We're getting on.

quotes worth sharing

2010-10-19T14:41:00.008-07:00

I've spent a lot of time lately with a 1945 novel by Rumer Godden called Take Three Tenses: A Fugue in Time. The simplicity of its premise—like many other modernist novels, it's the story of an English family home—is deceptive. Take Three Tenses is a family history, yes, but it's also an experiment with time and narrative agency, an extended explication of T. S. Eliot's "East Coker" (one of the Four Quartets), a meditation on memory and consciousness, and a war memorial. Copies are hard to come by, as the book went out of print decades ago, but it's a fascinating read.

As I've been reworking a paper on Take Three Tenses for an upcoming conference, I've been particularly preoccupied with the passage below. Consider in context: late 1940 to early 1941, London, the Blitz.

"Things are serious just now," said Pax with his cheek against hers. "You have to treat them seriously but it is of no use to be afraid. I should be afraid if it made us any safer, but it doesn't. You have to think, I think, that anything we do in any time, the smallest thing, like ordering the paper to come every day or promising to go out to dinner next Wednesday week, or getting a new tube of toothpaste, particularly the large size that lasts twice as long, is an act of faith. It is an act of faith to think or hope or plan, but I intend to go on doing it. There are dozens of things I want. I intend to go on as if I shall get them all." (222)

I have nothing to add. But lovely and powerful, no?

.

When You Are Old

2009-05-03T02:11:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to get back to normal posting (finally), but I might still throw in an occasional poem since I didn't end up posting many during April. Here's another favorite--Amanda introduced me to this poem, and I will forever be glad for it.

When you are old and grey and full of sleep
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead,
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

–William Butler Yeats

NPM cont.

2009-04-21T22:36:00.004-07:00

Sorry, everyone, it's been the paper-writing week from hell (and it's nowhere near over yet).

But in the meantime, another poem: Creationism: Five Theories, by Jon Ogden. This is probably my favorite poem we published in Inscape during my three years on staff (but certainly not the only good one--the site is definitely worth browsing through). It's a great poem in its own right, but it's also attached to some wonderful memories of staff meetings and late-night InDesign sessions and last-minute press runs, of projects like Gallery 110 and Light Cleaveth Unto Light, of being surrounded by friends who are writers and artists and who share the beautiful things they create.

Housing Shortage

2009-04-13T22:06:00.001-07:00

I did not disappear again, actually. I know you're all shocked. I was, however, in New Orleans for the weekend, and the promise of a new city to explore is one of the few things that can compete with my internet addiction. Here's another poem I read for class last week.

I tried to live small.
I took a narrow bed.
I held my elbows to my sides.
I tried to step carefully
And to think softly
And to breathe shallowly
In my portion of air
And to disturb no one.

Yet see how I spread out and I cannot help it.
I take to myself more and more, and I take nothing
That I do not need, but my needs grow like weeds,
All over and invading; I clutter this place
With all the apparatus of living.
You stumble over it daily.

And then my lungs take their fill.
And then you gasp for air.

Excuse me for living,
But, since I am living,
Given inches, I take yards,
Taking yards, dream of miles,
And a landscape, unbounded
And vast in abandon.

You too dreaming the same.

–Naomi Replansky

Chartres

2009-04-07T22:36:00.000-07:00

I just read this for my class tomorrow. It caught my eye because I love the cathedral in Chartres (I remember fixating on the picture of it in my AP European History textbook, and visiting it in person several years later was an unexpectedly powerful experience), although it turns out I like the poem anyway.

The bulk of it
In air

Is what they wanted. Compassion
Above the doors, the doorways

Mary the woman and the others
The lesser

Are dreams on the structure. But that a stone
Supports another

That the stones
Stand where the masons locked them

Above the farmland
Above the will

Because a hundred generations
Back of them and to another people

The world cried out above the mountain

–George Oppen

Musée des Beaux Arts

2009-04-06T22:33:00.002-07:00

Most of you have probably read this poem, but it's a favorite of mine. Not only am I a fan of ekphrastic poetry and fascinated by the story of Icarus, but there's something so painfully and beautifully true about this notion of heartache and failure taking place in the background of a world that necessarily carries on as usual. It reminds me to pay closer attention, to notice others' heartaches, and at the same time to keep my own in perspective.

About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.

In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

–W. H. Auden

That the Science of Cartography Is Limited

2009-04-05T18:56:00.002-07:00

—and not simply by the fact that this shading of
forest cannot show the fragrance of balsam,
the gloom of cypresses,
is what I wish to prove.

When you and I were first in love we drove
to the borders of Connacht
and entered a wood there.

Look down you said: this was once a famine road.

I looked down at ivy and the scutch grass
rough-cast stone had
disappeared into as you told me
in the second winter of their ordeal, in

1847, when the crop had failed twice,
Relief Committees gave
the starving Irish such roads to build.

Where they died, there the road ended

and ends still and when I take down
the map of this island, it is never so
I can say here is
the masterful, the apt rendering of
the spherical as flat, nor
an ingenious design which persuades a curve
into a plane,
but to tell myself again that

the line which says woodland and cries hunger
and gives out among sweet pine and cypress,
and finds no horizon

will not be there.

–Eavan Boland

This poem is from Boland's In a Time of Violence (1994), where she writes lovely things about grief and womanhood and Ireland and history, and which you should probably think about reading.

I'm back.

2009-04-04T16:54:00.005-07:00

We're already a few days into April, but I'm going to steal an idea from other bloggers and celebrate National Poetry Month by pretending to be more of an authority on the subject than I am and posting a poem each day (or every few days, as will likely end up being the case). Because although writing about poetry terrifies me (leave me to my prose-based scholarship, thank you very much), I love reading it. Also, I figured this might be a good way to ease back into blogging, which I've severely neglected, right?

There's a good chance e. e. cummings will show up again later, but this is my favorite of his. If you care to go looking, there's a predictably great choral setting by Eric Whitacre, although I'm rather attached to the Gwyneth Walker one we sang in Women's Chorus.

P.S. Totally loving this year's NPM poster.

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

Complicite: A Disappearing Number

2008-09-13T01:50:00.001-07:00

Michigan's University Musical Society scored a killer engagement of A Disappearing Number, a play conceived and performed by British experimental theater company Complicite, and I was able to see it last night. I can't urge you all to go (unless you'll be in the vicinity of the Barbican Theatre in London next month), but wow--keep an eye on this company. (Incidentally, an earlier Complicite production entitled The Street of Crocodiles was inspired by the life and works of Bruno Schulz, also the source for the film Street of Crocodiles by the Brothers Quay. In even cooler news, the company is currently working on its first original screenplay--a collaborative effort with Jonathan Safran Foer.)

The play, drawn in part from G. H. Hardy's A Mathematician's Apology, interweaves two stories: that of Srinivasa Ramanujan, a self-made Indian mathematician who travels to Cambridge in 1914 to study and collaborate with Hardy, and that of a modern-day mathematician, Ruth, and her husband, Al, as he attempts to understand the beauty she finds in math. It brings well-crafted dialogue and innovative staging together with music, projection, and film to create an experience that is all at once mesmerizing, funny, and profound. The cumulative effect is a powerful sense of the perfection and beauty of the mathematical world but also the continuity and infiniteness of life. As Ruth explains, "There are no gaps between the numbers, like there are no gaps in time or space; they are continuous. And if time is continuous, then we are linked to the past and future. And if space is continuous we are linked to the absent." Near the end of the play, in a particularly poignant moment, one character tells Al that although his aunt has died, he is still always talking to her. Al, terrified and overwhelmed by the concept of infinity stretching forever in opposite directions, bitterly remarks, "On the other side of infinity." The other corrects him: "On the same line."

I went because the production had received fantastic reviews and a number of awards (2008 Laurence Olivier Best New Play among them) and because I was interested in the concept (multimedia theater) and the subject matter (British-Indian relations, WWI, theoretical mathematics). Afterward, superficial points of interest forgotten, I bypassed the bus to walk the mile and a half home alone and in silence. Then I sat on my bed and read the script, playing everything out in my mind a second time. I don't know that I've ever experienced something so simultaneously mind-blowing and moving. There's no way to recreate it, but this was one of my favorite passages, Ruth's message to Al at the end of the play:

What reconciles me to my own death more than anything else is the image of a place: a place where your bones and mine are buried, thrown, uncovered together. They are strewn there pell-mell. One of your ribs leans against my skull. A metacarpal of my left hand lies inside your pelvis. (Against my broken ribs your breast like a flower.) The hundred bones of our feet are scattered like gravel. It is strange that this image of our proximity, concerning as it does mere phosphate of calcium, should bestow a sense of peace. Yet it does. With you I can imagine a place where to be phosphate of calcium is enough.

The lights fade and Ruth's voice counts up from 1.

first day of school, round 17

2008-09-02T12:12:00.003-07:00

It seems like I should feel different, being a graduate student and all. But I finally had to admit to myself that I don't. I went to my first graduate class this morning, and not only was it not remotely intimidating, it felt perfectly normal. Later I wandered through groups of undergraduates toward the library, studying faces and catching bits of conversations, looking for some difference but still finding nothing. I look as young as they do; I feel the same intermingled anxiety and excitement; the only reason I'm not laughing and gossiping just as loudly as they are is that I have no one to do it with.

It's that last difference, nothing to do with any imagined magical transformation that comes with moving to a new stage of life, that makes me feel different. No familiar faces, no connections, no obligations. My anonymity in this place is liberating, but it's also lonely. I haven't wanted to settle in--my car isn't completely unpacked and I was sleeping on the floor until yesterday--because it would mean facing the permanence of this change, committing on another level to the decision I made months ago but have been ambivalent about every single day since.

But even though I miss being surrounded by good friends, having so many people to talk to, I'll adjust and get to know people and get absorbed in my work. And in the meantime, there are choir auditions and bookbinding demonstrations and an award-winning new play from a British experimental theater company and Battleship Potemkin in an extravagantly decorated old theater with live organ accompaniment.

forty-eight hours

2008-08-28T22:28:00.002-07:00

I don't want to talk about the fact that my hair does not, in fact, handle humidity as well as I'd thought, or how long it'll be before I manage to buy and transport a bed, or how parking near campus is infinitely more painful than in Provo, or the number of one-way streets I've turned the wrong direction onto.

But I live across the street from a park and a few blocks from a jazz club and the best ice cream in the county (so I hear). I have a reliable internet connection for the first time in a year. The neighbor's cats hang out on my porch, and although I'm not sure who's responsible for the garden in the backyard, I love that it's there. On my way to school this morning I passed pumpkins growing in someone's front yard, train tracks (yes, I live on the wrong side), a house painted entirely in violent shades of purple, the treehouse I wanted to build as a kid, and blue cornflowers in the grass.

I love that I can walk across the street from Angell Hall and have 17 food options, not to mention an enormous Borders and a couple of independent bookstores, a theater that shows foreign and independent films, plenty of coffee shops, and enough other things that I notice a new one every time I walk along State or Liberty. Tonight, instead of studying for the German test I may or may not pass tomorrow, I picked up some Thai food and a slice of Zingerman's chocolate cake and visited the Ann Arbor public library for the opening reception of the Kerrytown Bookfest and the feature exhibit of stunning design bindings.

The department chair gave a self-termed homily at this morning's orientation meeting on anxiety: Everyone is anxious at the beginning of a new year, even professors, and it's okay. Learn to make the anxiety generative so you can contribute. Find your passion and pursue it. I still wonder occasionally whether I or the admissions committee made a horrible mistake somewhere along the way, but this morning my excitement overtook my apprehension for the first time in quite a while. When I step back and look at where I've landed, it's better than I could have hoped--almost perfect. I'll be okay here.

P.S.

2008-05-31T16:29:00.000-07:00

This is where I'm going.

update

2008-05-24T23:53:00.000-07:00

People ask me what's new. Well, I've sold my soul to the summer sales industry and become a corporate peon for the summer. Let's not talk about it; I'm half hoping I'll get fired so I can mow lawns for Orem with Kjerstin and Amanda. Other than that, I read books, drive to Salt Lake frequently (gas prices are obscene, but it's worth it to visit the friends I won't see for months or years and to go places like Sam Weller's and One World Cafe), and continually remind myself that I should enjoy having a break. It's nice to leave work at 4:30 every afternoon with nothing hanging over my head--sans Criterion, which is of course still following me around--but I find myself drawn to campus and thinking of new projects. As stressful and all-consuming as school is, I operate best in crisis mode and without that pressure I feel purposeless. So there's a good chance I'll be picking up my Ireland project again, as well as pushing ahead with the literary angle on my biotechnology/philosophy thoughts, looking in earnest at some philosophy of science texts, and entertaining a few paper ideas I've written down over the last few months.

Which is a long way of explaining why I ended up at the library tonight (also because my apartment was depressingly quiet and devoid of the ever-useful internet, but mostly because I needed to feel academic again). Someone was practicing the viola on the HFAC steps and I was captivated, so I sat down outside the library in the darkness and listened until the cold air and my laptop's dying battery drove me inside. Listening to the music and looking across the deserted campus, I kept thinking of what I'm leaving behind here. Familiarity, mostly, but also so many memories and so many people I've come to love and whose influence has changed me. I'm terrified and excited and sad and relieved, all at once, to be leaving this place. I love change and adventure and challenge, but I also tend to be nostalgic, to cling to people and places I know, whether they've affected me for better or for worse, and I'm trying to reconcile all of this, but I can't think how, and I also can't think of a good way to end this post, but the library is closing and so... I'm off.

some links

2008-05-24T21:11:00.002-07:00

Interesting news on the stem cell research front: the British MPs voted to continue allowing the the creation of human-animal hybrid embryos to be used for research. I've been reading and thinking a lot lately about the philosophical issues that accompany the development of biotechnology, etc., and this touches on a number of related ethical questions. (I've missed studying biology and such, so it's been fun lately to take my work in a scientific direction.)

Books: Here are some cool ways of displaying and storing books. The bookshelf staircase is my favorite of these--so fabulous. Also, I got the link to "Librophiliac Love Letter: A Compendium of Beautiful Libraries" from Ben ages ago, but I don't think I've passed it on. If you don't follow any other links in this post, at least go look at these photos. I've only seen three of the libraries pictured; I think I might start making library pilgrimages. And finally, for people who completely miss the point of books, there's Book Decor. Books for sale by the foot? Seriously?

Baby for sale on eBay.

I listened to this story about the Catonsville Nine on NPR the other day. One of the protesters later wrote regarding theirs actions, "Our apologies, good friends, for the fracture of good order, the burning of paper instead of children. . . ."

There are some fabulous amenities at Provo's Regency Apartments. Amenities like walls, floors, and ceilings. See for yourself. (I don't even know where to start with this one, though I will point out that they've misspelled "ceilings.")

The nerdiest blog I have ever seen.

I just bought this computer. It is red and sexy and functional. I love it.

a poster I saw in the Wilk today

2008-02-27T14:27:00.003-07:00

STOP
Students That
Oppose
Pornography.

Just a friendly suggestion: You might consider adding a colon or something after the acronym.

a list

2008-02-27T00:16:00.005-07:00

To combat mid-semester burnout (and what appears to be a severe case of senioritis), I've decided to think of happy things, presented here in non-parallel—forgive me, editing gods—list form. Please disregard the fact that I am using this as a way to further procrastinate writing the paper I'm presenting at a conference on Friday.

A new tradition: group naps in the living room, followed by crepes and nutella. Bless Amanda for investing in a crepe-maker and Shannon for initiating the napping.
I just conversed briefly with the other Amanda in German, which I haven't spoken in ages. That Amanda was singing the "Trust in Me" song from The Jungle Book to Lina tonight is also worth mentioning.
Watt is hilarious.
My house is warmer than 60 degrees, the snow is melting, and I can feel the almost-warm sun while walking home from campus. There are few things I find more beautiful than falling snow, but the weather of the last few days is a welcome reprieve after so many months of being constantly cold.
French theorists have never been funnier—I just had a fit of laughter over Lyotard. This probably means 1) I am a huge nerd and 2) I need more sleep.
Last night I ate a full plate of amazing desserts, compliments of Daine.
My car has been running on almost no gas for days now.
The landlords haven't said anything about our invented parking spots this time. So convenient.
The Once soundtrack. "Falling Slowly" deservedly took the Oscar for best original song.
My plane ticket to Chicago was $75 cheaper than when I checked yesterday.
Reading posts on Shannon's blog makes me believe in life and love and yes.
It's almost time for bookbinding again. We're putting together our flatbacks this week.
Cadbury eggs.
The handwritten sign on the floor in one of the Writing Center computer labs: "Couch is WET."
My philosophy professor gave me credit for the missing reading questions.
I finished The Driver's Seat for 495 a full day early.
Sunday night I watched She's the Man instead of reading Middlemarch and didn't even feel that guilty about it.
Tomorrow I'll debate the relative merits of Inscape's poetry submissions. I've worked on the fiction and nonfiction staffs for the last two years, so poetry is new to me. I don't consider myself a great judge, but I'm enjoying it—and I can't go wrong if I just listen to everything Kjerstin says, right?
Lina shared her 97 percent–sugar juice with me. We drank it from Muppets cups.
I think I figured out how to get to my favorite nearby going-for-a-drive-to-think-about-life street that I've only ever been able to find by accident.
Vtunnel on campus.
I'm still laughing about the last mission email from my friend Mary. She's in West Virginia right now, which ought to explain everything.
The ward choir number on Sunday went surprisingly well. Maybe I can do this.
In somewhat older news: I passed my thesis defense and have only minor changes to make before submitting final copies.
Ecclesiastes 3, especially verses 1 through 8 and even more especially the often-neglected verse 11.

Enough for now.

since I last blogged

2007-11-27T23:34:00.000-07:00

I ate Thanksgiving leftovers, pointedly stayed home on that most hellish of shopping days, sorted through my boxes in my dad's basement and uncovered strange items such as a chocolate cross and a pregnancy test, started listening to Christmas music, visited friends at places that were once more my home than my own house, taught my little brother about sentence fragments, consumed approximately half of the chocolate in our candy drawer, finished my statement of intent, didn't finish my writing sample or even come close, watched The Hours with Lina and Amanda and Amanda, read Lina's essay about watching The Hours, told more (too many) secrets to Lina and demonstrated yet again that my emotional walls come down after 3 AM, acquired a manic-depressive cat, thought about attempting to repair our leaking A/C unit and promptly changed my mind, found and laughed at mean letters Liz and I wrote each other in elementary school, revised and turned in an old blog post for a class assignment, went three days without playing FreeCell, learned that I apparently speak in a tone of constant disdain, considered and tentatively accepted an offer to edit the Honor Code, and listened to choral settings of e. e. cummings.

Tonight on my way to class I saw three snowflakes fall.

why I lose at NaBloPoMo

2007-11-21T23:43:00.000-07:00

I was sitting at the table last night trying to think of something to write about, but then Amanda and I started a lengthy conversation that was much more engaging than blogging and would be impossible to re-create here. So I never ended up writing anything.

Just three things for tonight:
1. I've never liked my blog's title--it's boring. It will change as soon as I can think of an acceptable alternative.
2. I think I'm addicted to FreeCell. What do I do about this?
3. We found a pair of fantastic shiny red pants in our shed, and I'm looking for an excuse to wear them.

Dear The Malt Shoppe,

2007-11-19T23:49:00.000-07:00

I think it's really lame that you've discontinued 2-for-1 Monday shakes.

Love,
Katherine

in which you're surprised I didn't bring this up sooner

2007-11-18T22:56:00.000-07:00

After the last general conference, I started a lengthy post on what I didn't like about Julie Beck's talk. Then I remembered my goals to (1) stop looking for things that make me angry just to justify the issues I have with the Church and (2) challenge authority and problematic cultural notions in a productive and not passive-aggressive way. So I stopped writing the post.

But I think this counter-statement deserves a mention, as does this blog post. I appreciate the constructive approach--one that attempts to take the talk's theme and recast it in a more inclusive, realistic way. Whether or not you were bothered by the original talk, take a look and let me know what you think.

Addendum: Are feminists sexy? Yes, and now there's empirical evidence.

saturday.

2007-11-17T23:54:00.000-07:00

fantastic:
Sleeping in.
Cafe Rio leftovers.
The Road.
Amelie.
Raspberry gelato.

not so much:
Endless stacks of notes and articles from which needs to come a worthwhile writing sample.
An even more temperamental than usual computer.
Enormous IC crowds laughing loudly at all the wrong moments.

tomorrow's goal(s):
Productivity. And Indian food. Maybe a real blog post.

November 16

2007-11-16T23:20:00.000-07:00

Some things that happened on this day:

In 1632, King Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden was killed in battle. Thirty Years' War, I think. He's one of the few figures I distinctly remember from AP European History.
In 1849, Dostoevsky was sentenced to death for anti-government activities tied to a radical intellectual group. (His sentence was later commuted to hard labor.)
In 1906, opera star Enrico Caruso was charged with an indecent act after allegedly pinching a woman's bottom in the monkey house of New York's Central Park Zoo.
In 1930, Chinua Achebe was born. My experience with Achebe: When I was in high school, I skipped calculus and sat in my car to read Things Fall Apart for AP English the next period. I didn't like it.

I went to Brian Doyle's reading on campus today. I do wish he'd talked more about his writing itself--why he collects stories and why he sees those stories as acts of prayer. When I watched his reading from a couple of years ago, I cried; this time he mostly told funny stories, which was still delightful.

And now back to work on the writing sample...

a very short post

2007-11-15T21:09:00.000-07:00

I am tired. And tired of jumping through hoops. Especially if those hoops have anything to do with grad school applications or honors thesis proposals.

A satisfying moment: Calling out my American Government TA for suggesting that substantive due process somehow doesn't apply to issues of gender because there are "inherent differences" between women and men. As I said rather tersely in class, even if you could prove the existence of fundamental differences beyond biological characteristics--which you can't, because it's impossible to isolate the various factors that shape gender--there is absolutely no justification for using that to implicitly deny equal rights and opportunities.

i do this sometimes.

2007-11-14T22:01:00.000-07:00

Especially when they're standing in front of the extensive selection of Pride & Prejudice knockoffs.

Ovation Inflation

2007-11-13T23:36:00.000-07:00

from August 7

Several months ago I considered a post on what I like to call "ovation inflation." I never wrote it, but Janssen's remarks on the subject have inspired me to follow through.

Enthusiastic applause is perfectly sufficient to express appreciation for fair or even great performances, the relative quality of the performance being indicated by the volume and length of the applause. Standing ovations, on the other hand, are meant to be bestowed in exceptional cases: when you are literally so moved or thrilled by the performance that you cannot remain seated.

Some people remain hung up on the idea that the performers' feelings will be hurt if the audience does not stand. Please, let us lay that idea to rest once and for all. (Back me up here, musical and theatrical friends and readers.) From the perspective of someone who performed for a number of years, here's the truth: They know you stand up for everything. Overusing the standing ovation only cheapens its effect. A sincere, spontaneous standing o from a few people means much more than does an obligatory one involving the masses.

Janssen suggests a lifetime limit of 10 standing ovations; whether or not you choose a specific number, the principle holds true. Giving a sincere standing ovation should never require looking around to see if others are standing. I admit that in the past I've been guilted into standing on a occasion, but the last few years I've made a point of remaining in my seat if I don't feel the standing ovation is legitimate. I can think of perhaps two performances for which I've given non-guilt-induced standing ovations, the most recent being Hilary Hahn's concert with the Utah Symphony earlier this year. That was an incredible performance.

That is all.

Utah Quarter

2007-11-12T13:12:00.001-07:00

Utah finally presented its commemorative quarter. Check it out:

Two things. 1) Why can't we get over the golden spike already? I think Utah has a complex about trying to prove its usefulness to the rest of the country.

2) Can we say phallic symbol? As if we need to reinforce the patriarchy and gender stereotypes that already underscore everything in this state. I don't think they could have made that design more phallic if they'd tried. Just sayin'.

Remembrance Day...

2007-11-11T23:00:00.000-07:00

Or Armistice Day commemorates the end of World War I--November 11, 1918. Two minutes of silence in memory of the eight million killed in the Great War are traditionally observed at 11:00 AM; I missed it this morning, so I'm saving my acknowledgment for 11:00 PM.

I wanted a poppy, the usual symbol of Remembrance Day, but Amanda and I didn't have any on hand. The poppies of northwestern Europe tend to lie dormant in the soil until the ground is broken, so they sprung up to cover the mine- and shell-scarred battlefields after the war. I can't quite get over the appropriateness of that symbolism or forget how my breath caught in my chest when I first saw the fields of red poppies from the window of a train through Flanders.

sad.

2007-11-11T17:23:00.000-07:00

I think I'll die alone.

For this knowledge I thank Toothpaste for Dinner, incontrovertibly the source of all practical wisdom.

applying

2007-11-10T15:32:00.000-07:00

Amanda told me that David once compared the process of applying for graduate school to asking for a girl's number and having her give it to you one digit at a time and out of order. I concur. I couldn't even guess how many hours I've spent searching websites and collecting addresses and recording seemingly unnecessary specifications and filling out forms. In happier news, I have a personal statement. A personal statement in need of much revision, of course, but its mere existence is making me feel a bit more calm. Next: the writing sample.

things that make spending Friday night on campus okay:

2007-11-09T19:40:00.000-07:00

1. holding a shady meeting in front of the MOA
2. hearing bagpipe music drift over from somewhere near the Marriott Center
3. eating Bajio and playing the guitar in the Writing Center with Shannon and Amanda
4. knowing there's a full-on film crew shooting in our house right now

on buying used books

2007-11-08T21:50:00.000-07:00

from September 24

To save money, I purchase most of my books used and online. One of the downsides of this arrangement is that I have no way of inspecting a given book beforehand, and its condition is often overstated by the seller. For example, my Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism lacks a dust jacket, and the edges of the pages are colored black. It's hideous.

Worst of all, though, are the comments I often find written inside the books. They are, at best, useless; at worst, thoroughly asinine. And this is from whence my fear arises: Because I am a snob, and because I apparently feel compelled to prove my intellect, I worry that someone will someday pick up one of my books or peruse my library and determine, based on the notes I did not write, that I am an absolute moron with no literary insight whatsoever.

remember, remember

2007-11-07T15:22:00.001-07:00

Monday, November 5, was the anniversary of Guy Fawkes's foiled attempt to blow up the British Parliament. We gathered at the Palace Flop House and Grill to celebrate Bonfire Night, probably one of my favorite holidays--and not just because I'm an Anglophile and a pyromaniac.

Andy, who was lucky enough to be in London last November for the real celebration, constructed a large Guy Fawkes effigy, which we gleefully burned. Kjerstin also contributed a life-size effigy, which had fireworks hidden inside and therefore made for even more exciting burning.

And this is an extremely blurry picture of Amanda, Kjerstin, Biz, me, and some random guy.

Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
I know of no reason
Why Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t'was his intent
To blow up King and Parli'ment.
Three-score barrels of powder below
To prove old England's overthrow;
By God's providence he was catch'd
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!

Thanks, JSTOR.

2007-11-06T13:57:00.000-07:00

Just thought I should share the fact that my search for articles on the history of Irish women in higher education turned up "A Descriptive Study of Pregnant Women with Gallstones."

Referendum 1

2007-11-05T13:41:00.000-07:00

Why I'm voting against school vouchers:

Although the program supposedly continues to direct a portion of per-student funding to a student's assigned public school after he or she is pulled from the system, this continues for only five years, leaving middle and high schools particularly deficient. Ultimately, the voucher program draws money and parental support away from the public education system when they're most needed.
Vouchers give people an easy out when it comes to the problems in the public education system. I'll be the first to admit the system is flawed, but I think we should treat the underlying problems and reform the existing system instead of opting out on a large scale.
I'm suspicious of attempts to apply a corporate model to education. An increased focus on "competition," in my mind, will not lead to improved outcomes, but will further the obsession with quantifiable results and skewed measures of success.
If vouchers were to increase demand for seats in private schools, schools would eventually have to raise tuition or adopt stricter admission requirements, undermining the usefulness of the vouchers and contributing to socioeconomic stratification on some level.
It's fallacious to suggest that "parent choice" does not currently exist; even without vouchers, plenty of parents already choose to send their children to private schools.
The alternative schools are not necessarily accredited, and many don't require much in the way of teacher certification and accountability for use of funds.
The program presents simply another tax break for the upper brackets. Most of those who can't afford a private education now still wouldn't be able to, and those who already can afford it don't need the additional money.
Some argue that offering vouchers is only fair because they are, in effect, tax money refunded to those not directly assisted by a particular program. But our taxes support plenty of government programs (some worthwhile, others less so) that don't provide a clearly identifiable return for each individual--and of all of these, education is one of the most important. Public education is a collective investment that ultimately benefits everyone, even those without children in public schools.

Whether or not you agree with me, try to vote tomorrow if you're registered in Utah--this issue will set precedents affecting similar proposals across the country.

mysteries

2007-11-05T01:17:00.000-07:00

(It just so happens that I have 50--yes, 50--drafts hanging out in blogger. Some are partially composed rants or treatises, some are just fragments of ideas, and others are notes to myself that I never intended to post. And I've come to the conclusion that using these drafts is likely the only way I'll have a chance of posting every day.)

from October 15

Why does it feel so awkward to capitalize my blog titles? How is this video so damn creepy? Who went to the Dean's office posing as an Inscape staff member and made off with the winning Mayhew entries? How did I forget that I was speaking in church yesterday? (Don't worry: It was only a three-minute talk, and I had all of Relief Society and Sunday School to piece my thoughts together.) Why does "to take [someone] out" have two such different meanings? Why can't the US Postal Service figure out where I live, even after I've sent them multiple change-of-address forms and verified my address with BYU, my bank, publications to which I subscribe, my doctor, etc.? How am I not sick after eating waffles (smothered with nutella) and cookies, along with the occasional Cheez-It, exclusively for almost two days? Why do the food items I don't really want to eat stay good forever, but the things I'll actually use get moldy in a matter of days? Why did I never realize that the word "innocent" is derived from the Middle English "nocent," from the Latin nocere, to hurt or harm? It makes perfect sense, in + nocent = not harmful, but we generally set up an innocent/guilty binary, not an innocent/nocent one. (On a somewhat related note, I will someday own a copy of the OED. Someday when I have several hundred dollars of expendable cash. Or someday when I, like a friend of Cathryn's, stumble across an OED in beautiful condition at DI for 3 dollars.) And what does this mean?

weekend report

2007-11-03T18:55:00.000-07:00

Friday: Regina Spektor.

I took a break from studying and set aside my subject test anxiety to go to the concert, and I'm definitely glad I did. Aside from the fact that the venue wasn't ideal for Regina and we had some strange company, such as the couple that mysteriously disappeared to the floor for a good portion of the concert, it was fantastic. I always forget how much I love live music--being able to literally feel it in my body. And I love that she doesn't just sell herself with a quirky style--her lyrics are delightful and her vocal control is incredible. (And she's one of a very few people who can tell a crowd to "shut the f*** up" and still sound charming.)

Also, the drive down with Kjerstin was lovely. Thanks again for the Crown Burger and the novel summaries--knowing the ending of Anna Karenina got me at least one point.

Saturday: GRE Literature Subject Test.

The anxiety of the past few days finally peaked this morning. Summary of the experience: woke up far too early, sort of ate breakfast, quizzed Jessie on Spenser versus Sidney while driving, finally located the building, waited nervously in the hall with Matt and Amanda, entered a freezing cold room (I think I had hypothermia by the end of the 3.5 hours, which didn't help my concentration), listened to the hilarious comments of other test-takers even more woefully unprepared than I (e.g., "I only know one person who's done well on this test, and he's like 50, so he's had lots of time to read stuff." Or the ones from the guy who didn't know James Baldwin was a writer and the girl who didn't know the test format.), listened to the proctor read the usual lengthy and annoying directions, guessed furiously (and hopefully accurately), and ran out of time. I wasn't at all concerned about time beforehand, but the end came before I'd finished my second pass through the 230 questions and I ended up with more blanks than I would have liked.

We compared notes over lunch at the Himalayan Kitchen, but I still have no sense of how well I actually did. I won't know for six weeks, at which point some of my applications will already be in, but for now I'm just glad it's over. So now I'm off to read one of the books I bought myself tonight in celebration of being finished with the test, and then to Amanda and Daine's to watch some soul-crushing Haneke.

(Sidenote: Last night I called the U's info number with a question about parking for the test. The operator sounded confused and didn't even attempt to help me before transferring me to two other people, neither of whom even knew where the building was. I know the U's campus is much bigger than BYU's, but really? You've never even heard of the building? You can't look at a map? Made me appreciate BYU Info.)

search keywords

2007-11-02T15:20:00.000-07:00

How people arrive at my blog:

"cage fights with ben crowder" (Care to explain, Ben?)
"myspace cormac mccarthy" (Turns out Cormac McCarthy does have a fake myspace profile, as do a number of other writers, living and dead. Interesting.)
"the value of studying literature"
"crossed leg gargoyle british city" (No idea what this was getting it.)
"fall temple quarry pictures cottonwood" (One of my favorite places, especially in the fall. I'm a bit nostalgic now.)
"mormon women patronize"
"obnoxious oprah" (Agreed.)
"lds-inspirational thoughts" (Probably not much of that here.)
"who is stalking my blog"
"alarm clock that vibrates talks in comebacks" (...Wow...)
"children of divorced parents college attendance rates"
"literature connects us to human nature"
"george bernard shaw marriage biological status" (Please help me figure out what this means.)

Day 1?

2007-11-02T00:30:00.000-07:00

Janssen raised this challenge, and because I haven't been writing nearly enough, even though I catch myself composing blog posts in my head on a regular basis, I figured I'd at least make the attempt. (For the record, I realize it's after midnight. But I still consider it November 1 until I go to bed.)

Yesterday: Halloween. I, being lame and tired from Monday's all-nighter and overwhelmed by my impending doom come Saturday morning and the GRE Subject Test, didn't dress up as anything. It always seems like such a pain, but I realized that I actually quite enjoy the dressing up itself--it's just coming up with the idea I hate. So if anyone wants to pick and assemble my costume for next year, let me know and I will happily play the part. I'll begin accepting suggestions immediately.

In other Halloween news, I spent several more hours than I would have liked writing a classics midterm in the testing center. Festive, no? Eventually I came home to find Amanda's party just getting started. I decided to forget about grad school applications for the night, instead eating numerous pumpkin chocolate chip cookies, watching people splatter the contents of glow sticks around our kitchen (it looked awesome--don't tell the landlords), and dancing. This is particularly strange because I don't dance. But apparently I was in desperate need of a mental break at that point, and so I did. For a long time. And went to bed without having done a single productive thing. And didn't regret it one bit.

procrastination

2007-10-30T01:38:00.000-07:00

I just might end up losing my mind in the next few weeks. Consider yourselves warned. Right now I’m holding on until Saturday, when I take the GRE literature subject test, popularly known (or maybe just known by me this week) as the test from hell.

Lina’s been studying goddess archetypes in her women’s lit class; she instantly pegged me as an Athena type and made me take a quiz to confirm her guess. The quiz says I have more Aphrodite than Athena in me, but I don't buy it (that is to say, I buy it even less than I do the results of most such quizzes). According to Lina’s handout, the Athena archetype is “a successful achiever” and “master of language and words” who values intellectual development and musical and artistic skills, and “a woman of independence” with a desire to change the system and an interest in professions traditionally dominated by men. She also “conceals an unresolved conflict between her ‘tough outer self and her hidden, unexpressed self that can be a source of great insecurity with regard to her finding an integral feminine identity.’” Please, that last bit totally sounds like me.

I looked through the newest PostSecret book the other night. I think it's my favorite so far. Also, some of my friends spotted the other three stacked on top of our bookcase yesterday. They were intrigued and pored over the books for a while—but one friend in particular found them depressing. I can’t say I entirely disagree, but as I tried to explain to him, even though the secrets aren’t all happy, there’s something very real and honest in them that makes them life-affirming in spite of that.

Right now I’m trying to write a paper for my Virginia Woolf class. I think I’ve finally settled on a topic—it’s somehow evolved from surrealist elements in Orlando, specifically in connection with Leonora Carrington’s later novels, to Orlando as a parody of the genre of biography (the obvious part) in terms of the way it defines reality and deals with truth claims (the original part, I hope). Who knows where it’ll go in the next few hours—perhaps some Kantian and New Historicist twists will emerge.

In an earlier fit of procrastination, after wandering the JKB halls a bit and exchanging a few words with the BYU cop sent over to investigate reports of a “burning” smell that turned out to be someone’s overcooked popcorn, I uncovered my Writing Center application file from back in the day—I’ve been looking for it for ages. I was pleased with the positive reviews of my writing samples, which weren’t bad at all for the experience I had at that point, but as for the interview notes… Wow, Jessie: Apparently that interview went even worse than I remember, so thanks for whatever you did to get me here.

surprise, surprise

2007-10-16T21:54:00.000-07:00

You Are 100% Feminist

You are a total feminist. This doesn't mean you're a man hater (in fact, you may be a man).
You just think that men and women should be treated equally. It's a simple idea but somehow complicated for the world to put into action.

Are You a Feminist?

(from Courtney)

weigh in, please

2007-10-15T17:13:00.001-07:00

Here's the question: What should Katherine spend next summer (her final months of pre–grad school freedom) doing?

(a) Studying in Berlin.
Pros: I fell in love with Berlin when I visited earlier this year, and I felt very strongly that I would end up going back at some point. Also, it would do wonders for my limited German skills.
Cons: Approximately $8000 plus airfare and personal expenses.

(b) Studying in Jerusalem.
Pros: The Seelys will be there spring term. Definitely an adventure. Likely my only chance to spend an extended period of time in that part of the world (unlike, say, Germany, where I could see myself living or studying in the future).
Cons: Approximately $6500 plus personal expenses. Also, I'm not terribly excited about the schedule and the coursework.

(c) Interning in DC.
Pros: I have an almost guaranteed internship if I want it. Sometimes I don't think I could stomach that particular position, but there's always the Smithsonian, the Library of Congress, advocacy groups, think tanks, and publications (like American Scholar and Atlantic Monthly, if I'm feeling ambitious). It'd be nice to live in a big city for a while, especially if I end up back in Provo next fall. The Barlow Center is a fantastic deal; between cheap housing and a paid internship (should I be so lucky), I might end up making some money rather than ending the summer in debt.
Cons: I'd have to apply very soon—I don't want to deal with it on top of my grad school applications. And the process of applying for specific internships once accepted into the program is a pain—just ask Amanda. Also, I don't know that I'm qualified for the internships I'd actually be excited about doing. This one, for example.

(d) Working in Salt Lake.
Pros: Most practical. I could live at home for free if I needed to, get a job at a bookstore or library (or doing temp secretarial work, but let's be optimistic for the moment), and enjoy the Broadway and the Salt Lake Art Center and the London Market. I could perhaps spend some time traveling at the end of the summer.
Cons: Least exciting. I definitely only want to do this if I'll be leaving Utah for school at the end of the summer.

(e) Other, or some combination of the above. Washington Seminar for just one term, then travel? Move to wherever I'm going early, get settled, and work a bit?

Help.

note to the kid in my american government class

2007-10-04T18:24:00.000-07:00

You're from the "liberal part" of Sandy?

Are we thinking of the same city?

note to self

2007-10-04T16:54:00.000-07:00

You cannot subsist entirely upon yogurt, Cheez-Its, and stale bread from the Writing Center fridge.

irony of the best kind/a fantastic discovery

2007-10-01T12:50:00.000-07:00

Both Amanda Davis and Lina Ferreira once found me intimidating.

on being special

2007-09-29T18:15:00.000-07:00

Today was a good day: I rocked the GRE, then got to drive home in the (pseudo)snow. And then, since the weather was conducive to books and hot chocolate, Amanda and I decided to ditch the General Relief Society meeting to go to Barnes & Noble. Don't worry, though, we ended up listening to most of the broadcast on the radio. Granted, this did result in my becoming agitated and nearly killing us on the way home, but our “righteousness” remained largely intact.

What I liked:

Recent efforts to introduce more diversity into the RS General Presidency. I especially like that one of the counselors is single.
The idea that we covenant to provide relief to those around us in need—not in a patronizing way, but in sincere efforts to reach out and demonstrate concern for others.
The moments that addressed important basic principles: experiences with faith, reminders to pray earnestly, etc.
“Do not pray for tasks equal to your abilities, but pray for abilities equal to your tasks.” (Thomas S. Monson)

Not so much:

In the first talk in particular, there was an unsettling emphasis on perfection. As annoyed as I get with the constant “you are so special” (because I feel patronized and because even if I am special, it's not tied to the fact that I have two X chromosomes), any helpful encouragement that does come from that seems to be undermined by the relentless “it’s your duty to be the best.” Not your best, but the best. So where does this leave the women who want to believe they’re special but don’t feel like they are or can be the best? As Dallin pointed out in an IM conversation we just had, our culture focuses a great deal more on results than on processes, leading to all sorts of inadequacy complexes.

Also, I’m incredibly uncomfortable with the idea that LDS women somehow have a monopoly on strong families and positive values. That wasn’t merely implied—one speaker claimed that LDS women should “do” family better than anyone else (I’m paraphrasing here. I’ll check it when a transcript is up). I can accept assertions that LDS women value family and such, but it’s unfair—insulting, even—to devalue the good things that others do.

Laced through the first talk in particular was the idea of women's “divine role,” as well as the assumption that if a woman does not correctly interpret and live her place in the world, she will be miserable and self-serving (I believe this was the point when I distractedly misjudged the speed of an approaching car and we almost died). My problem here is the implication that a nontraditional interpretation of that role or an inability to fulfill it in the usual way should be equated with misery and incorrect priorities. Amanda objected to my discomfort on the grounds that that point wasn’t explicitly stated; after we talked about it, though, she agreed that the idea is so entrenched in our rhetoric and history that it remains present unless plainly countered.

One final thought: Why do people feel the need to giggle wildly every time a General Authority says something even remotely clever or ironic? For the same reason that so many girls feel the need to bear their testimonies that the prophet is cute?

Any other perspectives on the meeting?

Things I Learned Yesterday

2007-09-24T16:34:00.001-07:00

The assistant group leaders, according to a member of my bishopric who looked very uncomfortable when I voiced my questions about the issue, were called according to directions from the stake. Because "according to the handbook, there's no such thing as a female group leader." This does nothing to make me feel better, though he admitted they hadn't considered how it would sound and promised to raise my concern in a future meeting. I'll follow up.

Bringing fruit snacks to church is a good idea. It also makes you popular in Sunday School.

Apparently I fit the English-major stereotype--my home teacher decisively nailed my major on his first guess. "Because of the way you talk," he explained. I was mildly perturbed at being so easily defined; to be fair, though, I had him pegged as a business major the first time I met him...

According to Amanda, I have an alter ego who likes pink bunnies and traditional gender roles. Maybe pink bunnies, I conceded.

If I were to marry another English major, an old friend informed me, I'd be guaranteed to have gay children. I told him: First, I fail to see the causal connection. And second, if I did have gay children, that'd be fine. "You're a true liberal," he said. "I can't believe you'd be okay with that."

sunday thoughts

2007-09-16T23:30:00.000-07:00

a. It's been too long.

b. I was thinking yesterday: Sometimes I feel stupid admitting to myself and other people that I have so much emotional baggage (although... doesn't everybody?). Because (1) I like to think I can handle anything, and (2) my life, relatively speaking, has never been all that hard. That said, I can't deny that there are things I've struggled with and that have affected me in various and sometimes strange ways. While talking with Amanda the other day, I realized another: I love people genuinely and easily, but I'm determinedly resistant to letting anyone love me. As soon as I had that thought, several things made a lot more sense--my problems with relationships, my family, God.

c. I'm going to send in a card to postsecret. I think I know what it'll say.

d. In sacrament meeting today the bishop read off several guys' names, and we sustained them as FHE group leaders. Then he continued: "And as assistant group leaders, we'd like to call [several corresponding girls' names]." I started twitching, which according to my roommate Shannon is my response to anything uncomfortable that happens in church, and Shannon and I exchanged disturbed glances. The guy sitting to my right tried awkwardly to appease me, and the guy to my left turned to Amanda and asked, "Does she not like men?" It will surprise none of you to know that I have a problem with this FHE structure (and with the fact that equality concerns always translate in someone's mind into man-hatred), especially since (1) in every other ward I've been in, the men and women are called as co-leaders, and (2) it's yet another example of practice flying in the face of equal-partner doctrines I feel very strongly about. I intend to ask the bishop why it was done this way.

e. For what it's worth, God and I are on better terms these days.

things that bother me today

2007-08-19T11:13:00.000-07:00

1. When girls get married and change their last names on facebook instead of just adding the new ones to the end. How are people who either don't know they've gotten married or don't know their married names supposed to find them?

2. To-do lists not written in parallel form.

3. A dream I had last night in which all of my bottom teeth fell out. Not from the effects of poor oral hygiene like in the usual tooth-loss dreams--they just came loose while I was trying desperately to escape the weird guy hitting on me. Bizarre.

4. The fact that the four books I purchased in the BYU Bookstore yesterday cost the same as the thirteen (plus shipping for each) from half.com.

you blog like a girl

2007-08-14T22:28:00.000-07:00

Or, in my case, a boy.

I finally got around to trying out the Gender Genie last night. It's a simple application that guesses the gender of the writer based on an algorithm tracking the use of certain words and phrases. For example, men are apparently more likely to indicate specific objects with generic articles, while women are more likely to suggest connections to the objects by using possessive pronouns. I'm generally skeptical of purportedly telepathic websites, and I still don't buy any claims that this particular one has much to stand on as far as actual basis for its gender classifications. On the other hand, though, most blog posts I've read about the Gender Genie have mentioned its surprising accuracy. So I was understandably amused when nearly every writing sample I entered was declared distinctively male.

Initially I suspected that my "masculine" style was something I'd picked up in the last couple of years. After further experimentation and more wasted time, I proved myself wrong--turns out I've been writing like a man since high school. Of the fifteen blog posts, journal entries, and school papers I tried, only two were identified as predominantly female. One was a particularly angst-ridden, stream-of-conscious blog I'm still a bit embarrassed to have posted; the other was a journal entry in the same vein. The remaining samples, particularly the academic ones, scored approximately twice as high in the male category as in the female.

An entertaining game, mostly. But here's what bothers me: Assuming the results of this experiment hold any validity at all, I can't help but channel Sandra Gilbert a bit and talk literary paternity. Why is it that academic standards (and I, good product of male-dominated academic institutions that I am) privilege the male approach? Why is it only in my most free and, honestly, emotive writing that I appear to be "feminine"? This is problematic for me on two levels. One (and I suspect I'm unconsciously buying right back into symbolic patriarchy here), can't there be a female style that isn't characterized by hedging phrases and emotional diction? And two, even if there isn't a true alternative, why is it so engrained in even my mind that this stereotypical female voice is inferior?

[Gender Genie's take on this post:
Female Score: 342
Male Score: 631
The Gender Genie thinks the author of this passage is: male!]

my blog rating

2007-08-13T22:46:00.000-07:00

Seriously?

Disregarding what my incredulity and disappointment at the results of this evaluation say about me, I don't think this is entirely accurate. For one thing, it takes into account only the posts currently on my main page; for another, the explanation given for the rating was "No bad words were found." Hardly a sophisticated formula.

That said: Damn. Damn this rating tool to hell. And some other profane things.

to the LDS "inspirational" music (mo-pop) people

2007-08-12T20:24:00.001-07:00

People, please, setting a random body of manipulative, sentimental prose text directly to music does not make a good song. And when these poorly conceived numbers are sung by airy voices over predictable chord progressions with unsophisticated frills, I'm even less likely to listen. Let's pull it together and produce something worth listening to, okay?

I don't know why I even attempt to suffer through any of the Sunday programs on Utah radio stations. The fact that Steven Kapp Perry hosts one of them should hardly give me any hope for quality music.

As a result, I'm taking up a collection to install a CD player in my car.

Actually, who am I kidding? About two minutes of "Soft Sunday Sounds" and I end up at X96 anyway.

2007-08-07T23:29:00.001-07:00

Watch this.

(A Salt Lake Tribune photo essay about a "plural family" living in an unspecified Salt Lake suburb.)

Discuss.

odd.

2007-08-06T23:12:00.000-07:00

I hear stories of the occasional rogue ward member taking to the stand on Fast Sunday to bear testimony of the dinosaurs or exhort the congregation to take up polygamy, but I seldom encounter these myself. Yesterday's sacrament meeting, however, brought one of the wackier testimonies I've heard in a long time. Early in the hour, an unfamiliar man, who appeared at least 20 years older than the rest of the congregation in my student ward, stood up at the pulpit. I'd assumed at first that he was an oddball ward member who'd moved in while I was in Europe, but as it turned out, no one else had ever seen him before either.

He fixed his gaze on a point somewhere over our heads and began to speak in a serious, subdued tone: "I've come a long way from Maine to be here today..." He then proceeded to discourse for ten or twelve minutes. Among other things, I learned that the U.S. Constitution is scripture, this republic is a model for our future theocracy, and (my favorite) the war in heaven was fought over communism.

I suspect CG may have heard the strange sound I made at one point, a combination of strangled laughter and exclamations of disbelief. Although he didn't break his smooth, rehearsed narrative or look my way, he adamantly declared that "this is not something to laugh about." The bishopric, seated behind him, looked paralyzed; my friend Dave, who happened to be waiting on the stand, pointedly averted his eyes from Constitution Guy, so as to keep from laughing at the eccentricity, and attempted to suppress the same expression I imagine was on my own face.

When he finished, he looked around at all of us gaping a bit uncertainly and bypassed the usual closing-in-the-name-of-Christ for a decisive "thank you." According to Dave, CG exited through the back of the chapel immediately afterward, presumably to share his message of questionable doctrinal soundness with the next fortunate ward.

stalking my readers

2007-08-04T00:10:00.000-07:00

Today I was browsing through some of my blog stats on Google Analytics and StatCounter. Interesting things I learned:

More visitors are referred from Jon's blog and Megan's blog than from any others.
Favorite search engine keywords that brought people here: "kjerstin byu" (apparently someone's...looking for you, Kjerstin) and "cynic woman blogspot" (no comment).
I may not have many readers, but you are loyal. 75.78 percent of visits are logged by returning visitors, and more than a fourth of you have visited between 50 and 100 times in the last month.
Surprisingly, 54.26 percent of you use Firefox. Good work. 43.95 of you still use Internet Explorer, and 1.79 percent use Safari.
People have read from Canada, France, El Salvador, the Philippines, Guatemala, the UK, Ireland, the Dominican Republic, Germany, Italy, and the Netherlands. This would be a much more impressive list if most of the visits from continental Europe weren't made by me and Ali.
I also have readers in Utah, Virginia, Florida, North Carolina, Minnesota, California, New York, Illinois, Massachusetts, Washington, Pennsylvania, Idaho, D.C., and Colorado. I can guess who a few of those are, but for most I have no idea.

update, sort of

2007-07-17T13:18:00.000-07:00

Sorry to everyone out there wondering whether I'm still alive. (I am, just for the record.)

I'm in Dublin right now, perusing the Trinity College archives by day and wandering along the Liffey at night. Friday I leave for London, which I'm unreasonably excited for--though the nostalgia factor makes me a little sad, too.

I realize there's only one round of pictures on facebook; I haven't been able to upload in ages.

Part of the reason I haven't posted much is that I'm unsure of how to write about my adventures. Sure, I could give you all a lengthy list of the things I've done, but somehow, in my mind, that trivializes them. Because for me, traveling is not about an impressive itinerary and a series of pictures in front of famous landmarks; it's about the experiences, the people, the self-discovery. But I don't know how to communicate that in a way that shows I'm doing more than having "fun."

Hello from Berlin

2007-06-24T13:35:00.000-07:00

I don't have much time (on account of internet access being rather expensive at my hostel and the fact that it takes me twice as long as normal to type on this keyboard because I'm constantly hunting for the y and the apostrophe), but I just wanted to update briefly to assure whoever's reading that I have now managed a week and a half (feels like much longer) without dying or being otherwise harmed or seriously inconvenienced.

I've just spent the day wandering Berlin--first on a fabulous free walking tour, then on my own--and I'm absolutely loving this city. London, of course, is still number one for me, but this is another city I could see myself spending months in and never getting tired of. Unfortunately, though I plan to come back someday, I do have to leave soon. Tomorrow we're off to Munich on another overnight train, which hopefully won't take us unexpectedly through a random Eastern European country like the last one.

In Which We Accidentally Go to Slovakia

2007-06-21T08:21:00.001-07:00

I promised to tell about my "hostel" in Budapest, but I really couldn't do it justice without the pictures and video, which I don't have right now. I will say, however, that it's probably the first and last time I'll have a Rastafarian for a roommate.

Budapest looks like this.

Budapest itself was fabulous. If you ever have a chance to go there, do it. We were only there for a couple of days, but it's a beautiful city with a lot of character. Many of the things I read talked about remnants of Budapest's "Golden Age" (late 19th-early 2oth century)--the city is still spectacular in many ways, but it's fascinating, and a little sad, to see dramatic evidence of the decline from its peak. Some of the things we did: hiked to the Buda citadel and looked out over the city; found the "Cave Church," which is exactly what is sounds like; explored the labyrinths beneath Buda Castle; and walked along both sides of the Danube.

Most recent in the way of unanticipated adventures was our accidental jaunt through Slovakia. The agent who reserved our overnight trip from Budapest to Prague said that the train would pass through Vienna. So when the conductor came to check our tickets just past the Hungarian border in what we assumed was Austria, we were confused by his disgruntled response. He shook his head angrily as we handed him one pass after another, trying to appease him somehow. Finally, he stormed out. We assumed we had gone to get someone who spoke English or German, but he never came back. An hour or so later, just when we'd decided we were probably safe, we pulled into a station for a routine stop. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the name of the station: Bratislava. "Ummm," I said to Ali, "We're in Slovakia." She stared at me in shock for a moment, then, in our sleep-deprived state, we both collapsed with hysterical laughter.

Soon a different conductor came by, and I tried explaining to him in both English and German that we didn't know the train would be passing through Slovakia, which was not included on our rail passes. But he obviously didn't understand either language--he just kept jabbing his finger at the list of countries on the pass and saying, "Austria okay; Slovakia not okay!" Finally he let us pay the fare through Slovakia, leaving us each out 25 euro but with an extra stamp in our passports and an extra country to check off as visited.

Prague is lovely--I'll post some pictures once I upload them. And tomorrow it's off to Dresden, where I hope to actually be able to communicate with people. Hurrah.

P.S. For more updates, check out Ali's blog. There's a link in the sidebar.
P.P.S. For more pictures, check facebook in the next day or two.

In Which Adventures Abound

2007-06-19T08:55:00.000-07:00

Sorry this is a fake-out--no time to blog right now. But coming soon: our "hostel" in Budapest.

Miss you all!

Arrived!

2007-06-16T15:22:00.001-07:00

I'm here in Vienna and I'm very much alive, though quite tired--four days of next to no sleep followed by two of traveling will do that. But I have discover one very important benefit of having erratic sleeping habits like mine: An 8-hour time doesn't throw me off at all. Nice.

When I got here, I realized Ali and I hadn't decided when or how to meet, but fortunately she dropped by our hostel right after I showed up. We decided to take it easy since we were both still tired and it was infernally hot outside, so we explored inside the ring a bit--went to Stephansdom (huge 12th century church) and toured the catacombs (home to the Habsburg entrails); found a very Baroque--in the truest, most extravagant sense of the word--church (St. Peter's); walked into a Hungarian anti-government demonstration; saw the Vienna Opera House; and just wandered around before coming back to our hostel to crash early. Pictures may follow if I can find a computer with a USB connection. Tomorrow: Museums, kebabs, Vienna Boys Choir (Ali wants to go, provided we actually wake up by 7, which is doubtful), etc.

Also, just thought you should know the hostel bar is playing "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" right now. There's no escaping.

Hope all of you back home and other places are doing well. Email me. Please?

myspace is... against the honor code?

2007-06-06T14:21:00.001-07:00

(On a bulletin board in the JFSB.)

Could somebody please tell me what this is supposed to mean?

Oprah. And Cormac McCarthy?

2007-06-05T16:27:00.000-07:00

Today the notoriously reclusive Cormac McCarthy made his first-ever television appearance--on Oprah, of all places. After I sold my soul by registering for an account on Oprah's book club website, several of us gathered around and watched the interview clips.

Observation 1
Cormac looks more normal than I expected him to. He also had some interesting things to say about writing, life, and God. I need to read The Road.
Observation 2
Oprah asks annoying questions.

A Lesson
(Hobo words of wisdom, as Tim said): "You gotta have food and shoes." That was all Cormac had to say after Oprah's jabs about being too poor for toothpaste and a $40 dollar/month hotel.

Favorite Moment 1
Cormac's unique style of punctuation (or lack thereof) being called "McCarthyism."
Favorite Moment 2
I'm paraphrasing here. Cormac (resignedly): "Women are difficult... I don't think any man completely understands women." Oprah (snidely): "Well, you'd think after three marriages..."
Favorite Moment 3
Oprah, while waving her hands vaguely in front of her face: "You haven't worked out the God thing? Or not... yet?"

Also, regarding Oprah's newest book club selection, Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides: Yet another book I discovered, read, and loved long before Oprah stuck her O-shaped sticker of approval on it. Although I do appreciate her encouraging people to read and publicizing good books, there's still a possessive, elitist part of me that resents the fact that so many people are reading these books not because they see their value or want to engage the issues presented, but because Oprah told them to.

ten days from now

2007-06-05T12:33:00.000-07:00

I will be in a plane over the Atlantic. I'm not at all ready to leave, but excited nonetheless.

Where I'm going, roughly:
Vienna
Budapest
Prague
Dresden
Leipzig
Berlin
Dachau
Munich
Venice
Bern
Heidelberg
Amsterdam
Ypres
Brussels
Brugge
Ghent
Paris
Glasgow
Edinburgh
Dublin
London

inventing words

2007-06-02T14:33:00.000-07:00

I just mistyped "ibid" as "libid." And I wondered: if libid were a word, what exactly would it mean? (Other than a sick person's or a Spaniard's attempt at "livid.") Enraged with sexual desire?

hostelworld.com: looking out for the nontraditionally gendered

2007-05-31T19:37:00.000-07:00

I finally got around to making some hostel reservations so Alison and I don't have to sleep in the Westbahnhof for our first nights in Vienna.

I logged on to hostelworld.com, selected (thanks to Lauren's excellent advice) a relatively non-seedy-looking hostel in a convenient location, picked the range of dates (June 16-17) and number of people (two), then proceeded to the confirmation page. I gleefully (the more concrete my plans become, the more excited I get) entered my first and last name and my nationality, then clicked on the "Gender" box to change the default "Male" entry (how's that for patriarchal precendence?). In the drop-down menu I found not two, but three options: "Male," "Female," and "Male & Female."

I didn't realize until a good hour or two later that "Male & Female" was only an option because the reservation was for two people.

2007-05-23T21:12:00.000-07:00

My first posts here were generally extended observations or rants of some sort, but they've devolved into fragmented notes, more to myself than anyone else, and lists of things I've been thinking about. I'm not sure whether that's because these days I'm surrounded by fabulous, intelligent people who like to think about the same sorts of things I do and who lessen my need to process things by writing, or because my mental state and approach to life have been a bit fragmented and detached. But either way, I haven't felt much like discoursing on anything lately. Apologies to those of you holding out for a coherent post in an interesting topic (that's not to say that any of my earlier posts were coherent or interesting, just that they tended a bit more that direction in their intent).

It's also just occurred to me that my audience might be a factor. Not because I'm under the illusion that any of you actually want to read the drivel I'm writing, but because I'm less likely to opine candidly about some things now that my reader(stalker)ship consists of more than a handful of online acquaintances.

On an entirely irrelevant note, I have an odd habit of typing the present participle when I mean to use the past--when I read over that first paragraph, I had to change "surrounding" to "surrounded." I do this at least once in every IM conversation I have or document I compose.

Anyway, here's something to look forward (maybe? not that I expect you're all riveted to my blog and dependent upon me for entertainment): In approximately 3.5 weeks, I will begin writing somewhat real posts in the form of travelogues. Assuming, of course, that I manage to find the occasional internet cafe without exorbitantly high prices. I've always wished I had blogged more from London, though, so I will try.

P.S. Why did it take blogger so long to start saving automatically? That could have saved me a great deal of aggravation on multiple occasions.

Titelblatt

2007-05-23T13:36:00.000-07:00

I don't love this translation, but I figured it was worth sharing nonetheless.

Title Page
Rainer Maria Rilke

It's easy for the rich and fortunate to remain silent,
nobody wants to know who they are.
That is why the destitute must show themselves,
must say: I am blind,
or: that is what I'm about to become,
or: it's not going very well with me here on Earth,
or: I have a sick child,
or: this is where I'm kind of all stuck together . . .

And perhaps even that is not enough.

Despite everything, as if they were things,
people walk right by, and so they must sing.

And one hears good music there.

Truly, people are strange; They'd
rather hear castrati in boys' choirs.

But God himself comes and remains a long time
when these disfigured ones begin to disturb him.

Titelblatt

Die Reichen und Glücklichen haben gut schweigen,
niemand will wissen was sie sind.
Aber die Dürftigen müssen sich zeigen,
müssen sagen: ich bin blind
oder: ich bin im Begriff es zu werden
oder: es geht mir nicht gut auf Erden
oder: ich habe ein krankes Kind
oder: da bin ich zusammengefügt...

Und vielleicht, daß das gar nicht genügt.

Und weil alle sonst, wie an Dingen,
an ihnen vorbeigehn, müssen sie singen.

Und da hört man noch guten Gesang.

Freilich die Menschen sind seltsam; sie hören
lieber Kastraten in Knabenchören.

Aber Gott selber kommt und bleibt lang
wenn ihn diese Beschnittenen stören.

2007-05-21T17:11:00.001-07:00

today

2007-05-17T00:00:00.000-07:00

I made GRE vocabulary flashcards. If you notice I'm speaking like more of a snob than usual, that's why.

My back hurts, and it's getting to the point where I have a hard time sitting long enough to get any work done. I should probably do something about that before I spend six weeks sleeping on trains and hostel bunks--I can't imagine either of those will help.

I'm tired of Lorin Farr and so glad that project is almost over. I just hope it's possible to edit, revise, source-check, lay out, index, and proof a book in two to three weeks.

Some Questions

2007-05-08T16:21:00.000-07:00

Dear all (male/female, LDS/not):

Please discuss.

Thank you.

* * *

Some weeks ago I was talking with a couple of close friends--traditionally minded guys with whom I rarely discuss feminism and gender issues, particularly as they pertain to the Church. One said, perplexed, "I don't know why women would ever feel they aren't equal in the Church." After my initial thought of oh my, how can you not understand?, I realized that, despite his best efforts, he truly could not see the issues as they are perceived by many women. I don't usually have a problem expressing my opinions on the feminist front, but I was at a loss for how to explain them to someone with absolutely no concept of why I would have the feelings I do.

I wasn't concerned about convincing my friend to join up on any feminist agenda, I simply wanted him to understand that the struggle to reconcile certain aspects of feminism and Mormonism is very real and very difficult for many women. How do you succinctly and rationally articulate a view that will be met with inevitable skepticism—a view that, from my perspective, seems so clear and that I feel so deeply?

While the first of my friends was sincerely confused, the second was openly resistant, essentially suggesting that these dissatisfied women wanted status without responsibility. "I'd like to see them spend every Sunday in meetings or sit on a disciplinary council," he said, almost accusingly. Shocked and a bit peeved, I asked that he avoid making such assumptions and said that many women would love to be involved in the ways he mentioned.

Which brings me to my second question: Why would he—and, I suspect, other men—believe that women asking for a voice aren't willing to take on the responsibilities that accompany it? Would you be willing to shoulder those in exchange for greater involvement in the leadership and operations of the Church?

will i ever write a real post again?

2007-05-03T15:35:00.000-07:00

My lengthy silence: I've begun five or six posts since my last, but I can't bring myself to work them out of fragmented draft form--too angsty. I don't want to write them; no one else wants to read them.

Best Daily Universe headline: "Speakers to share incite at Women's Conference."

A good book: Atonement by Ian McEwan.

Most recent music preoccupation: Imogen Heap (try "Hide & Seek," even if it is a bit overplayed) and Regina Spektor(you can stream several albums at www.reginaspektor.com--I especially like Begin to Hope). I don't often find female vocalists I enjoy listening to, but each of these two has a really unique sound.

Previously unknown fact: There are turtles in the botany pond. Who knew?! I walked by last week and saw three fully grown turtles and two baby turtles climbing on and off broken branches in the water. I was unreasonably delighted, though this may have stemmed in part from the fact that I was on my way home from turning in my last project of my most hellish semester.

The results of the hellish semester: I was gearing up for the worst grades of my life but, whether by divine intervention or by professorial compassion, I came out of it okay. Better than okay, actually--I was shocked to when I pulled up my grades on AIM yesterday.

A quote: "God is not at the end of a syllogism" (Truman G. Madsen). It would certainly make my life easier if he were.

you knew it was coming...

2007-04-03T20:34:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to compose my own treatise so that I don't have to keep explaining to people individually, but this states my feelings quite accurately and succinctly (and diplomatically):

The BYU College Democrats are hosting a student sit-in and faculty panel to raise awareness about Vice President Cheney’s record in office.

The University will be honored to host a sitting Vice President of the United States. The BYU College Democrats hope that even more political speakers of all backgrounds come to visit our campus. We support the Board of Trustees and the First Presidency in their decision to host the Vice President of the United States.

We are concerned however, that the Vice President’s visit may be incorrectly interpreted as an endorsement by the University, which is politically neutral. Our students are concerned with any or all of the following issues:

1) Most past Commencement speakers at BYU have been LDS religious figures who have acted as role models for the University and the graduating class. Vice President Cheney’s controversial actions do not represent a model our students need to follow.

2) Vice President Cheney’s support of preemptive war, misleading use of weak intelligence to elicit fear, defense of prisoner abuse as a method of interrogation, connection with the Valerie Plame affair, and ties with Halliburton are unbecoming of the office of the Vice President.

3) The political climate at BYU is often incorrectly perceived as exclusively conservative. Vice President Cheney’s visit may further reinforce these misconceptions. There are an increasing number of moderates and liberals on BYU’s campus whose opinions should be represented.

The goal of this demonstration is to give voice to the diverse reasons why students are concerned about Vice President Cheney’s policies and the public’s perception of BYU. We hope that Mr. Cheney’s visit and our demonstration will supplement students’ studies of current events and promote healthy discussion.

We appreciate the BYU administration for accommodating different views on campus and for permitting us to express our opposition to Vice President Cheney. We are working with the University to ensure that our demonstration will encourage discussion without disrupting this special occasion for the graduates and their families. (Courtesy of the BYU Democrats)

If I have a spare moment in the midst of end-of-semester academic triage (or decide I'd rather write blog posts than research papers), I may elaborate a bit more on these objections, particularly the potential implications of this for BYU faculty and students in my own area of study.

And I must add this regarding the anti-protest: I acknowledge the validity of the arguments opposing what I've quoted above. I concede that the idea of allowing the vice president to speak at BYU is intended to be an honor (although I don't think it plays out quite that way in the case of Cheney). And I am not seizing upon this as an opportunity to criticize BYU's political position, since I see this as a "violation" of neutrality only in terms of the potentially problematic way it will be received beyond our campus. So it's hardly fair, then, to call what will be occuring tomorrow between the Wilk and the HBLL a "pro-BYU party." Manipulative rhetoric, no?

i love postsecret sundays

2007-03-18T13:19:00.000-07:00

The more others' lives intersect with my own, the more I believe this: Everyone has a story, and every story is a testament to the incredible strength of people.

here: spin me round again.

2007-03-16T09:36:00.000-07:00

2.23.07

I think God's had enough of my being convinced that I can run my own life.

I always wondered what it would take for me to have a spiritual revolution and realize I can't do everything on my own--occasionally it seems that a traumatic event of some sort is inevitable. But I don't think even that would do it. What I realized: As long as I'm dealing with situations that affect primarily me, I trust my own judgment. Barring a few minor ill-advised moments, my decisions tend to be sound and my life generally seems to work out. But as soon I find myself in a situation where 1) I have no experience to fall back on and 2) other people are involved... so much for knowing what I want and how to make that happen.

2.28.07

It’s been a terribly long time since I’ve felt as humble and as open as I do now. When I think back on the last week or so, not much has changed: one real scripture study session, a prayer over dinner with friends, some unspoken callings-on-God, a question I couldn't answer for myself. Perhaps the difference lies in the attitudes behind my actions: a recognition of my own failings, a desire to find some purpose beyond my endless crises of meaning, a willingness to acknowledge that everything doesn't have to make sense.

I don’t completely understand what I’m hoping to find. But I’m tired of being angry and lost, and I felt something different this week. I’d rather work toward something than remain entangled in directionless confusion. Maybe it’s delusion, a dependence on which might have incensed me only a few weeks ago, but it’s peaceful.

So I'm camped out on the floor

2007-03-09T03:29:00.000-07:00

trying to finish my midterm essays for dear Wickman--I don't want to wake Paula, and another roommate has taken to sleeping on the couch instead of in her bed (...why?), so I've been relegated to this not-particularly-conducive-to-studying space. I stood up a few minutes ago to get a blanket and grabbed the door frame to let a moment of lightheadedness pass. Next thing I knew, I was on the floor several feet away with a throbbing head and elbow. I'd say suddenly collapsing into a wall and falling over without retaining any memory of the moment itself is a pretty good sign I haven't been sleeping or eating enough. (It's also rather funny, but I ought to take better care of myself.)

All I can say is that I hope the end of this month comes quickly. I'm beyond ecstatic that stake conference is at 2:00 this Sunday, saving me from our regular 8:30 church time and allowing me to sleep in for the first time in weeks. But before Sunday:
write one more essay
revise another
take a German test
rework a paper for presentation purposes
go to a birthday dinner in Salt Lake
spend 9 hours at a symposium (reading my paper and chairing sessions)
eat dinner with a friend's friend's grandma
hear Hilary Hahn perform with the Utah Symphony
write two book chapters and a research proposal
(and do regular homework)

Bring it on. I am awfully tired, though.

A random question: Who are you? People keep mentioning offhand that they read my blog, and it startles me every time. So, dear readers. Even if you don't usually comment, make yourselves known on this post. I'm quite curious.

P.S. Anyone ever notice that Tylenol is "lonely" backwards plus a t? Interesting. My head hurts right now.

The Anti-Campaign Campaign

2007-03-06T23:23:00.000-07:00

Liz beat me to this (and conveniently explained the origin of the following list--as well as some of my feelings about BYUSA, the topic of a rant for another day). But I'm posting it anyway so you can experience what happens when the Writing Center turns political: from the snobbish to the absurd to the downright wrong.

Angry campaigners. Yes, we are as scary as we look.

For your entertainment and enlightenment, the anti-campaign campaign slogans:

BYUSA is a secret combination.
BYUSA has tacky shoes.
BYUSA paved the Trail of Tears.
BYUSA took shotgun when I called it.
BYUSA leaves its dishes in the sink.
BYUSA starts every sentence with "I'm not a racist, but..."
BYUSA was conceived out of wedlock.
BYUSA causes global warming.
BYUSA's hips do lie.
BYUSA dodges copyright laws.
BYUSA is always late to class.
BYUSA forgot your birthday.
BYUSA gave me tuberculosis.
BYUSA eats enriched-flour white bread.
BYUSA parks in handicapped spaces.
BYUSA says "um" too much.
BYUSA doesn't finish its dinner when there are starving children in Africa.
BYUSA goes all the way.
BYUSA killed the dinosaurs.
BYUSA broke up the Beatles.
BYUSA kicks puppies.
Vote for BYUSA; vote for terrorism.
BYUSA is behind on child-support payments.
BYUSA stole my girlfriend.
BYUSA slept through church.
BYUSA siphons my gas.
BYUSA: Why vote for an employee?
BYUSA can't tell the difference between Scotland and Ireland.
BYUSA doesn't know a good hollandaise sauce.
BYUSA is going to blog about you later.
BYUSA used all the toilet paper.
BYUSA didn't go to Brazil on its mission.
BYUSA killed Byron in a Greek revolution.
BYUSA hates dreams and rainbows.
BYUSA never calls their mom.
BYUSA only takes "management" classes.
BYUSA shot Franz Ferdinand.

100 Books

2007-03-01T23:41:00.000-07:00

From Janssen and Courtney. Reminds me of the canon game that was introduced to me by one of my study abroad professors and which developed into its present form during slow shifts at the Writing Center.

As Courtney said, this shames me as an English major. At this rate, I don't stand a chance on the GRE subject test (notice that most of the books on this list that I have managed to read are Harry Potter and the like--not Jane Eyre and War and Peace). This raises the question of what on earth I spent the first 17 or so years of my life doing, especially since I've been under the impression that throughout elementary school my mom had to come downstairs many nights at 2:00 AM to unplug my lamp and take away my book, I maxed out my library card at the 30-book limit on a weekly basis, and books always accompanied me on family outings to restaurants and BYU football games.

Oh well. Here goes. Books I've completed are in bold, books I've partially read are in italics, and books on my current to-read list have asterisks.

1. The Da Vinci Code (Dan Brown) (I know, trendy and historically inaccurate. But it was fun.)
2. Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen) (It has its good moments, but I just can't love it like most girls seem to.)
3. To Kill A Mockingbird (Harper Lee) (Can't believe I waited until I was in college for this one.)
4. Gone With The Wind (Margaret Mitchell)
5. The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King (J.R.R. Tolkien) (I'm sorry, but I just couldn't get through it. I watch the movies instead.)
6. The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring (J.R.R. Tolkien)
7. The Lord of the Rings: Two Towers (J.R.R. Tolkien)
8. Anne of Green Gables (L.M. Montgomery)
9. Outlander (Diana Gabaldon)
10. A Fine Balance (Rohinton Mistry)
11. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (J.K. Rowling)
12. Angels and Demons (Dan Brown)
13. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (J.K. Rowling)
14. A Prayer for Owen Meany (John Irving)
15. Memoirs of a Geisha (Arthur Golden)
16. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (J.K. Rowling)
17. Fall on Your Knees (Ann-Marie MacDonald)
18. The Stand (Stephen King)
19. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (J.K. Rowling)
20. Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte)
21. The Hobbit (J.R.R. Tolkien)
22. The Catcher in the Rye (J.D. Salinger)
23. Little Women (Louisa May Alcott)
24. The Lovely Bones (Alice Sebold)
25. Life of Pi (Yann Martel)
26. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (Douglas Adams)
27. Wuthering Heights (Emily Bronte)
28. The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe (C. S. Lewis)
29. East of Eden (John Steinbeck)*
30. Tuesdays with Morrie (Mitch Albom)
31. Dune (Frank Herbert)
32. The Notebook (Nicholas Sparks)
33. Atlas Shrugged (Ayn Rand)
34. 1984 (George Orwell)
35. The Mists of Avalon (Marion Zimmer Bradley)
36. The Pillars of the Earth (Ken Follett)
37. The Power of One (Bryce Courtenay)
38. I Know This Much is True (Wally Lamb)
39. The Red Tent (Anita Diamant)
40. The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho)*
41. The Clan of the Cave Bear (Jean M. Auel)
42. The Kite Runner (Khaled Hosseini) (A favorite. I highly recommend it.)
43. Confessions of a Shopaholic (Sophie Kinsella)
44. The Five People You Meet In Heaven (Mitch Albom)
45. Bible (Yeah, probably should make it all the way through one of these days...)
46. Anna Karenina (Leo Tolstoy)*
47. The Count of Monte Cristo (Alexandre Dumas)
48. Angela’s Ashes (Frank McCourt)*
49. The Grapes of Wrath (John Steinbeck)
50. She’s Come Undone (Wally Lamb)
51. The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver)
52. A Tale of Two Cities (Charles Dickens)
53. Ender’s Game (Orson Scott Card)
54. Great Expectations (Charles Dickens)
55. The Great Gatsby (Scott Fitzgerald)
56. The Stone Angel (Margaret Laurence)
57. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (J.K. Rowling)
58. The Thorn Birds (Colleen McCullough)
59. The Handmaid’s Tale (Margaret Atwood)
60. The Time Traveller’s Wife (Audrew Niffenegger)
61. Crime and Punishment (Fyodor Dostoyevsky) (Another favorite.)
62. The Fountainhead (Ayn Rand)
63. War and Peace (Tolstoy)*
64. Interview With The Vampire (Anne Rice)
65. Fifth Business (Robertson Davies)
66. One Hundred Years Of Solitude (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
67. The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants (Ann Brashares)*
68. Catch-22 (Joseph Heller)
69. Les Miserables (Victor Hugo)*
70. The Little Prince (Antoine de Saint-Exupery)
71. Bridget Jones’ Diary (Helen Fielding)
72. Love in the Time of Cholera (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
73. Shogun (James Clavell)
74. The English Patient (Michael Ondaatje)
75. The Secret Garden (Frances Hodgson Burnett)
76. The Summer Tree (Guy Gavriel Kay)
77. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (Betty Smith)
78. The World According To Garp (John Irving)
79. The Diviners (Margaret Laurence)
80. Charlotte’s Web (E.B. White)
81. Not Wanted On The Voyage (Timothy Findley)
82. Of Mice And Men (John Steinbeck)
83. Rebecca (Daphne DuMaurier)
84. Wizard’s First Rule (Terry Goodkind)
85. Emma (Jane Austen)
86. Watership Down (Richard Adams)
87. Brave New World (Aldous Huxley)*
88. The Stone Diaries (Carol Shields)
89. Blindness (Jose Saramago)
90. Kane and Abel (Jeffrey Archer)
91. In the Skin of a Lion (Michael Ondaatje)
92. Lord of the Flies (William Golding)
93. The Good Earth (Pearl S. Buck)*
94. The Secret Life of Bees (Sue Monk Kidd)
95. The Bourne Identity (Robert Ludlum)
96. The Outsiders (S.E. Hinton)
97. White Oleander (Janet Fitch)
98. A Woman of Substance (Barbara Taylor Bradford)
99. The Celestine Prophecy (James Redfield)
100. Ulysses (James Joyce) (Wonderful, wonderful. I consider this one an accomplishment.)

Goodness. It's worse than I thought. To my credit, I have read plenty of books that don't appear on this list...

why I study literature: a brief reflection

2007-02-17T18:22:00.000-07:00

"The humanities are animated by the urge to understand human beings in all their complexity and contradictions.... They connect us to our past, linking us to what other human beings have thought and felt and believed and suffered in the process of finding their own humanity.

"But the humanities not only connect us to our cultural heritage; they also hold out the potential of connecting everything in our experience.... They offer us the experience of wholeness because they touch us at the deepest levels of mind and personality. They are inclusive disciplines, helping us to create larger and more comprehensive meaning out of the fragmentariness of everyday life. In the broadest sense, they are devoted to the task, as one scholar puts it, of "discovering what it means to be human."¹

I want my studies to be a source and object of passionate inquiry; I want them to change me. I will say, for the sake of appeasing the PFS crowd with John Talbot's scholarly continuum in hand and Matt Wickman's uberintellectual words in mind, that I am capable of and interested in approaching my study of literature not merely as a reader but as a serious scholar--but without some element of humanity infused into it, this scholarship is meaningless. "...Linking us to what other human beings have thought and felt and believed and suffered...": this is what fascinates me.

1. David P. Garder, in William A. Wilson's The Marrow of Human Experience: Essays on Folklore.

2007-02-05T21:18:00.000-07:00

I DROPPED MY PHONE. IN THE DAMN TOILET.

How embarrassing. Everyone pray that my phone will dry out and work, because I can't afford a new one right now.

I GOT IT!!!

2007-01-28T21:54:00.000-07:00

(My ORCA grant, that is. Ireland, here I come... I hope. More to come on this.)

1. Just for the record, my eyebrow has been twitching all day. Weird feeling.

2. My roommate and her significant other decided not to use their tickets to Oklahoma because they didn't want to be in public (haha... right), so another roommate and I took advantage. I knew some of the music but had never seen the show. I know, travesty for someone who purports to love musicals. It was a solid production, though I didn't love the show. (Pure simulacra, as one of the poorly written essays in the program suggested, and the humor was more slapstick than clever.) The noteworthy part of the experience was realizing that, about halfway through the first act, people were walking out with scandalized expressions on their faces. Walking out of Oklahoma, for crying out loud. I respect their choice to do so, but it shocked me so much I couldn't help but laugh a bit to myself.

3. Today, while visiting a family ward (full of shrieking children, naturally, and attended by the first baby born to a member of my extended group of friends) for a friend's farewell, I was reminded why I am perfectly content in my current childless state. If I ever do decide to have children, please keep me from allowing the following: While looking around absentmindedly during said church meeting, I noticed a two- or three-year-old boy with a faux hawk to match his dad's. Okay, sure. Cute. Then I glanced two chairs over and saw the little sister, probably a year old, with her wispy hair gelled into a three-inch mohawk. I would have just found this funny--but then she turned her head and I could see that the hair was flopping over like a BAD BABY COMBOVER. Ew. People, please.

On a less appalled note, the string and piano musical number--"O Divine Redeemer"--was gorgeous. I miss hearing good classical music in more intimate settings. I miss music period.

thoughts

2007-01-27T12:54:00.000-07:00

today i wished there were a way to gather all my favorite people into one place and make them be friends. impractical. but i feel more and more the need to cling to what i have. i interact with so many fascinating and wonderful people, and yet there's nothing holding us together at this point in life. friendships aren't meant to be fragile, but circumstances change so quickly. people marry, graduate, leave the state or country.

thursday night: another engagement. i knew it was coming, but the official ring-bestowing proposal part of it hit me harder than i expected. that makes 8 close friends in less than two years. as for casual friends, i've had many more than that get married off. but these are among the best friends i've ever had. sisters.

that won't ever change, and i'm certainly not ready to join them in that realm, but i'm so quickly being cut out of the center of what i once had. i'll be an "aunt" in may. i'm excited that she wants me to be a part of it, and i already love her baby because i love her. but it's another reminder that i'm peripheral in their lives.

had the strangest dream last night, and i feel like i've had it before. don't remember much, just that i found a magical room of sorts in my grandmother's house and was supposed to discover something but without anyone in my family knowing. someone was with me; i don't know who. the family showed up and i had to run. they couldn't know i was looking, and the crowds of strangers who hunted me through a dark and snowy town couldn't know what i was looking for.

i wish i could cry. i want to sometimes. for release, and to let someone know i'm lonely. but i can't.

i scare myself sometimes with the things i think of.

i went to a poetry reading on thursday. i love the power of words. and i love hearing poets read their own work. there was talk of dedicating their art to god and such. i wish i had purpose.

soon i have to decide where i'm spending the next year. i don't want to leave here--i hate moving and change. but i'm afraid staying will only more poignantly remind me of all that really has changed.

i'm not sure why i'm posting this.

Help.

2007-01-26T15:02:00.000-07:00

I'm to choose between these two persons. On one hand, my job is at stake; on the other, my life (potentially).

The arguments presented by each party are as follows:

Party A.
1. I'm a real Colombian, not a pretend Swede.
2. I'm younger, have more longevity as a friend.
3. I can beat Party B's trash.
4. And, most importantly, I will kick you if you don't pick me.

Party B.
1. I'm going to be here for the next six months
2. I'm a good cook, and better than good
3. Who would you rather spend a night of paper writing with?
4. I'm the one who invited you into the wooo corner for better or worse.. and, finally,
5. I might be able to have you fired.

2007-01-26T14:49:00.000-07:00

"Do you ever feel like everyone else in the English major is getting smarter and smarter, and you're just...not?"

Yes, Jessie, I do. How insecure are we?

more toothpaste for dinner

2007-01-26T10:39:00.000-07:00

Happy birthday,

2007-01-25T16:01:00.000-07:00

Virginia Woolf. I love you.

A number of the WC staff are enumerating the posthumous miracles Virginia performs today in hopes that these will provide sufficient support for her canonization.

2007-01-17T21:53:00.000-07:00

I admit that I have, on occasion, suggested throwing rocks at boys as a valid solution to my life's problems. I stand corrected. And chastised.

(Recip rocal thievery.)

morbid

2007-01-16T11:23:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure whether this arises from a bizarre fascination with catastrophe or simply a desire to be prepared, but I realized while lying in bed last night that I have an odd propensity to envision horrific situations and meticulously plot my step-by-step response.

Last night's wild imaginings consisted of my apartment complex's owner, who parks his car directly facing the window of my basement bedroom, coming home drunk or in the midst of a heart attack, accelerating while attempting to park in his impaired state, and crashing through the window into my apartment. As if this highly unlikely event were not disturbing enough, my imagination continued to revel in the hypothetical situation that became increasingly violent as I saw myself leaping out of bed just in time whilst screaming at my sleeping roommate, who didn't move quickly enough and ended up pinned to her bed by a mangled fender and the weight of the vehicle. In vivid detail, I saw myself snatch my cell phone, call 9-1-1, calmly relay the circumstances to the operator while grasping my injured roommate's hand, keeping her talking and responsive, and reporting periodically on her condition, all the while yelling at the other roommates, who had woken to the naturally explosive sound of metal coming through glass and brick, to unlock the door for the paramedics.

I've been doing this as long as I can remember. When I was four, I filled a grocery sack with my favorite toy, t-shirt, and book, and left it next to my bed so that I could quickly escape with it in the event of a fire in the night (using, of course, my predetermined strategy--which evolved over the years and from house to hous--for alerting siblings and breaking windows).

Even mundane tasks evoke this line of thought. Every time I turn the ignition after putting gas in my car, my mind entertains the thought of what might happen if my fuel tank blew up.

And occasionally I develop elaborate fantasies about my parents (whether one, two, or four) meeting a violent and unexpected end, leaving me to serve as executor of their wills and to take care of the kids, all of which I plan out in detail--selling the house(s), collecting life insurance, investing the money, living with the kids, finishing school as quickly as possible.

These are just examples--I do this all the time. But as my imagination, completely unguided my by my conscious, rational mind, runs wild, what disturbs me most is that I do mildly chastise myself for being so sick, but never actually feel particularly disturbed at all.

my childhood and adolescence, in sum.

2007-01-13T23:21:00.000-07:00

who would win in a fight?

2007-01-11T23:30:00.000-07:00

(This comes from the mess of drafts I've manage to collect and am now attempting to eliminate.)

Brought to you by the Writing Center staff on a slow day. Special thanks to Tim for introducing the topic.

George Washington vs. Abraham Lincoln. In wife beaters (as well as wooden teeth and stovepipe hat, respectively), with hatchets. Will Abe's lanky build and skill with a hatchet hold up against George's battle-tested boldness?

Stephen Hawking vs. Christopher Reeve. So wrong.

Jane Austen vs. Lord Byron. If Byron were in a corset and huge petticoats, Jane would definitely win. (Don't you want a woman like that, Ben?)

Mormon fundamentalist polygamists vs. the Rastafarians.

Walt Whitman vs. Walt Disney.

Mark Twain vs. Karl Marx.

Henry VIII vs. William Howard Taft. Equally matched in intellect and physique.

Cecil O. vs. Karl G. Just don't give Cec any chalk or Karl won't stand a chance.

The Brontes vs. Marys Wollstonecraft and Shelley. Seeing as the Brontes spent their lives cloistered in their father's parsonage, whereas the Marys were widely known for being scandalously gutsy and intelligent...

Emily Bronte vs. Emily Dickinson. (Assuming we can get them out of the house and to the match.)

again i go

2007-01-11T23:27:00.000-07:00

Dashboard Confessional is popularly recognized as epitomizing high school angst and is frequently accused of failing to demonstrate any musical or poetic inspiration. So it is with difficulty that I admit to not only liking Dashboard, but also to feeling that my life at present resembles a Dashboard song (a Dashboard song with, you know...occasional moments of philosophical depth... right?). Ack.

My roommate just held a funeral for a cactus--complete with paper flowers and a viewing. She presented a eulogy, then invited each of us to say a few words. This, unfortunately, led directly to my confessing that I once knocked the cactus out of its pot onto our living room floor and to my subsequently being accused of causing the plant's death.

On a less tragic note, I LOVE my people. And yes, I have people.

Post the One Hundredth

2007-01-09T21:54:00.003-07:00

100 Posts. And it's only (?!) taken me two years. There's so much I'd like to write about on any given day, but life is made up of too many distractions and not enough time. It's a bad excuse, I know, but it's true.

For example, right now I could write about spending the break in North Carolina, the present reality vs. that of two years ago when I started blogging, my thoughts on this semester's classes, and such. But, alas, it's nearly 10 and I have yet to begin my homework.

In case anyone cares, I seem to have acquired back problems over the break. I unconsciously emit old man groans when I get up after sitting for long periods of time, then walk like a pregnant woman for several steps. Pathetic.

Also of potential interest to some is my being named the least seducable member of my apartment, a declaration made by my roommates, endorsed by me, and promptly contested by the FHE brothers. So. I hereby extend a challenge to all: seduce me. I'd like to see you try. Ha.

this week's fave

2007-01-04T16:48:00.000-07:00

Bless the Phoenix airport

2007-01-02T20:20:00.000-07:00

with its (relatively) cheap Wendy's and its free wireless internet.

Happy New Year

2006-12-31T19:01:00.000-07:00

and merry Christmas, belatedly, to you all. I'd planned to do quite a bit of blogging, emailing, and so on over the break. But, alas, I've found myself in the sticks of North Carolina with a slow internet connection and an even slower computer, making anything more than the occasional email check a somewhat torturous experience. I figured I ought to emerge at least once, however, before I return to Provo and a new semester (less deadly than the last, I hope).

I've been pondering what this next year holds for me. A possible research trip to Ireland or term at Cambridge. A couple friends--some of the last--getting married and the others leaving on missions, leaving...just me, basically. A close (and complicated) friend coming home from a mission. Beginning my role as adopted aunt for my girlfriends' kids when another of my best friends has a baby this spring. Applying to graduate school, which will necessitate some serious consideration of what I'm actually doing with my life--I'm torn again between the literary academia (PhD) and the public service (JD/MPA) routes.

Beyond those decisions and events, what do I want this year to be for me? I feel like I'm at a transitional point in my life--more so than in past years--and I need to decide where I stand and who I want to be. So that, though it is of course an ongoing part of life, is of particular import for me this year: to test out the things I've taken for granted to this point, to re-create myself independently of what others expect, to love both myself and the incredible people who surround me. (Sidenote: I will consider myself a good writer the day I can make ideas like this sound deep and sincere rather than trite and angsty. Ugh.)

That said, I hope the upcoming year brings all of you success, peace, and love. (Pardon my being cliche.) Though I know some of you far better than I do others, I appreciate your continuing to read and comment on my periodic posts, whether or not they are particularly profound or possessed of any other redeeming qualities. Thanks for your insights and your friendship, whether or not we've managed to meet yet in the real world.

2007, in Jonathan Larson's words: another 525,600 minutes of bridges to burn, times to cry, and truths to learn. Bring it on.

home

2006-12-25T17:08:00.000-07:00

postsecret.blogspot.com

favorite moments from the last two days

2006-12-13T22:01:00.000-07:00

Me: (Uncharacteristically straighforward comment about a boy.)
Paula: "Your walls really are coming down!"
Erik: "It's the fall of Babylon!"

Girl on a cell phone near the Wilk: "And I just love everything about him. I can't even handle it--last night I texted Heather and I was like, 'He just coughed and it was so hot!' That's just how much we love each other... it's really beautiful."

Courtney, answering the Writing Center phone at 11:45 PM: "BYU Writing Center, this is Courtney."

Custodial supervisor woman upon pushing the door open (with an accusatory glare) at 4:30 AM to find us camped out in the Writing Center feverishly writing papers: "Well, THIS is interesting..." Four exhausted girls hunched at tables strewn with papers and peering half-wittedly at laptops surrounded by caffeinated beverages is far from my idea of interesting, but if you say so... I suppose can pretend we were smearing our pitas and hummus all over the walls and running through the halls of the JFSB naked. That would certainly be more interesting.

essaying

2006-11-26T14:37:00.000-07:00

Here's the beginning of an essay I wrote during a workshop at a conference a few weeks ago. Comment request: should I finish it?

***

Though he never left my life completely, he slid himself into the rear the day he told my mother he would never be content married to her. My last memory--spinning on a barstool in his cement-walled studio apartment. I didn't ask, "Why don't you live at home anymore, Dad?" Only, noticing with childlike curiosity the yellowed rack next to the sink and the tired glance that passed over its dripping contents, "Where's your dishwasher?" and "Why aren't my eyes grey like yours?"

Labels

2006-11-23T20:37:00.000-07:00

I always notice the terms people use to define themselves, whether professional, familial, or religious. I think the act of assigning labels says as much about a person as do the labels themselves, but I also think these descriptive terms can never come close to capturing the true essence or identity of a person. An individual is infinitely more complex than any parsed-out list of terms can ever reveal.

We try so hard to reject the concept of labelling, but continue to self-referentially use the same labels we encounter externally, buying into the same societal constraints that created them. It seems that we resort to these overly simplified and socially colored labels either because we feel a need to define ourselves in the most straightforward--if incomplete--way possible, or because we feel obligated to pin down and compartmentalize ourselves using definitions posed and terms dictated by others' conceptions of us.

Despite my tendency to seek order in my life by compartmentalizing feelings and relationships, I can't bring myself to do the same for my fundamental identity. I'm not comfortable placing myself beneath the blanket labels I hear so often, even when they do apply. Problem is, I don't know whether this is because identity is too complex and individual to capture in a series of universal labels, or because I simply don't have a firm grasp on who I am and who I want to be.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Woman. I am a woman, yes, but my sex doesn't define who I am; in fact, I often feel limited by defining myself as such because of the historical and sociological baggage it carries with it.

Student. I like the concept of being a perpetual student of knowledge and wisdom, but I don't like what the label typically suggests: poor, disillusioned, and liminal. (Although, admittedly, I often feel all three.)

Mormon. Mormonness is a significant factor in my relationships, my upbringing, and my worldview. But again, it's not everything. And sometimes I feel like I want nothing more than to escape its identity stranglehold altogether.

I've so often described myself in these basic terms--and in others when trying to avoid the overdone or too common. I may call myself a white, female, LDS student and teacher, daughter to four and sister to eight, a self-proclaimed nerd and would-be world traveller, with existential leanings, a passion for music and literature, and an insistence on the use of public cynicism to cloak a private self that cries too often and loves too much--but that will never be who I truly am.

Chickens

2006-11-16T12:20:00.000-07:00

are sexy. Or so I just told my co-workers. I'm not exactly sure what I meant, but one never can be sure about anything said here.

I think Writing Center conversation has contributed significantly to the infrequency of my blog posts of late. Because I get to spend hours each day engaged in (pseudo)intellectual conversation (of which the chicken comment was not necessarily a part) with passionate people (who bear no resemblance, mental or otherwise, to chickens), I have less need for the assistance writing offers in sorting out my thoughts and articulating my positions. When these conversations do lead to particularly interesting insights or conclusions, I want to write about them but find myself unable to replicate their brilliance.

Today's discussion topics have ranged from inconsequential to the profound: rhetorical nirvana, the need to combat popular attitudes about pornography, the balance of inherent and constructed aspects of personality, sexual orientation of animals, the implications of conceiving of oneself in a particular way, the relative merits of Jehovah's Witnesses' missionary tactics, social responsibility, French and German pronunciation, and the remnants of the "American dream" mentality.

My heated contributions most recently led to my acquiring some new titles: "Katherine the Moral Relativist" and "Pinko." You'd think I was trying to singlehandedly undermine everything our society stands for...

Coming soon: What I actually am trying to undermine, and what this has led me to discover about myself and what I want from life.

Indeed.

2006-11-14T21:29:00.000-07:00

These things amuse me.

You are a
Social Liberal
(73% permissive)

and an...
Economic Liberal
(13% permissive)

You are best described as a:

Socialist

Link: The Politics Test on Ok Cupid
Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test

I wrote a cool post

2006-11-10T11:35:00.000-07:00

and then my computer died.

Again.

I hate Compaq and shoddy hardware.