on formatting

so I was just compiling a bibliography...

so noisy at the whofo

I made the mistake of going to Whole Foods on this, the day before the day before Thanksgiving. Courtesy is no longer even a half hearted pretense. So many women (it does seem that women still disproportionately do the grocery shopping, doesn't it?) with baby carriages, carts, purses -- blocking the bulk foods section, comparing prices (altho. not as much of that here in Palo Alto), quieting children... and someone had the brilliant idea of putting out HOT apple cider with flimsy little cups. Brilliant way to burn your fingers.

Anyway, I escaped with my shampoo and mandarin oranges and easy lunch foods. And a vanilla bean (five dollars my friends: for some reason, they carry ONLY organic vanilla beans, and you get ONE per superfluous packaging). And star anise. So that I can make *this* for Thanksgiving at Jodie and Dan's:



In case that doesn't work out, I did buy some green beans...

so much cuter in french

Once upon a time... from Capucha on Vimeo.

if I have a baby and show her cartoons in french, what are the chances she'll become fluent? and entertain me with crazy animal fables?

today in google books

My random subject category is "Alcoholics Fiction," featuring, Death Will Get You Sober.

the problem with google book recommendations when you're using it to read obscure 19th century self-help texts

Horse-shoeing as it is and as it Should be. By William Douglas. 1873.

upgrading

Why did I ever waste my time on the Palo Alto Baking Company's chocolate croissants, when Boulangerie Bay Bread exists, and when they sell their delicate, buttery croissants at the same farmers' market?

rainy season

Today was the first honest to God full day of rain. In the past couple of weeks, there was a morning or two when it was hard to tell whether the pavements were wet from sprinklers or from rain that conveniently fell overnight. But today was earnest rain. At first I tried to embrace it, got lunch on CA Ave. with umbrella in tow and flip flops (because I figured, skin dries faster than shoes), listened to Garbage on the way home. But it was less fun walking to the dept. in the rain. Although sitting in the terrace room, watching the rain, was a nice distraction from reading about self-improvement in the 19th century.

I'm ready for tomorrow's "mostly cloudy" with only a 20% chance of rain.

Also, last night I dressed up for the first time in years. Baby from Dirty Dancing. For MHC's sake. But my favorite costumes were definitely Emilie and Randy's violent-death zombies. After, we tried to visit the Stanford mausoleum, risking the ankle-threatening holes scattered throughout the brush, remembering that this is ALWAYS how horror movies start out (hey, let's go to the GRAVEYARD on HALLOWEEN), but turned back upon seeing campus security staked out at 1 am.

flowers

undecided?!

Finally found this Sedaris quote on Dooce that Andrew told me about:

I look at these people and can’t quite believe that they exist. Are they professional actors? I wonder. Or are they simply laymen who want a lot of attention?

To put them in perspective, I think of being on an airplane. The flight attendant comes down the aisle with her food cart and, eventually, parks it beside my seat. “Can I interest you in the chicken?” she asks. “Or would you prefer the platter of shit with bits of broken glass in it?”

To be undecided in this election is to pause for a moment and then ask how the chicken is cooked.

impostor

By NO measurement is Sarah Palin and her family working class.

And how the fuck does one even spend 150,000$ on clothes?!

this one goes out to the one I love...

5 years (and also on a Sunday!) since I met up with you at The Thirsty Mind.

red in tooth and claw

Today started off frantic.

I woke up at 8:30, dragged myself out of bed, checked my email -- realized I had a meeting on campus at 9 am. Which meant prioritizing what I REALLY NEEDED TO DO: shower minus the hair, no breakfast, bike like hell.

After, I was sitting in the terrace room brooding over my notes before meeting with Franco. And this freaking BIRD FIGHT breaks out on the terrace. At first I thought it was a pigeon tussling with another pigeon. Oh no, my friends, nothing so innocent. So I opened the door to scare off the bird of prey, but it was clear the pigeon was no longer flight worthy -- flopping, limping into a corner, a wound in his back. I consulted Randy, who thought the culprit might be a kestrel (or a peregrine falcon? harrier? hard to say, even though we had a good view of him hanging out, waiting to swoop back in), and that the most humane thing to do at this point would be to let the bird of prey take its course. So I decided to work in the briggs room.

Back inside the dept: it looks like my dissertation is back on track for upstart figures. But in a more specific way. Franco says, a balance between my interests and his need for it to be a feasible project. Have at least a first Dickens chapter, and will need to write my way into successive arguments. GOOD NEWS: I get to read Felix Holt and Howard's End!

Tomorrow I need to get back to dissertation abstract work...

the need for narrative

So I bought this chocolate at Target, and the insert, with (not so) helpful pictures and descriptions, is for the wrong collection. So all I have to go on, is that the box contains: "sparkling pomegranate currant, golden Jamaican-spiced caramel, sunny tangerine coconut, sweetly floral almond jasmine, sensuous hazelnut orange, subtly spiced ginger pear." WHICH IS AMAZING. But the problem is, I don't know which is which. And turns out, it's REALLY F-ING HARD TO IDENTIFY THESE THINGS WHEN ENCASED IN CHOCOLATE. What would be a mind blowing experience, in which I realized, IT TASTES EXACTLY LIKE SUBTLY SPICED GINGER PEAR, is now COMPLETELY BEFUDDLING.

I just want to know what the narrative is, so I know how to taste it.

desultory thinker

The weekend means little these days. Except for the welcome party on Friday -- Long, who's dj-ed in the past, turned it into a dance party. Any English function that turns into dancing to Billie Jean is a success in my opinion.

My work this weekend has been: brainstorming around five or six different ideas toward a dissertation. It was back to the drawing board after my meeting with Franco last week, and so I've returned to some ideas I had initially passed over. What I'm learning in all this: I'm a slow, distracted, desultory thinker. I can riff off a close reading for any number of pages, but sitting down to think about terms/ideas in the abstract, creating a framework, is a different problem. I tend to have spurts of productivity, followed by complete boredom with whatever I'm looking at, followed by a random spark of an idea, which, after writing down, I decide is good enough to be the END POINT OF WORK FOR THE DAY, TIME TO CHECK POLITICAL BLOGS (It's never good enough to quit for the day.)

And then to take a break, I read Nancy Armstrong. Whose book, How Novels Think, is SO MUCH BROADER THAN MY UPSTART PROJECT WOULD HAVE BEEN. I guess this is what you get to do, after you've done the build up work. For now, I'm to narrow, narrow, narrow.

And to take a break from that, I plug along in my data entry "research" position.

And to take a break from this routine, I took a jaunt to Target (CHOCOLATE), and this morning, visited the farmers' market. Where I bought carrots, parsnips, potatoes, chard, and an onion, with which to make this winter soup recipe I found inspiring on The Wednesday Chef. And I bought a chocolate croissant: deliciousness. Made me miss Switzerland.

I like pretending that this isn't about allergies

nataliedee.com

kings of leon -- sex on fire

It was a day in which I gave up on my illusions of progress.

But at least this song is incredible.

sometimes, you just know dickens was having an inspired day

"The staircase was sacred to rabbits." -- Martin Chuzzlewit

positive reinforcement

After agonizing over an email (in this case, emailing Alex with paragraphs on *why* this topic), I reward myself with food.

evidence that we are living in the end times

too familiar

I'm finding it uncanny to read A Christmas Carol and HEAR Scrooge McDuck delivering the dialogue.