bird by bird

Last night, little AL and I met my mom in Sioux Falls for supper. We ate at Red Lobster because my mom had a coupon. $4.00 off two entrees. We split the salad. Do you see where I get it from?? On May 28th I am taking my MA Exams. It will be a long day of writing about books, themes, theories, and ideas that I should have been paying closer attention to in the last year and a half of grad school. It just dawned on me today that I won't even be able to go get drunk afterward because I'll be ALL ALONE IN VERMILLION. All of my friends will be gone.. in Europe, Kansas, West River! I will walk out of McKusic computer lab, drive to my empty murder house, and.. then what? I suppose I could get drunk by myself but that's a low point that I'm just not ready to hit (again). Whenever I see a car driving with a headlight out, I think of the eels on The Little Mermaid .  They give me the creeps. This morning I helped my aunt get ready for her rummage sale. She accumulates the m...

KG and a red read, A&S building Central Park in November, NYC "Watch out for the yellow ones. They don't stop!" Watermelon Festival, Kansas City, KS Air Show, Sioux Falls, SD Purple Pansies, Washington D.C.

The other night I went for a walk in the dark around Vermillion. I love that it's safe to do that here. I passed houses where I've partied and houses where I've lived, where I drank my first (college) beer and where I had my first (college) kiss. I swear there was a brief moment when I could taste freshman year. It was delicious. I realized that this is my sixth spring here, and it will be the last I'll spend in Vermillion. Thinking of this made me a little nostalgic. Spring is maybe my favorite season to spend in this town.. mostly because winter is so ultra-depressing and makes me question why the H I'm still living in South Dakota.. but then Spring rolls around and people come out from hiding the way they do in apocalyptic movies once the asteroid/flood/natural disaster has passed. The town comes alive again with frisbee golf and yard games and walking dogs, and Carey's bar doubles in size because the back patio is finally open. You'd swear ...

1. I always love when MR comes to town. I'm mostly excited to see her, but that fact that she brought an ice cream bucket of chicken salad to my house this weekend didn't hurt. I'm fairly confident that I ate at least a third of it. Soooooo good! 2. I made it to page 17 in my seminar paper yesterday! I rewarded myself by buying the new Kate Nash album. So far I hate "I love Seagulls" or wait, I love "I hate Seagulls." That's confusing. 3. Today I am showing a movie in my class. Then I'm letting them go early. I love having the power.

Today it feels like rain... probably because it's raining. Nothing makes me want to stay in bed all day and cuddle like this song. Unfortunately, I can't do either of these two things today, but I can plug my headphones in and stare longingly out the library window imagining a morning of rainy day cuddling.   I heard John Haitt's version live, and it was love at first listen. I saw Buddy Guy live too, but he didn't play this song. I like his version though. And girls can play guitar too.  My new favorite. And hey, I've seen John Mayer live, too! (Am I bragging??)

I remember when I used to like reading. I vaguely remember the feeling of discovering a book instead of being assigned a book, the feeling of enjoying a book rather than analyzing a book. I have a list of books I want to read, and someday when I have time, I'm going to remind myself what all of this feels like.  John Green, Looking for Alaska

An anonymous quote I heard someone else say... "We made out for the first time to "Bad Romance"... at the Char bar... on April Fool's Day. If that's not a recipe for disaster, I don't know what is."

Today I'm feeling sick. I'm sick of this town, the drive I take to school every morning and especially that stop light on Main and University. I'm sick of the walk from A&S to the library and back to A&S. I'm even sick of the study room with the window. I'm sick of Wednesdays when I'm in class for 8 solid hours. There are 15 minutes when I am expected to be in two classes at the same time; I'm sick of that. I'm sick of running into the same people, people that I used to know but who don't know me anymore. I'm sick of awkward conversations and awkward run-ins on the sidewalks of campus. I'm sick of running into students, like at Carey's or the Char bar. Or at Wal-Mart when I'm wearing a shirt with the sleeves cut off that says, "You can always retake a class, but you can't relive a party." I'm sick of having to worry about that. I'm sick of WebAdvisor. I'm sick of the portal. I'm sick of US...

From "Song of Myself" in Leaves of Grass , by Walt Whitman A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands, How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped, Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose? Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation. Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, Growing among black folks as among white, Canuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same. And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. Tenderly will I use you curling grass, It may be you transpire from the breasts of you men, It may be if I had known...

I hate that you hurt. I hate this this evil, icky stuff  inside your body that makes you feel sick and makes you cry and makes your mother and your father and your sisters cry. I hate that I can't hop on my bike and meet you at Carey's for popcorn so we can talk about everything in person while sitting with our legs crossed in the end booth. I hate that I can't make you feel better. Last year at this time, you were my angel. You kept me going when I came back to school and was lonely and mixed up and stressed out.  We giggled about beard-nets in Aesthetics class and talked about boys as we sat in the MUC when it still smelled new. I wish I could give to you what you gave to me. I wish I could give you hope. My attempt is through the advice of a priest friend of Anne Lamott's. Here's how he says we are going to get through this: "Left foot, right foot, left foot, breathe," he said. "Right foot, left foot, right foot, breathe."  We're go...

Remember that paper I'm working on for my "Rise of the 18th Century Novel" Seminar? Well, I'm looking at two texts: Henry Fielding's Tom Jones and Samuel Richardson's Clarissa . The problem is, whenever I'm reading Tom Jones , I think about this: And whenever I'm reading Clarissa , I think about this: I am never going to finish this paper..

So there's this really great website dedicated to parents/relatives/"grown ups" and how ridiculous they are on facebook (myparentsjoinedfacebook.com). Since my own mother has fallen prey to the social pressures of the teacher's lounge and has set up her own fb account, I've decided to post some of her funny facebook contributions. (I dread the day she learns about this blog) To little AL after a Theta Formal:  Thanks for the update, mom. I do like big, beefy burgers... ;) When it comes to status updates, sometimes less is more.. The best one yet!

 "Sorrow makes for sincerity, I think" --Blanche

My junior and senior years of undergrad, I babysat an adorable 3 (then 4) year old named Grace. Her car seat was a permanent fixture in my backseat because I picked her up from daycare once a week. Every Wednesday when I picked her up, she ran past finger paints and tricycles and jumped into my arms. Every week. Having someone be that excited to see me was the best feeling. It still is. I was excited to see her too. We played tea party and sidewalk chalk and cowgirl. We made forts and grilled cheese sandwiches. She called me "mom" on accident sometimes, and it sort of freaked me out. Grace was a playful distraction from my life at the time, and she helped remind me how fun it is to play . Eventually Grace and her mom moved away to the land of West River. I wondered how she was liking school and if she would remember me. Then, I got a message from her mom a couple weeks ago saying she would be in Brandon, SD and needed a sitter for Grace and her new baby brother RJ. I said, ...

This is for sure a case of plagiarism/copyright infringement/stealing, I know. But the sister of a girl I knew in High School took this picture, and it popped up on my mini-feed. I think that it is so cool. The food spells something out. Can you read it? If you can't figure it out...

I'm writing a seminar paper on marriage reform in the 18th century and the use of the novel to support different authorial ideals. Or something. It's really not interesting at all. But here's a quote I like. "Who marrieth for love without money hath good nights and sorry days."  Stick that in a fortune cookie and eat it!

I got the best card in the mail today. The front said, "Bad Ass Motherfucker." I don't think I've ever said those three words aloud. Not consecutively, anyway. It was from my friend GG who is like my little postal angel. She seems to have a 6th sense about when I need a pick-me-up, and on those days, I come home and find a funny card or cute magnet or new CD. Her message today told me to write a book so she can brag to her librarian friends that she knows a real writer. While I don't think GG should hold her breath (grad school may be the end of me), I promised her that if I ever publish a book (apparently facebook posts don't count) I will dedicate it to her. My dedication will say: "To Georgie Ann [married name if you change it]. For calling me a bad-ass-motherfucker, for telling me I can be an artist, and for imagining a scenario in which I have something for sale at a bookstore. And for all the magnets. You kept me going. I love you." I...

I was fb chatting a good (married) friend the other night, and this is what she told me: "It's funny when you are in marriage counseling and they ask you about your first date and you try not to say we got drunk and hooked up" I wrote it down because I thought it was so funny. Then today I found the piece of paper and I laughed all over again. So you're sayin' there's a chance..

Mitch: I bet you teach art or music [Blanche laughs delicately] Blanche: Never arithmetic, sir; never arithmetic [with a laugh] I don't even know my multiplication tables! No, I have the misfortune of being an English instructor. I attempt to instill a bunch of bobby- soxers and drug-store Romeos with reverence for Hawthorne and Whitman and Poe! Mitch: I guess that some of them are more interested in other things. Blanche: How very right you are! Their literary heritage is not what most of them treasure above all else! But they're sweet things! And in the Spring, it's touching to notice them making their first discovery of love! As if nobody had ever known it before!

He was pronounced dead at 1:53pm. We got the phone call at 5:37pm. He didn't have his ID on him. Sometimes I think about those 4 hours and 16 minutes. We were all so unsuspecting. I sent emails, and I made tea. I thought about what I would make for dinner. I looked up one-way tickets to Pennsylvania. I worried about things that I didn't end up having to worry about. In some ways, those 4 hours and 16 minutes seem really trivial and meaningless. But on the other hand, those 4 hours and 16 minutes have been the only 4 hours and 16 minutes since I lost him that I didn't feel like something was missing. Because I didn't yet know that he was gone. 

I'm a sucker for a good bowling alley dance off. Please don't judge me.

April is a waste land.  "The Waste Land" By: T.S. Eliot A PRIL is the cruellest month, breeding   Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing   Memory and desire, stirring   Dull roots with spring rain.   Winter kept us warm, covering          Earth in forgetful snow, feeding   A little life with dried tubers.   Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee   With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,   And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,   And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.                                

I've sort of always been a late bloomer. I blame it on my parents who sent me to kindergarten as a wee little 5 year old (barely). I was the last kid on the block to ride without training wheels and the last girl in the locker room to need a training bra. I didn't "grow tall" until the 11th grade. My mom worried about me sometimes and pushed me to do things that I didn't think I was ready to do (ie choose a college, make a life plan, etc.) My dad was always in my corner, however, always calming my mom and saying, "Amanda can't be rushed. She needs to do things when she's ready." I appreciated that about him, and he was right. I don't like to be rushed. And I need to do things when I'm ready. You can call it being stubborn; I call it being patient and deliberate. Don't pressure me. Don't rush me. Back off.

http://letterstodeadpeople.tumblr.com/

My computer battery is at 33% and I left my charger at home. I have three papers to write today and a zillion emails to send, but I scored the study room with the window and I refuse to leave. I also refuse to actually start my papers. So sue me. Out of all of the shapes, the triangle is by far my least favorite. A love triangle, the Bermuda triangle,  the food pyramid. No thanks. When my little sister was 14, my dad called me and told me I was going to be an aunt. Actually, my cousin was having a baby, and he was going to be an uncle. He got confused. It was a stressful 2 minutes until I figured out what he meant. I understand bros before hoes. I get it. But what if she's more than a hoe? I am not learning anything in Philosophy class, but I remember every example sentence we use: "The unicorn ate the pillowcase." "The present king of France is bald." "Ralph says that there is a rocket under his bed." The best we used last night: "...

I rarely love an entire poem, but I rarely find a poem  that I don't find at least one or two lines that I love.  Does that make sense? It's kind of like with people, too.   "O body swayed to music, O brightening glance, How can we know the dancer from the dance? "     For the whole poem...

EH is an individual: part hippy, part grunge, part Broadway, part artist, and a tiny part Midwest. I have a love/hate relationship with her adventurous spirit, though. I love this quality in her when it comes to dancing without inhibitions with me at street dances or raiding her mom's fridge for the homeless man walking around the lake or participating in the legendary "operation: black triangle". I am not so fond of her adventurous spirit, however, when it takes her away from me like 6 years ago to NYC and now, Paris. I say, "What's so great about seeing the world, anyway?" The thing I love most about my friendship with EH is that months can go by without talking yet one phone call puts us back where we left off. She doesn't shower regularly and this may be another reason we get along so well. Yesterday was her birthday in all the hustle and bustle of Easter egg hunts and explaining to my family for the fourteenth time what ESL stands for, I didn...

Tonight my fortune cookie said: "You could prosper in the field of medical research." I don't know what that means, but I don't think my Master's degree in English is going to help.

The best part of having little cousins is being able to play with sidewalk chalk and bubbles at 23 without being judged. Happy Easter!! Ava loves the Easter bunny so much.

Last night I likened Disney World to the Char Bar and the Magic Kingdom to the dance floor. Then I found this quote by Walt Disney, himself.  "Disneyland is often called a Magic Kingdom because it combines fantasy and history, adventure and learning, together with every variety of recreation and fun designed to appeal to everyone." Yep, that about sums up the Char..

Not an incredibly profound quote.. but one I came across in teaching today. It's true, you know.  "She missed him the days when some pretext served to take him away from her, just as one misses the sun on a cloudy day without having thought much about the sun when it was shining." The Awakening