Thursday, October 8, 2009

Complimentary Bits and Bobs

"There is no effect more disproportionate to its cause than the happiness bestowed by a small compliment." -Robert Brault

"The soul is healed by being with children." -Fyodor Dostoevsky


Today was a wonderful day. It's not been particularly productive academically, but I've had a lot of fun and I'm feeling very happy. And when I'm happy, I want everybody to be happy!

Which, granted, is on the difficult/impossible side. But at the very least I can resolve to give compliments more generously. Brault's right in the quote above; a small compliment does so much to improve a bad day, to put a golden note on a good day, and to give a little boost through life--mainly because an unexpected compliment doesn't only say "hey, nice shirt," or "pretty hair!" or "you're so reliable, I love that about you!" It says that the person giving the compliment bothered to notice something about you, spent a second or so thinking about specifically you, and deemed you worthy to receive their opinion, or was trying to make you feel good. That's important; it makes you feel special and included.

For example, this morning after my 8-9:40, my friend Mary Kate complimented me not on my sweater, which I'd haphazardly thrown on because I was getting dressed in the dark, and knew it to be simple and warm (necessary, since it was 45 degrees this morning), but on the color of my sweater, which I had never particularly thought about before (it's a bright royal blue). It's a little thing, but that she would notice and comment on such a thing made me smile and ratcheted my mood up a notch.

Then, about half an hour later, after a trip to Target (which wins points for quality and ease of shopping experience, but positively FAILS at actually having exactly what you want, like a phone charger that fits your phone or any fruits/vegetables at all) and a significant amount of time spent singing Taylor Swift with all the windows down, I walked into Walmart, my hair messy from the wind, and the first things I saw were two little girls. Sisters or friends, I'm not sure, but about five or six, holding hands and people-watching while their mom/whoever checked out. I happen to love little girls, still being one at heart, and so I grinned at them as I walked by. Didn't matter to me if they noticed me smiling at them or not. However, they did, and as I passed, the taller of the two tugged the other one's hand, pointed at me, and said "Look, a pretty girl!"

They can talk about how a new haircut or well-cut pair of jeans makes you feel like a million dollars all they want; personally, I don't think a better way has ever been invented to make a person feel amazing. Especially since young children tend to be brutally honest. Doesn't that sort of thing just pick you up?

So, I've decided to make an effort to drop more complimentary bits and bobs every day. (Caveat: only when I mean them, of course.) I think tomorrow I'll tell Lora how pretty her hair is, because it's something I always notice and never say anything about.

Anyway, that's about it...just me spouting off nonsense again!

Sunday, October 4, 2009

On Passing Down Our Indiscretions

"Your children tell you casually years later what it would have killed you with worry to know at the time."
~Mignon McLaughlin, The Second Neurotic's Notebook, 1966

First off, isn't that a good title? I am rather proud of it; it sounds far more academic than I have any right to sound today.

Anyway, to the point. I can’t be sure, but I strongly suspect that the quote above is very true. And I have no reason to harp on it, but Kate and Natalie and I were discussing it last night, because we do have to think about these things, eventually. We came to this conundrum: are you supposed to tell your teenage child about your indiscretions as a learning experience and then say “but you ever try it, young lady, and we WILL find out, and you’ll wish you had never been born!” or do you just ignore the whole thing and pretend you were a model of perfect behavior in your youth, or do you twist the facts slightly, with “I tried that when I was your age, and I got CAUGHT! And so will you.”?

That wouldn’t be lying on my part; every single time I do something I’m not supposed to, I DO get caught. Either I’m a horrible liar or my mother has radar; probably both. But Natalie managed to fly to and from Florida to spend a weekend with her then-boyfriend (a boy she dated for 18 months without her parents’ knowledge, by the way) without ever rousing parental suspicion. And Kate and I were her accomplices—Kate bought the plane tickets, I took her to the airport and picked her up. Speaking of Kate, she told her parents like, just last month that her boyfriend was here during exams last semester (I made the airport run that time, too). All through high school and every break, she also gets away with coming home at four or five AM and sneaking into her bedroom, which is strictly against the rules in her house. I never got away with that, either. Not ONCE. Geez. I can’t remember ever getting away with anything beyond what I just thought I was getting away with when I was little—like the time my friends and I made candles, poured hot wax on our hands, and made a “friendship oath circle,” then tried to float candles homemade of acorns, tinfoil, embroidery floss and wax in the pool. Then held Molly by her ankles while she scraped them off the pool liner. Thought we got away with it; later realized that a) the pool is right outside my parents’ window, b) we were quite loud, and c) it was oh, about ten pm, so nobody in the area was possibly asleep. We were real rebels at the age of 13, let me tell you. No way my parents didn’t figure us out—and probably had a hearty laugh about our oh-so-secret-and-arcane “ritual.” They might even have pictures. The question still stands, though: when older, should I let any younglings know that I came home past three in the morning thrice in a row despite being specifically forbidden to do so, shamelessly nicked quarters off my father’s dresser until I was 16 or so and started feeling guilty about it, and used to pin my brother to the floor, brutally yank his hair, tell him I wished he’d never been born, and then blackmail him into not telling our mother? (This is before we got older and decided to be BFFs. I’m sorry, David. I was a terrible person and I deserve for you to be higher in class rank than I was, although I am petty and despite being proud of you will probably never forgive you for it). Ok, so maybe none of that is all that scandalous. But should Natalie one day tell her kids that she totally lied to her parents about her whereabouts for several days and got away with it—after all, she’s pretty proud of the fact—or not? Oh, the dilemma! I would like to mention that I no longer contribute to such dilemmas, because I am perfect and also because these days when I stay out with a boy until four in the morning it's usually with five other girls and boys, and we're studying or singing Disney songs.

(Don't you want to live on the honors floor, too? :D We're cool like that.)

It’s all of purely academic interest, of course—I refuse to consider getting married until I’m 25, as does Kate, and Natalie should probably not marry or reproduce until she is WELL past that. But it is of interest, isn’t it? After all, we can discuss the ramifications of indoctrinating our siblings, right? It’s too late for David; he knows basically everything I’ve done in my entire life and basically everything I’ve gotten in trouble for. But when Daniel’s in upper high school or college and has a girlfriend and gives the first sign that he thinks that, since our parents will be getting older by then, he can get away with staying out till all hours of the night, will somebody say “Oh, your sister tried that, and she got in soooooo much trouble for it and also had a completely obnoxious midnight curfew that got her into even more trouble, so don’t even start with it—” or will they not want to put the idea in his head at all, since, after all, I’m perfect, and if I tested the limits on something he might get the idea that he can test them ten times worse. Actually, neither, probably. Because I’m the eldest and thus get the hardest sentence on everything, Daniel will probably be given a curfew of, oh, two o’clock. Or maybe Mama will be a sounder sleeper by then and Daddy won’t care so much since he’s a boy, and he’ll perfect the sneaking-into-the-house-even-though-the-sliding-door-makes-SO-much-noise routine and get away with it.

And then what will he tell HIS children?! The circle continues!

Feel free to ignore me; I’m in the library pretending to do homework and was remembering having this conversation with Kate and Natalie, and this is more fun than homework. And all the parts where I say I'm perfect--I'm joking, people. If I were perfect, I'd be doing my research and not blogging about such pointlessness. :)

Would you like to see an image or three about how I'm feeling towards my work right now? Oh, I knew you would! You are all such delightful people!

Have a great day; I'll be back soon!

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Current Thoughts

Did you ever stop to think, and forget to start again?
~Winnie the Pooh

  • I think that ettiquette is still important, and I don't think it's at all old-fashioned or out-of-date.
  • I think I haven't blogged in a really long time.
  • I think that most internet message boards get way too harsh way too frequently, and it annoys me that more isn't done to restore basic civility. Why do so many people think trumpeting their freedom of speech should take precedence over basic human kindness?
  • I think an open pen on an open notebook is one of the most pleasant sights in the world.
  • I think Martha Stewart--or at least, her team--has some very good ideas.
  • I think peole in general are far too cruel to telemarketers. Just because they're an annoyance does not mean it's okay to be unkind to them. It's their job, and they probably need that paycheck. I seriously doubt that most telemarketers get up every morning and rub their hands together at the gleeful prospect of irritating 300 families that day. Just say "No, thank you," or "Sorry, but we're not interested." Is that so hard?
  • I think that everyone--everyone--should read Alice in Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz, Anne of Green Gables, Mary Poppins, Little Women, Roald Dahl books, and all the rest of the novels I so often find tucked into quaint displays of "unreadable," "out-of-touch" children's classics. Classics, yes. Goood reading for children, true, but also good reading for adults. And watching the movies isn't sufficient.
  • I think it a terrible shame that North Carolina is cutting five days from the school calendar. At the same time, I think going to year-round schooling is ridiculous and takes academics way too far (and as a strongly academic person, I'm not saying that because I hate school or anything). Similarly, gender-segregated schooling is utterly foolish.
  • I wish more guys realized that their attempts to look cool or sophisticated or funny leave them looking like major jerks.
  • I think there should be a site like www.artofmanliness.com for women, and I think it tragic that such a site would suffer constant attacks from the type of feminists and "empowered" women who do not need to be ladylike or mannerly, apparently.
  • I have no problem with gossip as long as it isn't malicious.
  • I think that people who use their lives to comment sarcasticdally on other people's lives should a) grow up, and b) get over themselves.
  • I think that one can learn a great deal from anything, provided they want to learn from it.
  • I don't think there's anything intrinsically wrong with Barbie. Lay off.
  • I think I need to make more friends now because I think I want to be the type of person who has houseguests fairly regularly when I grow up.
  • I think that doll collecting and knitting should be perfectly acceptable hobbies for my age group if reading anime and blowing up computer-animated figures on a TV screen are. I really think those are far more ridiculous.
  • I think teachers are horribly underpaid.
  • I think adverbs and adjectives are fun, whether or not I should actually use them.
  • I think dancing is more challenging than many sports.
  • I think teen chick-lit should be abolished. Also MTV and all those really stupid Disney Channel shows.
  • However, I think that High School Musical and Hannah Montana actually have their place in society, and I personally am very excited for the following popular things: whatever Pixar releases next, Disney's The Princess and the Frog, the sixth Harry Potter, the Lightning Thief movie, and my trip to American Girl Natick (which doesn't really fit in this list, but I'm still excited about it).
  • I think many more things than this, of course, but I think I'm done for now.

Friday, May 8, 2009

And now folks, a musical interlude...

"Cause they're songs about me
And who I am
Songs about lovin' and livin'
And good-hearted women, family and God
Yeah, they're all just songs about me
Songs about me"
--Trace Adkins*

Right now, sitting on my desk in this darkened room (Lora's taking a nap) are a bottle of Dr. Pepper, a small bottle of orange juice, and a "grande" (read: normal-sized) cup of coffee. They squat in the midst of several pens, post-it notes and index cards like some kind of bizarre art project. It's not an art project, but if it were, it would be symbolizing this week, which is characterized by a ridiculous amount of work crammed into a very small space, kept afloat by caffeinated beverages and written reminders to shower and call Katie and WRITE SYLLABUS LECTURES!!!!!!!!!!.

All of this is in checklist form, of course. I thrive on checklists. But that's a different topic for a different time, and I don't have time for it yet--I have eight papers to write by next Thursday. (It's not as bad as it sounds...only comes out to about twenty pages, which is much better than thirty or forty.)

Sigh.

Anyway, it's at times like these when picking and choosing different songs becomes not just an exercise in personality, and becomes a vitally important mission. This is when a song you previously enjoyed but listend to only recreationally morphs into a lifeline to confidence, sanity and cheerfulness. So, i have a playlist right now labeled "End of Freshman Year," and I listen to it obsessively.

My favorite song in the entire world right now is called "Flowers in the Window" by Travis. (Here's a link, if you'd like to hear it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0rvLLQLDOg --yeah, it's a Harry Potter video. But it's a really good Harry Potter video!) Technically, this is a love song. But it's not a love song to me. It's a cheerful, confidence-boosting song. My walking-down-the-pathways-when-it-suddenly-starts-pouring song. My it's-three-in-the-morning-and-I'm-just-starting-this-paper song. My treat to myself for finishing an assignment.

Wow, look at you now,
Flowers in the window.
It's such a lovely day,
And I'm glad you feel the same.
You stand up, out in the crowd,
You are one in a million,
And I love you so--
Let's watch the flowers grow

A little cheesy? Sure. Does it make me automatically feel better and like I'm having a good hair day? Yup. Just like couples have a song that's "theirs," this is my song right now. It'll change in a few weeks; it always does. In the past, my song has been for brief periods of time, "Fireflies" by Faith Hill, "Tied Together with a Smile" by Taylor Swift (talk about a little depressing), "I'm Ready" from the Kim Possible Soundtrack (and talk about a little embarrassing), and "Maybe" by Kelly Clarkson (one of my favorite lines ever: "I don't want to be tough. And I don't want to be proud. I don't need to be "fixed" and I certainly don't need to be "found." I'm not lost!"). Et cetera, et cetera. It's a little funny thinking about it how many of these songs are pop when ninety percent of my music is country.

There are other songs I've been listening to, too. "Weightless" by All Time Low has become my friend Kate's and my song to sing to ourselves when our roommates are acting like four-year-olds for the eighteenth time that day, or when there is simply too much to do, or when our Nature of Science professor insists that we're doing something wrong when really we're not, or when it is just a bad day.

Maybe it's not my weekend,
But it's gonna be my year,
And I'm so sick of watching while the minutes pass
As I go nowhere.
And this is my reaction
To everything I feel
Cause I been going crazy,
I don't wanna waste another minute here.

I mean, hey, it works. Often I'm amazed at a song's ability to match a mood, but I sure appreciate it. How would I survive my dorm room without my iPod and headphones?! The correct answer is that I would not.

Anyway, I've been rambling, and I need to go write one of those papers. And probably Youtube fifty gazillion songs.

But you didn't hear that last part from me. I'm totally focused. :-)


*Incidentally, Trace Adkins is just about David's favorite artist ever, and this is from one of David's favorite song. Just a fun fact for those of you who didn't know.

Saturday, March 14, 2009

Weekend + Homework + Midterms + Rain = Fail.

"Weekends are a bit like rainbows; they look good from a distance but disappear when you get up close to them." --Bill Waterson

This inevitably happens to me.  It'll be a weekend at school I would like to enjoy but can't because I have a tremendous amount of work, and I'll make myself lots and lots of lists about everything I need to complete and how long it should take and what I'm going to do with my free time when it's all completed...and then reality comes and smacks me in the face and, with an evil chuckle, informs me that anything I do is going to take much longer than it should, simply because that is how my life works.  I have been working on four papers and a concept map for Nature of Science for two days now, and I'm still not done.  I'm getting close.  But I'm not finished.  And then I have health.  And sociology.  And studying.  The studying is what probably means that I'm not going to have all that much free time tomorrow, either.  Which is okay...spring break's coming up in five days (thank heavens!) and I can get everything I need to get done in those five days so there's very little spring break homework.  But still.  Aren't weekends supposed to be enjoyable?  

Well, maybe not.  My roommate's boyfriend is here again, so I'm spending basically all my time in my building's classroom, planning essays about paradigms and phrenology and science versus religion on the whiteboard and typing them up and listening to YouTube.  And it's cold.   And it's been raining for two days and it'll still be raining tomorrow, which would be ok, but it makes it excessively dreary and even colder.  And I have a midterm on Monday for American Lit.  Sigh.  Hurry up, spring break!  

Ok, that's really all I had to say.  Now, go listen to "Rainy Days and Mondays" by the Carpenters.  Or "Listen to the Rhythm of the Falling Rain," by Tory Barnet or "I Love a Rainy Night" by Eddie Rabbit or "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head" by Olivia Newton-John or "I Don't Have to Be Me til Monday" by Steve Azar.  (Or, better yet, go to this website I just found, http://www.lacarte.org/songs/rain/.)
Well, no, I don't really have a reason for suggesting this, aside from my obsessive YouTubing study habit.  But they're good songs, anyway.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Spring Semester (or Back to Busyness)

"The more we do, the more we can do; the more busy we are, the more leisure we have."    -Dag Hammarskjold

The first day of school in high school used to be fun.  You knew everybody in all your classes, and could catch up with them, or listen to them catching up with each other, or write down who was in your classes.  The teachers ran over a brief syllabus and told you what not to do in class.  In homeroom (where you went once a year exactly), you went over the handbook, which meant you doodled, because everybody has the handbook rules memorized anyway.  The first day every year in high school is completely harmless and completely uncomplicated. 

The first day of each semester in college is not so easy and uncomplicated.  It is kinda confusing and weird to figure out how to spread your time out right.  I’ll eventually get it right and be in a routine, but the first week’s kinda strange.  Here’s how my first two went (I have to include both, because my new classes are spread over two days).  I think I might be crazy for cramping my schedule all up in order to free up Fridays—I have 11 ½ hours of instruction on Tuesdays.  Seriously.  However, I’m pretty sure having Fridays will be worth it.  J

7:18—Wake up.  Check out window—there’s snow.  Check email and e-net.  No delay.  It’s always nice to know your school really truly cares about its students not breaking their ankles on the way to class.  Nice.  Get dressed, wash face, put in contacts, brush teeth, make bed, check facebook…I don’t worry about waking Lora up because Lora is essentially dead in the mornings.  Lora sleeps in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and has to get up early on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, when I can sleep.  Lora is very noisy when she gets up.  But that’s ok, I still love her.  Usually.

7:47—Head to Mooney for Sociology, eating some blackberry yogurt, which is incredibly excellent because I haven’t had it in like 98374289 years.  Approximately.  I throw the empty container in the Alamance trash can, and toss my spoon into my purse, where it will alarm me later.  Find the room, enter the room, sit in front row, remove coat. 

8:00—Decide that I like Dr. Curry; decide that sociology is sorta interesting; decide that the classroom is cold; try not to fall asleep, listen to Dr. Curry talk about how Valentine’s Day is essentially stupid but mandated by society.  Agree with him.

9:30—Finish talking about how Valentine’s Day is a waste of money, and return to dorm.  Set down sociology book, and head back out through the snow to Moseley.

9:45—Fight way through throng outside Moseley.  Apparently there is some sort of Professionals of the Future (or something like that) breakfast, and it’s crowded.  I finally reach the door, enter, find the book table, give the lady my box number, and wait.

9:59—And wait.

10:10—I’m still waiting.  I’ve checked my watch 32,000 times.  I have class at 10:30, and it’s honors.  If I’m late, I’m dead. 

10:12—Finally, my box full of very heavy books is out.  I carry it out of Moseley and into the throng.  Not feeling like battling through the coats and scarves and happy people, I jump up on the brick wall that surrounds the pansy circle and walk above it all.  And then I walk back to the dorm.  Lora is awake, and my arms hurt. 

10:25—Walk down the hall with Kate, Natalie, and Adnan (Lora has to brush her teeth) to the classroom.  Approve of the majority of the other students, laugh at Mara and Carissa for being stupid sorority girls, and decide with Kate, Natalie, Katie, Lora, and Carson that Professor Gallucci is boring.

11:10—Really boring.  To her credit, she knows she’s boring, and thus gave us an activity instead.  Not to her credit, it is a very boring activity.

12:10—And she just told us to watch this video about how the earth is flat for homework.  The earth is not flat.  I picture myself having a hard time watching this video.

12:15—Kate and I are both panicking about the time, since we both have 12:25 classes at places we’ve never been before. 

12:16—We’re out.  I never want to see the words “hypothesis” or “theory” again.  Which is a pity because I’m taking three science classes and health this semester.  I rush to grab my health book and then run to McMichael…

12:22—Where I promptly get lost, having apparently written down the wrong room number, ending up in 207, which is a senior physics lab filling up with people who are most assuredly not freshmen attending health and wellness.  I leave, beginning to panic, and, thank God, run straight into Dan Baquet, who—joy of joys and luck of all luck—turns out to be in my health class and not only knows that the room number is 226, but also where 226 is.

12:25—I am hungry, but glad to see Annelise is in my class, for the second time of the day.  Plus Baquet, plus Kelly Herrick, plus Mara, plus Jeff.  It’s Elon 101:  the remix!  (Oh please, no.) 

12:28—I am already convinced I am more intelligent than my professor.

12:29—Who is pregnant.

12:45—She didn’t really need to reproduce.

12:50—Kinda like how we really don’t need to be working on a get-to-know-you orientation-type activity.  Gah.

2:00—FINALLY out.  Health class is dumb.  And I don’t need to know anything else about nutrition, exercise, college alcoholism, drugs, STDs, AIDS, sex, or depression.  We had health in middle school.  And also in ninth grade.  And plus Elon orientation gives you like four more hours of alcoholism class.  And I read the health sections of CNN and TIME on a daily basis.  And I danced for fifteen years and got Dance Spirit and Pointe magazines, which told me all I really cared to know about nutrition and exercise.  Can we please not be in here?

2:10—Finally cross the street back towards the Pavilions after waiting for cars to pass for about a million years.  Ok, maybe it wasn’t quite that long.  But when all the puddles are frozen over and it’s like 24 degrees and blowing hard, it sure feels like it.

2:14—Reach room, say hello to Lora, do nothing for quite a while, mainly because having three classes in a row has worn me out a bit and I need rejuvenation in the form of doing nothing.  By checking my email I discover there is no astronomy lab today.  This makes me very, very happy.

3:15—Stomach growls and I remember that I never had lunch.  So it’s out to the kitchen to heat up some chicken-and-rice soup.

3:24—On my desk I have a bowl of hot soup, some crackers, some slices of mozzarella cheese, and a coke.  The coke doesn’t quite fit, but water or blue Kool-Aid would fit even less, so there you have it.

3:45—It was very good soup and cheese and crackers. 

3:50—I finish washing my bowl and utensils.  Being tidy at college gives me a sense of empowerment.  Usually.

And I spend the rest of the night reading Sociology and Health, messing with the housing application site, chatting with Kate, going to Colonnades with the girls to get a salad, and listening to Lora read the fairly graphic reproduction chapter of the Health textbook aloud because the euphemisms amuse her.  I go to bed around 2, which is still comparatively early for me.

 

The next day:

7:15—I wake up to Lora’s alarm clock.  I say “Wake up, Lora!” after it has gone off twelve times, except that because I’m groggy and have my retainers in it probably sounds more like “ake UMPSH, Lormumble.”  Obviously, she eventually does because I hear a lot of noise; I am not paying attention because sleeping is more important.

8:30—My alarm goes off.  I turn it off.

9:07—I wake up.  Keep in mind that these past two times are according to my clock, which is 16 minutes fast and gaining on me every day.  So this is really 8:51ish. 

9:11—I make myself get out of bed, and then make the bed so I can’t get back in it.  Then I put in my contacts and check facebook, email, TIME, CNN, e-net, and RealSimple.  I know, I know, I’m pathetic.  Oh, well.

9:13—Lora comes back in with her ginormous, 234235235 pound backpack.  I am puzzled, because her class is not supposed to get out until 9:30, but then I remember that it is, in fact, the first day of health and her teacher is way more lax than mine.  I am still in my pajamas and still kinda not ready to be awake, so mainly I listen to Lora talk about whatever for a few minutes while I nod and say “mhmmmm.”

9:20—Lora and the backpack leave again.   I go take a shower.  I even shave my legs.  The world should be very proud.  Then I get dressed and brush my teeth and stuff, and then I finish my health homework.

10:42—Get a text from Kate asking if now is my lunch break.  Yes.  Get another asking if I want to meet her and some friends at Colonnades at 11.  Yes. 

10:55—I think it might be colder today than yesterday. 

11:00—Meet up with Kate; we go upstairs.  They aren’t quite ready to serve yet, but the lady lets us go sit down at one of the tables.  I like that lady.

11:05—Kristen number one calls Kate; she is here.  This Kristen graduated with Kate; she seems quiet, but quite friendly.

11:06—Kristen number two calls Kate; she is here.  I have met this Kristen before.  This Kristen’s drive to do everything on earth (she has it planned out to where she’s living while she gets her PhD) scares me a little.  And makes me tired for her.  But she’s nice too.

11:08—Colonnades officially opens, and even though there’s a line, the nice lady lets us slide our cards through first. 

11:55—Lunch, which has been fun and conversational (and plus I was texting Mama the whole time) ends, because Kate has a 12:15.

12:03—I’m back at the dorm.  And I am starting to be very nervous about this American Lit class.  It’s supposed to be a real humdinger.

12:05—I start writing letters.

12:50—Being that I’ve mostly been YouTubing and not letter-writing, I decide that I’ll write the letters later. 

12:55—I blog about Ivy’s sweater, and then play around to see if I can get the pictures right until I have to go to class.

1:30—I leave for class.

1:35—My teacher is a youngish black woman with a very loud voice.  I was expecting a white woman in her 60s with short hair.  Why, I don’t know.

1:38—I decide that some of her mannerisms are going to be annoying.

1:45—So is the constant noise from the window.  I’m not sure if it’s the wind or the final construction on Lindner Hall, but it’s going to drive me out of my mind.

1:52—However, if that happens, I’ll be in great company—half the authors we study in this class were kinda crazy, from Poe to Fitzgerald to Plath. 

2:20—Is she really showing us a clip from a Star Trek episode to illustrate the importance of references?

2:22—Yes.  Yes, she is.

2:30—I am scared of the workload in this class.  And of the midterm, and of the identifications, and of groupwork in a class where I don’t know ANYBODY and I think I’m the only freshman, and of how hard she’ll grade. 

2:45—I give myself a mental pep talk.  It kinda works.

3:10—She lets us out early.  The pep talk works even better on myself when I’m not in class.

3:20—Back to the dorm.  It is cold outside.  I have no official work, so I check out the syllabus and talk to Lora and eat a few Pringles and do nothing.

5:00—I message Mama back and forth on facebook a couple times, and keep messing with my Ivy blog.  The pictures just won’t get right.  Well, I guess it doesn’t matter all that much. 

5:27—Realize I have to go to class.  Sigh.  Put on coat. 

5:28—Run into McMichael, praying it will be warm.  It is.  I decide that McMichael is the only warm building on this entire icy campus.  Next I find the classroom I accidentally walked into yesterday, room 207.  This time it’s the right room.  And it’s…spacey. 

5:42—Realize that my professor clearly wants to have Neil deGrasse Tyson’s children.  And therefore she wants us to buy Neil deGrasse Tyson’s book as well as the textbook, neither of which she listed online. 

5:43—Realize that I didn’t really want to think about that.

5:44—Realize that this means I need to spend another hundred dollars.

5:45—I do not need to have a realization that I don’t want to pay a hundred dollars.  I already know that.

6:00—Professor tells us that if we do feel the need to nod off once in a while during class, that’s not a problem.

6:01—Professor also tells us that she takes it personally and is psychologically hurt by students surfing the web in her class.

6:08—She calls a student “hon,” which is weird because she is not old.

6:11—She lets us know that class is “completely structured,” but also “completely loose and open.”

6:30—She admits that she writes astro-poetry.

6:31—I spend a moment pondering what astro-poetry even is.

6:32—I decide that people who look at the stars for their living are bound to be a little strange.

6:33—She asks my table to define light pollution.  I am amazed that I am the only one at my table who has ever heard of light pollution.  They catch on quickly, however. 

6:35—I realize that the way Moreau talks reminds me of Sarah Palin.

6:36—So do her bangs and her glasses.

6:37—I wait for her to say “You betcha!”

6:58—I turn in the diagnostic test we had to fill out and depart.  She didn’t say it.  Darn.

7:00—The icy cold arctic wind from Canada (thank you, Vanessa Huxtable) hits me like a ton of bricks the minute I get outside the door. I button up my very top coat button so I look like a minister and then bolt to Moseley.  And eat Chik-Fil-A and check my mail and then run all the way to the dorm because I think my ears, nose, and fingers are all frostbitten.

That just about wraps up my first two days. 

And that was probably quite a pointless post. 

Here’s my schedule:

Monday:  

1:40-3:20—American Lit.  This is going to be a lot of work, and really hard.

5:30-7:10—Astronomy.  Not too bad, but I foresee busywork.

Tuesday:  

8:00-9:40—Sociology.  I’ll like it, but it’s going to mean some work.

10:30-12:10—Nature of Science.  It’s honors, so it won’t be easy, but I have it pegged   for being more dull than difficult.

12:25-2:05—Health and Wellness.  Easy, but do I really have to?

6-10—Astronomy lab.  That’s right:  four hours, in the cold, at night. 

Wednesday:  Same as Monday

Thursday:  Same as Tuesday but with no lab.

Friday:  FREE!!!

That’s about it.  I kinda miss first semester.  Ah, well.  

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Ivy's Sweater

"I once had a sweet little doll, dears,/ The prettiest doll in the world."
--Charles Kingsley

Ok, folks.  It's been a while since I've posted, and I have about twenty gloriously out-of-order things I'd like to blog about, but this is what we have for now, because it's 23 minutes until I leave for my first American Lit class (scary) and there's not time for anything else.  

This is Ivy.  Ivy is from 1974; she is Julie's best friend.  Besides being comparatively new, she is an excellent model because she has short hair that doesn't need to be put up and no floppy limbs.  And the sweater you see Ivy modeling was what I did this past Saturday, since my brothers slept all day and I was bored.  

It is a very pretty, soft sweater in real life. (The pictures make me see imperfections I never noticed that much before, but that's ok.)  I don't know where the yarn came from; I found it, unlabeled, in my bag and knitted it into a nice little rectangle with buttonholes over the past few weeks at school.  But the thing about knitting at school is that there is absolutely no guarantee the thing will fit the doll.  Mama measured one of the AG dolls' waists for me (Nicole; and it's 11 inches, if anyone was curious), but shoulders are 
tricky.  So I saved it for Fake Break last week.  

I have never successfully knitted truly wearable anything, but this really turned out well.  Instead of stitching all the pieces together, I used a crochet hook to pick up stitches through the existing fabric and put it straight onto the needles from there.  It's the first time I've
 knitted sleeves, and they worked out really well in the round.  It's also the first time I've switched needle gauges, which I did for the sleeves, neck, and edging to make everything tighten up a bit, and it's the first time I've played with buttonholes in knitting at all.  They were a bit big at first, but with some wrapping and some strategic stitching, it worked out.  They're more diagonal in the picture than they are in real life, when I can pull it straight.  Anyway, I just had to show off my handiwork because I'm very proud of it.  

Oh, and by the way, I brought Ivy back to school with me, 
where she'll stay at least until Spring 
Break.  I want to knit/crochet some sundresses from this 
pretty blue yarn Mama and I found, and I need a model.  Plus, having an American Girl around makes me feel better about life in general.  

It does not make my roommate feel better about life in general.  But she'll get used to it.