday Thoughts (not to be confused with my random EVERYDAY thoughts)

ecause Anna’s Listless Mondays have proven to be so utterly spanktastic, I thought I’d go ahead and tap into the Un-Mom’s wellspring of weekly Random Tuesday Thoughts. I mean, the case could certainly be made that randomness-of-thought does not discriminate by day of the week. I’m pretty sure my thoughts will be just as random tomorrow as they are today — perhaps even more random. It’s like a fun little surprise, really. However, because the Un-Mom has officially designated Tuesday as Grand Central Station for my random, directionless trains of thought, well… it’s kinda like an extra heaping spoonful of peanut butter sauce on my Friendly’s Reese’s Pieces Sundae of perfection.

A.K.A., it freakin’ rocks. Hardcore.

So, here goes… my inaugural:

Wait a second. Can I list my random thoughts? Or does the very essence of “listing” de-randomize the randomness? Sh*t. Does the very fact that I’m even thinking about listing random thoughts (oxymoron?) prove my analness? anality? analiciousness? Whoa. OK, the “-licious” suffix should never find itself adjacent to an “anal.” My bad. I totally just grossed myself out. But anyway, hey, this is my inaugural go at this RTT stuff, so… I can make it up as I go along, right? Right.

1) I just got done watching A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, and all that sticks with me is: WHAT THE F*CK DID THEY DO TO THE VOICES?!? The only one that sounded authentic was the voice-over-the-phone going “WAWA-WA-WA-WAWA.” All the others sounded like the b@stard step-children of the originals. Not that there’s anything wrong with b@stard step-children, but… just don’t go stickin’ your voice in my Peanuts characters, got it?

 B) It’s amazing how soap opera world only progresses about one day in two months’ time, yet tabloid world seems to progress two months in one day’s time. Case in point: just yesterday I pogged about Heidi & Spencer eloping in Cabo. Then, this morning I wake up to Perez spouting sh*t about Speidi setting the whole thing up with US Weekly in typical fame whore fashion, and that they’re not technically married at all. Dude, whatever. I give you 6 months, regardless.

III) My scalp’s ridiculously dry. Like, way past Head-’n-Shoulders dry. Maybe approaching Ally Sheedy in The Breakfast Club dry. OK, I just grossed myself out again.

D) Who are these nutjobs that go to Kohl’s at 4am the day after Thanksgiving?!? (A.K.A., Black Friday) Well, OK, in the past, my sister has been one of those nutjobs. But then she came to her senses. 

5) I just got done watching “The Real Housewives of Atlanta, the Reunion Special” on Bravo, and I have to say that it totally met all cracked-out expectations. But don’t worry, I switched between Atlanta pseudo-reality and CNN in a (vain?) attempt to reach some sort of mixed medium utopia world — half fake, half “real”…. I don’t know. But it’s pretty d@mn funny to hear “Oh, HELLLLL no!” juxtaposed with Wolf Blitzer’s mind-numbing “uhh”s. John King and his Magic Wall sort of clinch that psychedelic otherworld deal. ps) Nene’s cropped haircut looks annoyingly good. I wish I could pull that sh*t off.

VI) My students and I are now discussing The Bell Jar. It’s either my fourth or fifth time reading it. But, amazingly, the increasing number of reads doesn’t make it any less potent for my psyche. We’ll see how this goes. I don’t think I’ve ever read it around Christmas before. Maybe egg nog will help to sideline the SP-induced crazies (*note: I’m referring to Sylvia Plath, though Sarah Palin does still drive me crazy in an entirely other capacity).

G) What’s the deal with the vampire bullsh*t?

8 ) I really miss Paris. I really miss WALKING in Paris. I miss the smell of the metro, which wasn’t even pleasant. But it was the metro. And it was mine for a time. And I miss the aroma of freshly baked baguettes at 6am, wafting out of the boulangerie below my studio. And I’m not even a morning person. But baguettes can wake me up any day.

IX) OK, I guess I’m done for now. Except I really wish I could find some part-time employment. It’s driving me bonkers. I’ve done freelance writing, I’ve done translations, I’ve done tutoring, I can calligraphy, I can type super freakin’ fast… it would be really lovely if somebody hired me and offered me more than $6/hour to do something. But, you know, not the whole Ashley Dupré “something.” OK, shameless plug over.

Say goodbye to the random thoughts for now.

Goodbye, random thoughts.