I haven't mentioned the Maryland Food Co-op ("Food for people. Not for profit.") in a while, so I'll go ahead and correct that. I've had the shittiest week ever, and I couldn't pull it together to go to the grocery store or cook anything, so at home I've been eating a lot of canned vegetables (open can, stick fork in) and protein bars. I know, it's really sad. Welcome to my life.
But work has the Co-op, so I've been buying breakfasts and lunches there because it is SO cheap. Unless you're on the hot food line in the afternoon -- that can cost more than five dollars, as did my plate of stuffing and blueberry cobbler yesterday. Both of these things were very good to eat, but they weren't *exactly* what they said they were. I can't remember what was wrong about the stuffing, but something was suspect. The cobbler was very wrong: The Hippie version of blueberry cobbler involves vegan cake with blueberry compote on top. Which was good, right, because blueberries are FABULOUS, and so is cake -- but that's not what cobbler is. I may not be stereotypically, "authentically" Southern in a lot of ways, but I can tell a cobbler from a hacksaw. Especially when it is not topped with a scrumptiously buttery crust. [*sigh of longing*]
And this morning at the Co-op made me very happy -- I purchased a day's worth of food for less than a fin: morning coffee, cinnamon-raisin bagel with cream cheese, burrito for lunch, banana for snack. And I gave the cashier $4, and he gave me 13 cents change. EXCELLENT.
Also, yesterday, my #1 favorite was high. I'm gonna miss this place.
3.28.2008
3.27.2008
I had a conversation this afternoon with Robin Blaetz re: my upcoming trips to New Haven and Providence:
Claudia: This is just a little thing, but when you got that note about me cancelling the trip to Brown, did you get the sense that anybody was mad at me? Because I had incredible guilt for a little while.
Robin: No, nobody was mad or anything like that. [Professor Matt Garcia] was concerned that you were mad at them -- if they'd done something. You're their number one choice.
Oh, shit, I ROCK the American Studies graduate school HIZ-OUSE.
Also, in case you didn't know, Robin Blaetz and Mary Renda are totally different people. Last week, I was on the phone for more than an hour with Mary, her asking me twelve different types of probing questions, me having partial answers for three or four of them, and feeling pretty certain that I was not at all ready to make this decision. Today, I was on the phone with Robin for fifteen minutes, her asking me two questions, telling me I'll know after I visit, and I should basically go with my gut. Two totally different people.
Claudia: This is just a little thing, but when you got that note about me cancelling the trip to Brown, did you get the sense that anybody was mad at me? Because I had incredible guilt for a little while.
Robin: No, nobody was mad or anything like that. [Professor Matt Garcia] was concerned that you were mad at them -- if they'd done something. You're their number one choice.
Oh, shit, I ROCK the American Studies graduate school HIZ-OUSE.
Also, in case you didn't know, Robin Blaetz and Mary Renda are totally different people. Last week, I was on the phone for more than an hour with Mary, her asking me twelve different types of probing questions, me having partial answers for three or four of them, and feeling pretty certain that I was not at all ready to make this decision. Today, I was on the phone with Robin for fifteen minutes, her asking me two questions, telling me I'll know after I visit, and I should basically go with my gut. Two totally different people.
3.25.2008
3.24.2008
As heard today on Wait...Wait... Don't Tell Me: The NPR News Quiz (my Monday morning religion): Maureen Dowd, the most incipient (look it up) Pulitzer Prize-winner this (non-lying) side of Joe Ellis, compared President Bush to Gene Kelly in a recent column. The comparison was made in response to the tap dance that President Bush did for reporters a few weeks ago, while waiting to endorse John McCain in the Rose Garden of the White House. (This was unrelated the tap dances that President Bush does regularly around the truth, which are more metaphorical and much harder to deal with.)
Gene Kelly's widow responded to the Times, and I like things that deal with Gene Kelly, so I paste the letter here:
Surely it must have been a slip for Maureen Dowd to align the artistry of my late husband, Gene Kelly, with the president’s clumsy performances. To suggest that “George Bush has turned into Gene Kelly” represents not only an implausible transformation but a considerable slight. If Gene were in a grave, he would have turned over in it.
When Gene was compared to the grace and agility of Jack Dempsey, Wayne Gretzky and Willie Mays, he was delighted. But to be linked with a clunker — particularly one he would consider inept and demoralizing — would have sent him reeling.
Graduated with a degree in economics from Pitt, Gene was not only a gifted dancer, director and choreographer, he was also a most civilized man. He spoke multiple languages; wrote poetry; studied history; understood the projections of Adam Smith and John Maynard Keynes. He did the Sunday Times crossword in ink. Exceedingly articulate, Gene often conveyed more through movement than others manage with words.
Sadly, President Bush fails to communicate meaningfully with either. For George Bush to become Gene Kelly would require impossible leaps in creativity, erudition and humility.
Patricia Ward Kelly
Los Angeles, March 16, 2008
Gene Kelly's widow responded to the Times, and I like things that deal with Gene Kelly, so I paste the letter here:
Re “Soft Shoe in Hard Times” (column, March 16):
Surely it must have been a slip for Maureen Dowd to align the artistry of my late husband, Gene Kelly, with the president’s clumsy performances. To suggest that “George Bush has turned into Gene Kelly” represents not only an implausible transformation but a considerable slight. If Gene were in a grave, he would have turned over in it.
When Gene was compared to the grace and agility of Jack Dempsey, Wayne Gretzky and Willie Mays, he was delighted. But to be linked with a clunker — particularly one he would consider inept and demoralizing — would have sent him reeling.
Graduated with a degree in economics from Pitt, Gene was not only a gifted dancer, director and choreographer, he was also a most civilized man. He spoke multiple languages; wrote poetry; studied history; understood the projections of Adam Smith and John Maynard Keynes. He did the Sunday Times crossword in ink. Exceedingly articulate, Gene often conveyed more through movement than others manage with words.
Sadly, President Bush fails to communicate meaningfully with either. For George Bush to become Gene Kelly would require impossible leaps in creativity, erudition and humility.
Patricia Ward Kelly
Los Angeles, March 16, 2008
3.21.2008
I can't remember whether I've mentioned that I returned to my old Banana Republic stomping grounds during the Christmas rush, then decided to stay on? Well, it happened. And I have much more fun there than at my dumb ol' 9-5. Yesterday was a uniquely DC day at the BR, which is located smack in the middle of downtown (13th and F) -- the White House is two blocks away.
Last night, I was helping this lady at the jewlery counter and I looked up to see this huge NFL-sized man with an earpiece, standing against the pole next to the fitting rooms. After staring for a moment, I smiled at him, and he smiled back, and I thought, "What asshole wears his earpiece in the Banana Republic? You're not that important." But the next few seconds of glancing around revealed four more men with suits and earpieces, similarly sized, each constantly scanning the store. And I thought that maybe I has been wrong with that asshole comment. And that's when I got really excited and tried not to show my impatience with the lady at the jewelry counter, who was being very nice, but who I wanted to hurry up, so I could go ask somebody whoooooooooo was in the store!
Turns out, nobody knew anything. Until one girl who works at the store, Kendra, asked, "Isn't that the prime minister of Georgia?" She went to ask the camel-coated earpiece to confirm. I had thought that the Secret Service was like the Beefeaters -- you're not allowed to talk to them, and they're not allowed to notice that you exist. I was wrong -- and Kendra came back to reveal that it was not the prime minister, but the president of Georgia, who turns out to be named Mikheil Saakashvili. That little exchange earned Kendra lifetime props from me, because I wouldn't recognize the president of France without that model-lady he married by his side, and then only if they had a similarly sized security detail to tip me off.
For the whole time Saakashvili (and his aide, and 1/3 of the National Guard, sheesh) were in the store, as I was putting clothes away and chattering, I tried to imagine what would happen if Georgia's political instability leaked into the Banana Republic that evening -- a Molotov cocktail through the window, a revolutionary busting through the door and everyone being told to hit the floor, the television news coverage of me explaining what happened: "Gosh, I was just folding down the table of 3/4-sleeve v-neck cardigans, when all of a sudden..."
As long as nobody got hurt or died, that would have been a pretty phat story to be able to tell. Too bad.
Last night, I was helping this lady at the jewlery counter and I looked up to see this huge NFL-sized man with an earpiece, standing against the pole next to the fitting rooms. After staring for a moment, I smiled at him, and he smiled back, and I thought, "What asshole wears his earpiece in the Banana Republic? You're not that important." But the next few seconds of glancing around revealed four more men with suits and earpieces, similarly sized, each constantly scanning the store. And I thought that maybe I has been wrong with that asshole comment. And that's when I got really excited and tried not to show my impatience with the lady at the jewelry counter, who was being very nice, but who I wanted to hurry up, so I could go ask somebody whoooooooooo was in the store!
Turns out, nobody knew anything. Until one girl who works at the store, Kendra, asked, "Isn't that the prime minister of Georgia?" She went to ask the camel-coated earpiece to confirm. I had thought that the Secret Service was like the Beefeaters -- you're not allowed to talk to them, and they're not allowed to notice that you exist. I was wrong -- and Kendra came back to reveal that it was not the prime minister, but the president of Georgia, who turns out to be named Mikheil Saakashvili. That little exchange earned Kendra lifetime props from me, because I wouldn't recognize the president of France without that model-lady he married by his side, and then only if they had a similarly sized security detail to tip me off.
For the whole time Saakashvili (and his aide, and 1/3 of the National Guard, sheesh) were in the store, as I was putting clothes away and chattering, I tried to imagine what would happen if Georgia's political instability leaked into the Banana Republic that evening -- a Molotov cocktail through the window, a revolutionary busting through the door and everyone being told to hit the floor, the television news coverage of me explaining what happened: "Gosh, I was just folding down the table of 3/4-sleeve v-neck cardigans, when all of a sudden..."
As long as nobody got hurt or died, that would have been a pretty phat story to be able to tell. Too bad.
3.20.2008
From the school I never expected to get into -- referred to my application fee as a donation to the "Yale Rejection Fund" -- I have been receiving regular love letters for the past two weeks. A log:
Oh, and I was out sick for a couple of days last week, so I happily thought that I had missed the Applebee's office birthday lunch. Turns out that the gathering was rescheduled for today, when I am not out sick, so I didn't dodge it at all. Crap.
I hope that I will find, in the future, that these trials have made me stronger.
- 1 email & phone call from professor/director of graduate studies (American Studies)
- 1 email from other professor/director of graduate studies (Film Studies)
- 1 email from an additional American Studies professor
- 1 Email/phone conversation w/ Amer Studies student
- 1 Email from another American Studies student
- 1 Email from American Studies/Film Studies student
- 1 invitation (general) from Office of Diversity and Equal Opportunity to visit (paid for!)
Oh, and I was out sick for a couple of days last week, so I happily thought that I had missed the Applebee's office birthday lunch. Turns out that the gathering was rescheduled for today, when I am not out sick, so I didn't dodge it at all. Crap.
I hope that I will find, in the future, that these trials have made me stronger.
3.14.2008
I've gotten more than one email today re: me going to Yale's visiting days as opposed to Brown's at the end of the month. (The third email felt like a guilt-trip, but I've concluded that it may be due to my own sensitivity about this conflict, which keeps me up nights.) They are on the same two days, people; a choice had to be made!
And listen here, Brown representatives: You know that you and Yale and a couple of other schools will be fighting over the same 5 students. So plan your visiting days accordingly. March has thirty-one whole days in it; and a phone call between administrative assistants will prevent all conflict in the future.
And listen here, Brown representatives: You know that you and Yale and a couple of other schools will be fighting over the same 5 students. So plan your visiting days accordingly. March has thirty-one whole days in it; and a phone call between administrative assistants will prevent all conflict in the future.
3.12.2008
Every now and again at work, things get exciting when we all go out to lunch for someone's birthday. (This has happened already three times this year! Whoo-hoo!) I am always torn about whether to go -- including for my own birthday lunch, which happened in January -- because sometimes it takes a lot of energy to sit at lunch with these people. Lots of energy to make conversation and lots of energy to keep the resentment at bay to prevent bursting out with, "Is this really all we want? Is this really all that we want to be? This? Really?"
But in the end, I can't really give up the opportunity to lose two hours of the day. Even if it is, as on Friday, at Applebee's.
Applebee's. God. Again, we don't even try to not be a cliché around here.
But in the end, I can't really give up the opportunity to lose two hours of the day. Even if it is, as on Friday, at Applebee's.
Applebee's. God. Again, we don't even try to not be a cliché around here.
3.11.2008
Couple of things:
1. I was admitted to Boston University on Friday, which was great -- but I am incredibly fortunate that BU is not my only option this year, because they offered me one year of tuition. Plus nothing. Which is not the same as Brown/Yale, where I would go to class for free for five years, plus a stipend for living [the dream].
I haven't heard a thing from NYU, but I heard through the grad-school grapevine that their visiting days were this past weekend. And since I was not in New York this past weekend, I don't think I've been admitted. You know what would be nice, though? Confirmation. Like, a letter. Or an email! How ridiculous.
2. I got a book for Christmas: David Thomson's The Whole Equation. I finally opened it up yesterday, during lunch. It's a book about the history of the Hollywood studio system, and I hate it. That's pretty incredible. Thomson opens with a description of Chinatown (1972), and he postulates that that film was the height of what Hollywood could produce, and it's all been downhill since then. Here's a tip: Never frame a book around a movie I fell asleep watching. Or one that stars Faye Dunaway. And by God, never do it with BOTH.
The Whole Equation is the most recent on the list of books being donated to the DC Public Library system when I move. Also on that list is The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, which I tried to read a few weeks ago, when I discovered that it isn't all that funny. Very disappointing, that.
1. I was admitted to Boston University on Friday, which was great -- but I am incredibly fortunate that BU is not my only option this year, because they offered me one year of tuition. Plus nothing. Which is not the same as Brown/Yale, where I would go to class for free for five years, plus a stipend for living [the dream].
I haven't heard a thing from NYU, but I heard through the grad-school grapevine that their visiting days were this past weekend. And since I was not in New York this past weekend, I don't think I've been admitted. You know what would be nice, though? Confirmation. Like, a letter. Or an email! How ridiculous.
2. I got a book for Christmas: David Thomson's The Whole Equation. I finally opened it up yesterday, during lunch. It's a book about the history of the Hollywood studio system, and I hate it. That's pretty incredible. Thomson opens with a description of Chinatown (1972), and he postulates that that film was the height of what Hollywood could produce, and it's all been downhill since then. Here's a tip: Never frame a book around a movie I fell asleep watching. Or one that stars Faye Dunaway. And by God, never do it with BOTH.
The Whole Equation is the most recent on the list of books being donated to the DC Public Library system when I move. Also on that list is The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, which I tried to read a few weeks ago, when I discovered that it isn't all that funny. Very disappointing, that.
3.07.2008
It took months, but I finally screwed up the courage to jump across the awkward line and ask my archnemesis to take the perfume down. I'm always very nervous about asking anyone to do anything, particularly if the other option is for me to suffer in silence and become very, very bitter. I've been working on doing less of that, especially since I decided to give up passive aggression a few years ago; but growth is a long and arduous process. Of course, Kourtney had the same reaction anyone who's not a complete asshole would have, and of course she hadn't even thought about the fact that she might be poisoning her co-worker. So I should be able to breathe more easily at work, which will help to hold it all together until August, when this chick will be Audi 5000, youknowwhatI'msayin'? Word.
3.05.2008
Did I ever mention my favorite thing ever said on an airplane? Sometime in the last two or three years, I was flying Southwest, and the flight attendant was running through the safety procedures, and explained about the oxygen masks that drop in case of a change in cabin pressure:
"You should secure your own mask before attempting to help a child. If you have more than one child, choose the one with the most potential."
"You should secure your own mask before attempting to help a child. If you have more than one child, choose the one with the most potential."
3.04.2008
You may or may not have been able to tell from yesterday's post, but my attitude was so bad at work, I swear to God I would have gotten fired if I'd had to talk to anyone. And I would have deserved it. I am thankful that my boss didn't ask me to do anything.
Other news: Last night/this morning, I discovered old Irish friends from Trinity on the Facebook! Which makes me both very happy (memories!) and very sad (memories).
Other news: Last night/this morning, I discovered old Irish friends from Trinity on the Facebook! Which makes me both very happy (memories!) and very sad (memories).
3.03.2008
I ended up throwing a party on Friday, which was not my intention. My intention was to have some people over to play board games. I sent out an email early in the week, I made snacks (corn dip! tortilla roll-ups!), and told the invited to bring games and beer. And by about 9:30, there were twenty people in my house! Which is a lot for Taboo. And is also a lot of beer.
Despite the unplannedness, it was the best party I ever hosted -- and not because of anything I did! Sure, I made a few introductions, but mostly people just talked to each other. It was bizarre, actually, but great. I kept looking around for boredom to reverse, and all I saw were animated groups of people, and all I heard was a pleasing roar of conversation.
I am reminded of the running joke on The Mary Tyler Moore Show, that every party Mary threw ended in disaster. Because of this unplanned success, I am now afraid that the next time I try to collect more than two people in a room, I'll run out of food, the lights will go out, and a major relationship will break up. Which reminds me, too, that I love Rhoda Morgenstern. Which just led to me try to put the series (Rhoda) in my Netflix queue, which led me to discover that whoever owns the rights hasn't released the series on DVD yet. How terribly disappointing. *sigh*
And it appears that the better my weekends are, the more pissed I am at work on Monday. Today, I almost threw shit when my boss and my archnemesis had a conversation about, oh my God, the weather. It's like nobody even tries to not be a caricature.
I decided, by the way, that the girl in the cubicle across is my archnemesis. Her name is Kourtney, with a K, which is pretty dumb, but it's not her fault. The major reason for the archnemerosity is this is that she and I were hired at the same time, and we're about the same age, and so when I first got here, I thought "Cool - a built-in friend!" Biggest disappointment ever. A list of reasons:
a. Lady doesn't talk.
b. Except for about once every two weeks, when she says something genuinely funny. And then returns to the boring.
c. We were sent to a conference in September, and spent several days in Charlotte together. After an entire day was over, she confided to me that she was bored during some parts. Ok, well here's the thing: When two people are at a conference together and are bored, the least they can do it write snarky comments to each other on the hotel notepads. Never happened.
d. Also at the conference, we had to eat boring food when we ate together, because Kourtney only eats "normal stuff." Like meat. And bread. She LOVES Chik-Fil-A.
e. Kourtney wears perfume that makes me feel sick. Not metaphorically.
f. Kourtney loves her job. That's disgusting.
If I don't count March -- and can I please not, since it already started? -- and presuming that I move in August, I have four months to go. Okay. *inhale* *exhale* Okay.
Despite the unplannedness, it was the best party I ever hosted -- and not because of anything I did! Sure, I made a few introductions, but mostly people just talked to each other. It was bizarre, actually, but great. I kept looking around for boredom to reverse, and all I saw were animated groups of people, and all I heard was a pleasing roar of conversation.
I am reminded of the running joke on The Mary Tyler Moore Show, that every party Mary threw ended in disaster. Because of this unplanned success, I am now afraid that the next time I try to collect more than two people in a room, I'll run out of food, the lights will go out, and a major relationship will break up. Which reminds me, too, that I love Rhoda Morgenstern. Which just led to me try to put the series (Rhoda) in my Netflix queue, which led me to discover that whoever owns the rights hasn't released the series on DVD yet. How terribly disappointing. *sigh*
And it appears that the better my weekends are, the more pissed I am at work on Monday. Today, I almost threw shit when my boss and my archnemesis had a conversation about, oh my God, the weather. It's like nobody even tries to not be a caricature.
I decided, by the way, that the girl in the cubicle across is my archnemesis. Her name is Kourtney, with a K, which is pretty dumb, but it's not her fault. The major reason for the archnemerosity is this is that she and I were hired at the same time, and we're about the same age, and so when I first got here, I thought "Cool - a built-in friend!" Biggest disappointment ever. A list of reasons:
a. Lady doesn't talk.
b. Except for about once every two weeks, when she says something genuinely funny. And then returns to the boring.
c. We were sent to a conference in September, and spent several days in Charlotte together. After an entire day was over, she confided to me that she was bored during some parts. Ok, well here's the thing: When two people are at a conference together and are bored, the least they can do it write snarky comments to each other on the hotel notepads. Never happened.
d. Also at the conference, we had to eat boring food when we ate together, because Kourtney only eats "normal stuff." Like meat. And bread. She LOVES Chik-Fil-A.
e. Kourtney wears perfume that makes me feel sick. Not metaphorically.
f. Kourtney loves her job. That's disgusting.
If I don't count March -- and can I please not, since it already started? -- and presuming that I move in August, I have four months to go. Okay. *inhale* *exhale* Okay.
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