On being outwitted

Setting: Me at work, slaving away at my computer creating a database on Access. Dave 60 miles away sitting with laptop amidst boxes half unpacked, pots and pans sitting on every surface.

Via gtalk:
me: I’ve taken your wife hostage, what will you give me for her safe return?

…10 minutes later after watching a number of “Dave is writing” and “Dave has entered text.”

me: man, I saw you writing and was waiting for the greatest comeback EVER. And then nothing….Dave, you fill me with disappointment of the greatest kind

David: That last message escaped into the vast, incomprehensibly expansive void of etherspace, I think. Unfortunately, I expended all of my creative energies to craft it into a perfectly concise meditation on Man’s conflict with Nature and our existential confrontation with death. I can say no more on that, though, at least for the time being. How’s my wife? Did she at least resist your efforts at entangling her in your intricate web of deceit? Or did she passively submit and pathetically resign herself to the awesome display of your superior will over her destiny? I would hope for the former, but, sadly, I suspect the latter. I will give you nothing for her return, except this promise: Do with her what you will, “Kutzleb”, but know this — that I will hunt you unto the remotest corners of the earth; know that I will destroy your offspring, and theirs; know that your seed will be vanquished from the earth, and that the loved ones of your loved ones will suffer inestimable anguish at the cruel, unfeeling hands of their vengeful tormenter; know that my bloodlust is boundless, that the inhuman savageries visited upon you and yours will plunge your line for seven generations into a godless abyss of misery and insanity. Except for Abe. Abe’s OK.

bull terrier and girl

Margaret Shaffhauser with bull terrier dog at the Canine Association Show, 3 Nov 1934 / by Ted Hood

Originally uploaded by State Library of New South Wales collection

I love bull terrier’s because of Jonathan Carroll’s books and I saw this picture and was enchanted.

death by pink Barbie car

She didn’t look evil at all in her cute little pink car, golden curls the color of sunbeams shining in the late afternoon light. She couldn’t be much older than 4, I thought to myself. It wasn’t until I was a few paces away from her that she veered the Barbie car with its whining engine off of the paved path and onto the dirt I was jogging on. I realized she intended to hit me with her car. Luckily it wasn’t fast in dirt and I had enough time to come to a stop, inches from her little pink bumper. She glared up at me, seeming disappointed she’d missed her target. As I stepped around her she slammed her dainty foot on the gas and spun her back tires until she was back on the path. I was almost hesitant to turn my back on the little devil. I never dreamed that a “close call with a car” while running would be in the form of a pink Barbie car with a four year old behind the wheel.

on getting “gussied up”

I wore my dress pin-striped slacks, a new wrap around blouse with fancy puffy sleeves, my turquoises necklace, high heels and my Florance leather briefcase from one shoulder. I almost felt like I’d stepped out of a glossy magazine. Of course this statement tells you how much I’ve been flipping model ladened pages lately or at least how often I wear anything other than jeans. Nonetheless, I felt good. I strode towards the corner of O and 20th with confidence, a rarity when I wear heels.

As I started crossing the street an older gentleman behind me said, “you look nice today.”

I glanced back suprised to see him there and not sure how to feel about an old man telling me I look nice. When I realized he was probably the only person who would really appreciate the work I had put into looking nice today. The interview I was walking towards would expect me to be dressed nicely and would only notice if I wasn’t.

I don’t think he was expecting me to respond as he looked almost suprised when I glanced behind me and smiled. “Thanks!” I said, and meant it. He smiled back and then lowered his eyes as we both went our own ways.

10 reasons working out is better than getting a PHD

1. Working out only cost a few hours a week. A PhD cost a decade the rest of your life.

2. Working out is instantly gratifying. For a PhD I have to wait 10 years to be “done” but even then I still have to find a job…and then get published….and then get tenure….

3. Working out makes me sexy. Having a PhD in sociology does not.

4. Working out adds years to my life. Getting a PhD gives me gray hairs, a weak back and poor eyesight.

5. After working out I have more energy. After reading Bourdieu I am drained, near tears and still can’t figure out what he means by “structuring structures.”

6. After working out I have a brighter outlook on life. After sitting in my office for a week straight trying to write a 10 page lit review and still not succeeding I feel the world has just ended.

7. After working out I’m more confident and feel I could tackle the world! Getting a PhD makes me more likely to seek a therapist….or jump off the Golden Gate Bridge.

8. After working out I’m also more likely to eat healthy. Getting a PhD makes me crave Cheetos.

9. Working out makes it more likely that you’ll get laid. Getting a PhD………

10. Working out makes drinking coffee unnecessary. Getting a PhD makes a coffee intravenous drip sound like child’s play.

*These are all exaggeration of course.

growing up: aka, OMG I’m getting old!

On the eve of my upcoming birthday I had an epiphany…I’m going to be 28 and that means I only have two more years before I’m 30!!! *gasps and cue the dramatic music* I whine to myself: but…but I thought I’d be so cool by now!!! With the new quarter not even three weeks behind me I decided it was about time I started taking my life more seriously than my studies (please no one tell my advisor this).

As a result of my impending birthday I have decided it is time to meet some of those goals I set myself when I was like 12. By the time I am thirty I wanted to…

* be able to speak another language
* completed a triathlon
* written a novel
* be healthy (um, what does that mean?)
* play a musical instrument

There are more but I think those few are enough for now…no sense in overwhelming myself now is there?

So, three weeks ago I started on the list above. So far I’ve started cooking more delicious and nutritions foods (like, yesterday I made a delicious Mexican Bean Salad…so good!) . I also started working out three times a week and running.

While I’m nowhere near meeting the above goals I have at least started something. That’s worth a little bit of celebrating right? RIGHT?!?!

a morning scene

Scene: me sitting at a small cafe table drinking my morning mocha and reading. I’m the only one in the cafe except for the owner who is behind the counter busy cleaning dishes. A woman walks in in a cute skirt and shoes that probably cost more than my whole wardrobe. She orders a drink and a breakfast burrito to go.

After she leaves a man walks in to the cafe and up to the counter and says to the owner,

“dude, how do you like that for breakfast!”

I didn’t realize they were talking about the woman who had just left until the owner said,

“shhhh!! Here comes my wife!”

on being out of shape

Alright! Alright!! *throws hands in the air* I will admit, I’ve been lazy. I have ran probably three time since I’ve been back from my holiday. It just seems school holds your life screaming by the throat out the window of a fast moving car and says, “HAHA SUCKA! Now whacha gonna do!?!” I always give in and beg, “please just let me live!!!!” It lets me….but barely.

But that is over now!!! I am tired of letting this thing called school hold my life ransom!! I will rise up in revolution! (…me and my cells!) Together we will over come this bourgeoisie rule! ….wait…that’s Marx, *cough* wrong revolution…but you get the picture. Anyway, so what really made me start thinking about how wimpy I am and how I need to whip this ass into shape is the 11 mile hike up the side of a mountain I went on last weekend at Pinnacles National Monument. It was awesome and I felt really bad ass once we were done and my whimpering had subsided. But the day after I thought I was going to have to ask someone to shoot me seeing I couldn’t move, roll over in bed, sit on the toilet or NOT do anything that didn’t make every muscle in my body scream bloody murder. Just so you can get an idea of how hard this hike was, here is a picture of Bekah and I half way up the mountain….

As you can see, we are suffering.

So, like I was saying I realized I’m a big lump and although I have a good excuse, scary professors who are ready to swoop down on your dying corpse at the first sign of weakness or slacking, I really need to get in shape.

After our hike I went to the gym the next couple of days just to help alliviate the stiffness of my muscles. What I found was after I went to the gym I was actually more productive and less stressed out. Picture me before the gym: hyped up on coffee and worrying about the state of her fieldnotes, do they have all the right details, did I remember everything, etc etc. Now picture me walking out of the gym: “I’m the king of the world!!! Hear me roar! Who gives a shit about fieldnotes! Actually, what fieldnotes? Those fieldnotes? Oh, I already finished them in my sleep!”

So yeah, at least I’m going to the gym now. Next step, running outside.

foody blues

I’m an emotional cooker. When I’m down or a little bit blue nothing cheers me up or makes me feel I am a little bit in control like trying out a new recipe.

Of course I’m not a big fan of cooking for myself, I like cooking for other people. So last night, feeling a bit shaky, I decided it was time to try my hand at making fresh bruschetta. So I fired up the oven, got out the sharp knives and called up some friends for red wine and games. Below is the result of my first attempt with making this delicious and easy treat!

blue ink

I have been in the throes of writing the last couple of weeks. The paper is due this Saturday, the same day I fly back to Michigan for three weeks. I’ve been having such a hard time getting a draft out, I know what I want to say but saying it is a whole nother ball game. So I’ve had to resort to one of the oldest tricks of the trade….getting out a trusty pen, some sheets of paper, and scribbling whatever comes to mind.

Guess what?

Its working!

Thanks goodness for pens with blue ink!