bird by bird

If I was with you today, I would make you wear a birthday crown. Since I'm stuck in my office working on my pathetic cover letter, this image will have to do instead. Hope your bday is ballin'!!!

Today to remember how to spell the word aggressive. I had to sing the cheerleader song in my head (Be aggressive, gotta be aggressive, b-e a-g-g-r-e-s-s-i-v-e!!). I should have learned more spelling words this way, I think. I'm considering getting another tattoo this weekend. I can't afford it, and I'll probably change my mind before Saturday comes. But I keep remembering a quote from Jack London that says, "Show me a man with a tattoo and I'll show you a man with an interesting past." I think my interpretation of this quote is an example of faulty causality, but I might do it anyway. Last night I had a dream that my mom had died instead of my dad. He and I were in the grocery store, and he wouldn't let me buy anything that I wanted. He was really sad. When people ask me if I'm going to miss my friends and family when I move to New York, I say, "I already miss them." Every one of my relationships is already a long distance relatio

Happy Birthday JS!!

Part of a pretty song I heard on Pandora "I kept your picture in a frame I kept your heart out on a chain But hearts don't belong on chains And pictures don't belong in frames People come and people go Foe to friend and friend to foe And you do just what you're supposed to do Cause the clock don't ever stop for you" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3c_Cegm_H48

We sang karaoke at a Sports Bar, Aretha and Garth. A sloppy man in a blue button down Sang my dad's perfect piano song. Good to hear the right song, But sad to hear the wrong voice. Mixed drinks, mixed feelings. We walked into an Irish pub With an Irish band, and I drank a green drink I thought about him then, too. They sang "Amazing Grace," With accordions, beers, friends. He would have loved it there, you know. He's in the bars of the music, The segments of time that hold the beats. Some bar lines begin repeat, But some just end. Eventually, they all do. Some songs are short songs. 

I hadn't heard this song in a while. It's sweet... but how depressing?!

Today is my dear roommate KS's birthday! And Sunday is her bf PT's birthday! I love them both dearly and hope that they have a great weekend!!

"To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time" By: Robert Herrick Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,  Old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles to-day  To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,  The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run,  And nearer he's to setting. That age is best which is the first,  When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse,  and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time,  And while ye may, go marry: For having lost but once your prime,  You may for ever tarry.

Actually I don't mind being alone right now, but I like this picture of this bed. Looks comfy.

I've been reading a lot of Medieval allegory lately, but don't worry, I'm not going to post any excerpts of medieval lit here. Instead, I've decided to write my own modern allegory. It's clearly fictional and as always, open to interpretation. There once was a bright, welcoming place called Her Heart. The door was always open and the windows were so clear the glass appeared invisible. The whole place was spotless. There were no fences or locks in Her Heart, as it was always open. Her Heart was home to many including Joy, Acceptance, and Faith. In fact, Her Heart never turned anyone away. One day Selfishness (who came from a place called His Heart) came into Her Heart and made a big mess. He took everything he wanted from Her Heart leaving Her Heart alone and empty.. Her Heart wasn't the same after that. Then, Sadness came in, kicked off his shoes, plopped down on the couch, and refused to leave forcing Joy, Acceptance, and Faith to find a new home. He invit

When I was in second grade, I wanted to be an author when I grew up. I had known this for some time (relatively speaking since I had only been alive for 7 years and literate for 1), but I finally made the declaration to my mother one night after a supper of warmed up goulash. She was pleased with my ambitious career choice, I think, but less than pleased about what I had to say next: "And, tomorrow is Career Day at school. And I have to dress up. Will you help me?" How does an author dress? Police officers wear police uniforms. Business people wear business suits. What do authors wear? It was dark out and bedtime was looming, so we promptly gathered her all of her Ladies Home Journal magazines and J.C. Penny's catalogs. We had our work cut out for us, and it was getting late. Each armed with a pair of friskers scissors, we began cutting out pictures of items that reminded us of authorship. We cut out pictures of pens, paper, books, desks, desk lamps, swivel chairs. W

We're going East, boys!

"Besides the big brokennesses in people's lives this year, I've noticed all sorts of really dumb things breaking lately. Since Advent began at the end of November, I've had a dozen calls reporting broken cars, water heaters, a window, even a finger. So I was on the lookout for something wonderful to happen, because of this great story I heard recently about dumb things going wrong: Carolyn Myss, who writes about healing, went to Russia a few years ago to give a series of lectures. Every single aspect of getting to Russia that could go poorly, did. Then in Moscow it turned out that her reserved room at the hotel had been given to someone else. She ended up sleeping on a stranger's floor. Two mornings later, on a train to her conference on healing, she began to whine at the man sitting beside her about how infuriating her journey had been thus far. It turned out that he worked for the Dalai Lama. And he said--gently--that he believed that when a lot of seemingl

In undergrad I only had 1 backpack. In grad school I have 1 backpack, 1 over the shoulder bag, and 1 sack lunch to eat in my office so I can multi-task. In undergrad no one trusted me with the keys to the Writing Center. In grad school I have keys to Dakota Hall and Arts & Sciences. And I only use them to do work in my office after hours. In undergrad I avoided running into my professors at the bar. In grad school I avoid running into my students at the bar. In undergrad I filled the mailboxes for the English Department. In grad school I have my own mailbox and it gets filled with more work. In undergrad the bouncers at Carey's all knew my name. In grad school... oh wait, yeah they still all know my name.

I have spent my whole life feeling like I was too nerdy, and now that I'm in grad school I feel like I'm not nerdy enough ! I don't watch Star Trek . I don't have more books than facebook friends. I don't wear black rimmed glasses. I don't go to Shakespeare readings on Thursday nights. I don't write in to editors when I catch typos in books. I don't get excited when the library subscribes to a new scholarly journal. I don't make jokes about critical theory. Well, sometimes I do that last thing. 

I've already posted this email in its entirety, but I just re-read this part, and I think it's quite prophetic. I sent it to a sort-of-friend two Novembers ago, but it is a sentiment that I still feel two years later. Weird. "I'm so incredibly bored at work today... to a point that's almost painful. I've exhausted all facebook and youtube resources for the day and here I sit, typing you an email that's probably just as boring as the life I lead... I really shouldn't complain because the last week and a half have been A-mazing. New York was exactly what I needed. There's a line in a  Regina song  and she says, "I'm so lonely, lonely, lonely/ So I went to a protest just to rub up next to strangers". That's how it was in NYC. It was just nice to be around people. Is that weird? Probably.  I'm in a a weird mood right now, i get so restless here and I think about things way more than is healthy..." November,

Another project for my Creative Non-Fiction class... My great aunt has a bumper sticker that says, “I BRAKE FOR GARAGE SALES.” And she does. She accumulates the most bizarre things from auctions and garage sales and then sells them on ebay for 10 times as much as she paid for them originally. Like a detective, she looks for serial numbers and brand names on the bottoms of glass vases and animal figurines. She rubs her hand across the smoothness of lamps as if to release a garage sale genie. She puts jewelry up to her mouth and clicks it against her teeth to check for authenticity. And after she Googles and caresses and tests, if she determines that the trinket or knickknack is valuable, she lists it on ebay and a few days later it is on its way to Albuquerque, New Mexico, or Bogota, Colombia. Once a year, she has a sale to get rid of the un-ebay-able stuff, the stuff of no worth and no value. The good stuff, if you ask me. Tables are not organized by “kitchen items” or “clothes” bu

I used lines from Saved by the Bell in making a worksheet for my students to explain comma splices and run-on sentences. Here are some of my favorites: Zack to Jessi: "Don't be ridiculous. There are a lot of guys who are taller than you." Mr. Belding to Zack: "I am not a matador, so take the bull outside." Jessi to Slater: "You know what they say: big muscles, small brains." Am I not the coolest English teacher ever?? Suck it, Miss Bliss.

My good friend, fellow word art appreciator, magnet sender, and book lover GG started a blog!!! She's an elementary school librarian with a hilarious sense of humor and uncanny ability to recommend a good book to just about anyone. It's a combination that is sure to make her blog a regular stop on my daily internet surf, and I think you should make it a stop on yours as well. Visit her blog and become a follower today! http://georgiewillshushyouup.blogspot.com

I read this today for my Creative Non-Fiction class, and even though the writer is referring to her experience moving to India, I imagine myself having a similar experience in approximately 3 months when I make the big move to the big apple. I have been and continue to prepare myself for the culture shock (I've only ever lived in South Dakota, after all), but I am confident that once I get past the initial realization that "holy shit I live in New York," I, too, will fall in love with the overabundance of the new big city. At least I hope so.. "Much of what I saw terrified me, yet I was intensely happy, perhaps because my fear was the closest thing I'd felt in months to a genuine emotion, but also because I'd already fallen in love with the excess, the overabundance: too many people, too much to see, too much noise, too many bright colors. It seemed less like overload than replenishment after the sensory-deprivation tank in which I'd been living."

Sometimes I miss people that I haven't missed in a very long time. I wonder why that is, and I wonder how I can make it stop. I have enough people in my life to miss. What is going on with me lately?

I didn't sing this, but I might as well have.

"The Curse of Eve" I have been cursed by Eve. The curse started when the first woman disobeyed God and thusly was sentenced to endure the physiological pangs of womanhood forever. My own curse of Eve goes beyond the monthly cramps and birthing agony. In addition to these afflictions, fate has stepped in and has demanded that my life be surrounded by other estrogen-laden women and therefore devoid of male companions of any sort. In my life, women are everywhere. And I blame Eve. It started when I went to college, and I joined a sorority. I should have known better, and the curse was about to strike for the first time. In the beginning, it was all sugar and spice. Every night was a giant slumber party with varying patterns of polka dotted pajamas and every morning a cloud of hair spray and top 40 radio blaring in steamed up bathrooms. Girls laughed together, cried together, and ate small portions of sugar-free, low fat ice cream together. But eventually, girls are girls an

I stole this from my friend and future NY roomie's blog . I simply love it.

You sit in a circle of desks, and you distribute your work to your classmates like you're passing out your newborn baby to classroom full of strangers. You hope that they support the neck and don't drop your baby. You read your work of personal non-fiction aloud, emphasizing you favorite phrases and articulating your carefully constructed alliterations. You are proud, and you are self-conscious. You finish reading your work, you set your paper down, you look around, and you wait. You must listen. You can't respond or answer questions or explain. You must remain silent while you listen to all of your classmates talk about what they like about your piece, your baby.  You bite your lip because you don't want to smile and look pretentious. You hope they get to the critique soon because you handle that better. You handle criticism better than compliments. Then, they start. They talk about your baby right in front of you. They tell you what confuses them about your piece,

I am missing you. It's a gerund because it's a continuous act. I did miss you. I do miss you. I will miss you. I am missing you on Thursday nights and on nights when they play funk at Carey's. I am missing you when I see small, cute people walking their dogs or wearing headbands. I am missing you when I crave Indian food, when I crave new music, when I crave new ideas. I am missing you when I'm on gchat and your dot is red. I'm missing you when I see our pictures and remember the day when we disorganized all those books or when we got stuck in a ditch all for the sake of cool photos.. I am missing you whenever I have something to say but am too afraid to say it. I am missing you now, today on your birthday, and I am wishing we could celebrate it together like we did last year, when you wore the cowboy boots and we played birthday games at your trailer. I am missing you now, like I have and like I will. Happy Birthday KG. I love you.

Autumn fallin' from trees The snow is up to our knees Oh I'll let you borrow my keys To sleep in my room You threw away my shoe I brought you to central park zoo Then I drew your eyes very blue And I stuck 'em on the fridge I believe it was you Who I wanted to be walking next to And I believe we were friends And I believe we will be again You sighed and swept your broom Under the wintry moon When I called up this afternoon Your words were goodbye, goodbye, goodbye I believe it was you Who I wanted to be talkin' to And I believe we were friends And I believe we will be again If I knock on your door would you let me in? Do you know any more than I do? Wonder about you Even if you do not want me to The girl you once knew Is the person we are I believe it was you Who I wanted to be walkin' next to And I believe we were friends And I believe we will be again http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MWwEWnfq04U

As an incentive to get into the Dakota Days school spirit, I gave my students extra credit for wearing red to class on Thursday. Most of them did; a few forgot. I looked out into the eyes of my 22 freshman who were about to experience their very first DDays, and I suddenly became acutely aware that this will probably be my last. ...the last time I'll spend an entire weekend celebrating a football game that I will have no intention of watching (did we even win?)... the last time I'll spend 12 straight hours drinking with a majority of my college friends in the Carey's back patio... and maybe even the last time I'll see him, or her, or you. But on the bright side, if I  had a nickle for every person who promised to come visit me in New York, I would have enough to buy my own plane ticket to DDays next year. Fingers crossed!!