George Harrison is conducive to syllabus building. I've spent the past 5 hours writing up lectures and lesson plans for both my Wisco and city jobs -- all the while listening to (over and over and over) a George Harrison mix dm made me a number of years ago. I re-discovered the mix while thoroughly cleaning my car out on Sunday. (The interior of my car, as many can attest to, was a microcosmic post-apocalypse wasteland.)

Sunday, after cleaning my car, I read and heavily annotated Plato's "Apology." After I finished "Apology" (which I read once many years ago) I actually exclaimed, "God that was good!" It was good. I found it arduous and boring when I was nineteen, but at thirty -- exhilarating. Ah, the joys of age. If everything I found boring at nineteen is that exciting now, hell, I need to re-read/re-watch/re-do/re-listen to a lot of stuff . . . Anyone have a copy of Crime and Punishment? Life of Brian? A time machine so I can attend Thanksgiving dinner in 1995? Paula Cole's debut album?

Started teaching at my city job last night. My students are great. Earnest and shy. But . . . um . . .the neighborhood . . .yeah. Gonna need some mace. On the "first day survey" I prepared for my students, many of them listed "moving out of the neighborhood" as their motivation to attend college. Can't see why. I mean, if you can disregard the empty lots, post-8:30 p.m. gunfire and small roving bands of dogs, it's a perfectly nice neighborhood.

Fortunately, I work the "night shift" with a few other grad school comrades.

It's no coincidence that our boss sent only those of us with cars to this particular campus. I now regret mentioning that I have a car. If I continue work for this institution, I can guarantee I "won't have a car" come spring semester . . . even if I do have a car, I won't.

The way the City of Chicago neglects its neighborhoods is an abomination. Really. The city could afford millions and millions to build a fancy/futuristic park in The Loop. The city could afford to introduce a bill banning foie gras, but the city can't be bothered to take care of their disenfranchised residents. It is shameful.

On this topic, there are two Links of the Day.

One is for a priority Chicago project (recently completed): THIS

The other is for a Chicago neighborhood I taught in last year: THIS.

I meant to rant about this in my last entry but forgot. So here goes . . .

Okay, I don't care what sort of so-called "shocking" tactics Madonna employs in order to gain attention -- she can make out with Brittany Spears, she can hump a goat, she can even crucify herself, makes no difference to me. But the latter, I must say, is the most desperate and desperately cliche bit of "performance" the hanger-on has yet to exploit. Um, "crucifying yourself"? Whoa! Madonna! You're so innovative! I mean, in spite of the fact that artists long ago did things like this and this. (The later is one of the more questionable student works in my alma mater's history.)

Or maybe your cleverness lies in its lack of new-ness. Maybe I should start wearing Doc Martens and flannel shirts again and listening to Nirvana all the time in an attempt to try and alarm my parents the same way it alarmed them in 1993 . . . hmm. Madonna, you might be on to something -- but you're not clever enough to figure it out.

Frankly, my dear, you're embarassing yourself . . . and those of us who in the 1980s begged our Catholic parents to let us listen to your then "scandalous" albums.

Your crucifixion thing is no more than a bit of opaque, adolecent "sadness poetry." Time to grow up, sweetie.

Why don't you devote yourself to your career as a rap artist -- wait, no. Um, how about Kaballah? Practicing your British accent? Writing children's books? You could make out with Lindsay Lohan (I hear she's a budding musician). Or you could . . . um, wait . . . remind me again, why are you famous?

ef returned from her travels yesterday -- which means I am once again relegated to the garage, but only for a short while. My city classes begin on Monday. I've been cramming all week in preparation, brushing up on rules of grammar, making note of easily forgotten "advice" I would like to impart, making certain I have thoroughly read all the texts my students will have to read. (In addition, I've been painstakingly preparing lectures for my other job in Wisco and in doing so have learned quite a bit myself.) I'm full of trepidation but know from past experience that once I'm in the classroom, I'll be "back in black."

I picked ef from the airport yesterday (or, rather this morning) at 1:40 a.m.. I had a hell of a time finding the international terminals and as I was circling O'Hare, chain-smoking to keep myself awake, recieved a text message from ef that read "the department of homo security says I can't use my cell phone now." And in my sleepy, semi-lost state irrationally (albeit passively) directed my anger at The Department of Homeland Security -- believing that they were somehow responsible for my not being able to find "Terminal 5." Paranoid bastard jerk-offs, is what I think I called "them" from the confines of my car as I entered the wrong roundabout, once again.

In terms of employment, I had much luck while staying at ef's apartment. Luck that ef attributed to San Simon. She even brought me a little wooden San Simon from Guatemala. He is fully pose-able and came with candles -- each a different color -- each color bears significance and is to be burnt depending on what it is you "want" from Mr. Simon. Fortunately, I want a great many things.

In light of the fact that I'm tired and have nothing terribly exciting to blog about, here is some Text Message Poetry (Part Deux):

WHY

why did I
eat so much chocolate and
where are you?

FUN

it was fun
i barfed
whoa
nelly

ON CHANGE *

change of plans for tonight
we're going to see
Oingo Boingo
with Rodney Dangerfield and
the guy from Christine
instead

* references the film, Back To School in which Sally Kellerman brutally murders every ounce of eroticism in the final passage of Joyce's Ulysses by suggestively reading said passage to Rodney Dangerfield.

In the spirit of retrospectives (of sorts), the Link of the Day was once featured on the late, great "Unbearable Lameness of Being" blog and one of my favorite internet clips (only because I so identify with this man and his sitting-in-the-trailer existential crisis): THIS.

I’m bored. Thought I’d blog.

I spent the vast majority of the day searching (unsuccessfully) for my birth certificate. This search merely confirmed something I’d long suspected: I never WAS born. All those angsty teenage years spent in my bedroom, listening to “I Am a Rock” (more like, “I Am a Nerd”) over and over while smoking weed out of a crude, aluminum foil pipe (“pleased to make your acquaintance, Alzheimer’s”) wishing I’d never been born – well, guess what . . .?

Frustrated, I returned to ef’s and resumed work on two stories I’ve been screwing with for a while. The most progress made was in my decision to, in one of the stories, change the name of an ill-fated goldfish from “Z-Man” to “Ed McMahon.”

Last night, I attempted to watch The Fog of War but apparently, as ef pointed out, that’s a movie I need to watch midday with a cup of coffee and a legal pad for note taking rather than late at night with a beer and a slice of pizza. Um, what’s that, Robert McNamara? “Complicated, complicated Vietnam War complicated, complicated”? I don’t quite follow . . .

I will attempt it again sometime, when it is daytime and I am fully sober.

Still completely obsessed with The Knife and I think I am therefore going to have to do something I haven’t done in a long while: buy an album. I haven’t been this excited about a band since I was a teenager (I did listen to things other than Simon & Garfunkle).

That said, Link of the Day (great song, super creepy video): THIS.

So many books, so little time. I recently finished reading Brave New World for the second time in my life. I’ll have to teach the novel in the fall and forgot how much I liked the book. While it didn’t freak me out the way it freaked me out as a teenager, I was astonished by its lasting relevance and for that reason am looking forward to discussing it with my students.

Thursday night, I was lying in bed reading BNW and fell asleep. I woke up early the next morning – I had to go over to the city college (my other teaching job) and fill out some paperwork. Only, I couldn’t find my glasses. Without the aide of glasses, I am blind. Without glasses, I cannot do the following things: drive, navigate a room (without knocking into things), read, make coffee, apply makeup, recognize faces unless they are within an inch of my own . . . this is a short list illustrating the extent of my handicap. I need glasses. I am blind. Needless to say, I began having a nervous breakdown that was not assuaged by the discovery of my glasses – they were in bed with me, one lens missing, one wire broken.

Anyone who reads this blog or who talks to me on a semi-regular basis is well aware of my penchant for using the “f-word.” Well, the stream of four lettered words that came out of my mouth that morning was truly amazing. I came up with some real inventive curse words – some so vulgar I embarrassed myself. (Also, I am given to fits of over-reacting – always have been.)

Fortunately, during my meltdown, I had clarity enough to remember that I have been keeping a spare pair of contact lenses in my wallet. (I mean, where else does a person keep contact lenses but in their wallet?) I will never again question my decisions in the placement of things – I won’t judge myself for keeping a fork in my purse or for having dice in the pocket of my winter coat or for having (no less) than twenty empty water bottles in my car. One never knows when these things might come in handy.

I did get my glasses fixed. I love them all the more now. And that was the most boring story ever. But someday I might be glad it’s on this blog. Someday when I’m in need of a really pointless, boring story – I’ll be glad I posted this.

Link of the Day: THIS.

Hosted a going away party for dv last night. It was actually a lot of fun – until the end of the night when I started bawling . . . but I felt that coming. I absolutely adore dv and were it not for her, I doubt I would have survived some of grad schools more intense academic (and social) drama. So many great memories with dv, my partner in crime and one of the best friends I’ve yet had.

One of the highlights of the evening came when I busted out some old poetry (from ten years ago) my old English Prof passed on to me during my interview. Nb chose one of the poems and began to read it aloud, using a highly affected, old-school, theatrical voice – kind of a cross between (the late, great) Kate Hepburn and (the late, great) Alistaire Cooke. It was hysterical and though I’d already had some wine, it wasn’t enough to numb the mortification . . . Our favorite lines were: “he could be anyone – instead he’s a carpenter,/ten years too old for me.” To which, dv remarked “What would that be? Eighty?” (I tend to likes the well-ripened types.) A series of wise cracks about the poem were made long into the evening – many regarding said lines. Aj said something like, “It could have worked out – if only he hadn’t gone to trade school.” I fucking love my friends. One of the things I thought last night was how truly blessed I am to be surrounded by other intelligent artists and writers – marvelous and marvelously gifted people.

These days everything seems to be coming into focus. Things in the world seem to hold greater significance than they ever did before. Oh, the powerful and transitive force that is change.

Anyway, moving away from the sap, I’m planning to drink down some of the beer arsenal left over from yesterday (we artisans like our drink – and we supply it in great abundance) and watch The Forty Year Old Virgin – a film I started watching back in January but never finished because the person I was watching it with was not interested in watching a movie.

I’m currently obsessed with a song by a band I recently discovered called The Knife. The song is called “Like A Pen.” It is fucking amazing – dark, lyrically strong, inexplicably hot. The Knife is a brother and sister duo out of Sweden – unlike Swedish musical gems such as Abba, Junior Senior and Mando Diao – The Knife actually speak English and have a good command of the language.

Another song by The Knife and a kick ass video is the Link of the Day: THIS.

What’s up with the picture? Well, I dreamt of My Little Ponies last night – and also various characters from The Sopranos (can’t. stop. watching.)

I am now fully employed. Two faculty positions, two different institutions of higher learning. Thus proving my theory that if I interview for a position, I get the position. I think I hear a dissertation . . .

I’ll be teaching four days a week – two days at one college, two days at the next. One day a week I will travel from Wisconsin to the South Side of Chicago . . . but that’s okay. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. The upside of all of this: 1. I will be teaching (which I love). 2. I will never have to get up earlier than 8:30 a.m. (as classes at both institutions are evening and afternoon classes). 3. I will work three days a week. Not too shabby.

Finally renewed my driver’s license yesterday. They made me take the “Rules of the Road Test” – which was easier than I remember it being. Then again, I was sixteen last time I took that test – a sixteen year old girl who thrice failed the road test. Once, for turning the wrong way down a one-way street; once, for failing to yield a Yield sign; and once for a series of errors . . . I wasn’t so strong a’ driver. The guy who administered my field vision test (which I almost did fail this time – my eyes ain’t so good) and graded my Rules of the Road test was, true to DMV form, a total douchebag -- god, I’ve been watching too much Sopranos – and my license picture is, as always, impossibly sexy.

While updating/verifying the info on my old Driver’s License, I had the woman at the counter change what was listed as my “weight” (it still said what I weighed in 1993). As much as I’d like to believe I still weigh that little – we all know it’s not true. And I felt having my teenaged weight on my thirty-year old driver’s license was laughable. The woman was stunned that I would want to change it. Um, it’s my driver’s license, not my modeling portfolio . . .

Busy day today. Must go fill out paper work in Wisco and then prepare for dv’s bye-bye party. So, I’ll leave you now with Link of the Day: THIS.

Two entries in one day! Unheard of!

Had an interview today that went well. I was dressed like Johnny Cash and the man who interviewed me wore tattered blue jeans and flip-flops. Guess I didn’t have to inquire into job attire . . .

I will know by the end of the week whether or not I have the job. If I do get the job, there’s a good chance I’ll be spending two days a week teaching in Wisconsin during the day and driving from there to Chicago’s south side to teach at night. If there are two things I have in abundance, they are ambition and perseverance. I can – and will – do this if need be.

Interview days are always fun days. I hardly sleep the night before, get up really early, refrain from eating and drink coffee and chain smoke until well after the interview is over. Makes me tired. Need to change my interview-prep habits.

So I’m totally “asking for it” from the police. My driver’s license is expired (by nearly a month and a half – going to rectify that problem tomorrow), my left turn signal is broken and one of my tail lights is out. As a result, when I drove to the store today, I made a route that only caused me to make one left turn. It was pretty impressive. It’s not easy to travel several miles and only make ONE left turn. (Unless you’re going straight the whole way, which I wasn’t.) Oh, I sometimes amaze myself.

I didn’t know until last week that my left turn signal was dead. I therefore owe an apology to all the people I flipped off and the one gentleman I referred to as a “prick” when I tried to merge left onto the highway . . . he didn’t know I was trying to get left. No left turn signal. He probably thought I was the prick.

I already have a story regarding my appallingly expired license, should I get pulled over on my way to the DMV tomorrow. It goes a little like this, “I’ve been in Iowa all summer.” I might throw in something about “researching” or a “sick grandmother.” Let’s just hope I don’t get pulled over. I’m a bad liar.

Trying to plan this god damned “going away” party for Wednesday. Feel like Clarissa-fucking-Dalloway. Not at all in party mood . . . hate celebrating the departure of a dear friend. Eh. We do what we must.

No link of the day, because there already exists a link of the day . . .

Last night I watched Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? If ever a movie was suited to my tastes, it was that. I laughed, I shouted, it was better than Mildred Pierce . . . but not – I think – more quotable than Mommie Dearest. There were a few great quotes in Whatever Happened? that I’ll have to jot down upon next viewing (oh, yes, there will be a next viewing). Based on memory, one of my favorites was Bette Davis saying to the wheelchair bound Crawford, “But ‘cha ARE! Ya are in that chair!”

Upon researching the rivalry between Crawford and Davis, I found some amazingly hilarious quotes. Among them, one that Davis said after Crawford’s death in 1977: “"You should never say bad things about the dead, you should only say good... Joan Crawford is dead, good!"

And this, also credited to Davis (re: Crawford) is just a damn good dis: "She has slept with every male star at MGM except Lassie."

Have another job interview today and then I have to start planning a little for dv’s going away party. I haven’t been this sad about a friend leaving since the fourth grade, when my then bff moved to the other side of town. In this case, my friend is moving to the other side of the country. Tears. Tears for me.

Link of the day is plainly scary, but relevant to this entry. What I like about it, is the music she’s singing to appears to be the music used in the film to signify the presence of teenagers:
THIS.

Can I just say that I walked SIX motherfucking MILES today? Yeah, I did. I went to meet mj and bs at The Globe Pub to see some shitty cover band (which turned out to be one overweight guy with an electric guitar) and walked three miles there and three miles back. (To be honest, I only walked back because I couldn’t locate the appropriate bus stop and got tired of guessing.)

Before leaving to go see nothing, I began watching one of my Netflixed films – it’s a documentary that is called (I think) Child Murders at Robin Hood Hills or something like that. It’s real upbeat and not at all depressing. I’m halfway through and so far it’s an unflinching, unbiased look at a hideous crime and the subsequent trial. (And by “unflinching” I mean that the viewer is privy to EVERYTHING – including the crime scene – bodies and all. I, and my sleeping mind, could have done without seeing three dead second graders . . . but filmmakers will do as they please. I don’t judge.)

Also, I can't wait until all of the Lollapalooza assholes are gone from the city. As mj astutely observed: "they mostly look like high schoolers from Iowa . . ." Yeah. Seriously. Lollapalooza? Get real. I went to Lollapalooza when it really was Lollapalooza and that was 1993. Um, if you're over the age of 25 and still going to Lollapalooza . . . get over it! Go hole up in your apartment with your Pearl Jam and Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins cds and grow-the-fuck-up.

It's harsh, but it's true.

Tomorrow, if I have the stomach to finish the documentary, I am at long last going to watch Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? Being the “old Hollywood” freak that I am, I don’t know how I haven’t seen this yet. I know all about Joan Crawford (love her) and Bette Davis (love her) and their mutual hatred for one another. Bette Davis once said something along the lines of “the best working experience I had with Joan Crawford was when I got to push her down the stairs in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?”

If you want my opinion, I think they had a disasterous fling . . . Sorry girls, but that’s the way it seems.

In the spirit of the Bette Davis/Joan Crawford rivalry, link of the day is: THIS.

Shit, I might be able to feed ALL the kids this year . . . not just the ones I like.

I have another job interview for yet another adjunct faculty positon. I'm on a roll. I'm going to have amassed so many adjunct jobs by the time the summer is over . . . Wasn't there some old In Living Color sketch where family members argued over who had more jobs? That's kind of how it's going to feel.

I don't want to jinx myself but I'll have you know, dear reader, that I have NEVER been denied a job I've interviewed for. I'm not kidding. I'm not exaggerating. I have -- honest to God -- been offered every single job I have ever interviewed for. Including the ill-fated Fiber and Materials Department work-study job I took as a graduate student. (What? It was boring. I stopped showing up.)

Actually, here's a story: one day when I was "not showing up" for my Fiber and Materials Dept. job, cf and I were having coffee at Starbucks and I ran into my boss (who, unfortunately, is a bad bridge to burn as she's a famous artist) and startled, nervous I explained to my boss that I couldn't come into work because I had to "compile documents." Those were my exact words: "compile documents." I am an idiot. Cf and I still joke about that. Nothing like a little "document compiling" to get you out of obligations. Missed work? A wedding? A funeral? A bar mitzvah (not you, Mel Gibson)? The birth of your first child? Just say you were "compiling documents" and all will be forgiven. It makes you sound busy and important.

After watching the final episode of The Sopranos: Season 2 (I knew Pussy was gonna get whacked), I did some hard thinking about things like my MySpace account and this very blog. And I think that once I start teaching, they're both going to have to go.

The last thing I want is for my students to find me on MySpace and see all the absurd comments people leave for me and the absurd things I leave on MySpace. How can my students be expected to respect me when they see comments from my friends like: "No, I will not go to the National Egg Council Ball with you" and "How are you gonna get five kids?" or bs's posting of Gary Glitter's "Do You Wanna Touch Me" video (worse yet, the comments I leave for others) or that I wrote under the "Who I Want to Meet" section: alcoholic nuns, your mother.

The likelihood of students finding my blog is slim -- nevertheless, I'm not at my smartest, most articulate when blogging. Blogging is for fun. Blog is not overly thoughtful. Blog sometimes has grammar and punctuation errors . . .

I'm afraid this blog has about a month or so to live.

Currently listening to Yoko Ono's song "Don't Worry Kyoko" . . . baffling . . . slightly painful . . . and yet bluesy . . .

Last night at Trans-Mission, lw played this mash-up of Madonna and New Order she's been raving about --but she played it after I left. (It was an early night for me.) Therefore, I took it upon myself to find it and download it. It's called "Hung Up On a Blue Monday" -- dancey, listenable. Probably the best mash-up I've yet heard (which isn't saying much, as most mash-ups totally suck). Then again, it's kind of a miracle that a mash-up was able to make listenable what hasn't been listenable since 1986 -- yes, Madonna, I mean you.

Link of the day is highly disgusting and I hope ef, who is running wild in Guatemala, takes heed: THIS.

Okay, I’ll admit it: I’m a little behind the times. Graduate school made it difficult for me to keep up with all current film/television happenings. For example, I’m just now at the end of The Sopranos . . . season 2. I’ll admit it – while violent and (on the whole) degrading to women, it is addictive. Janice killed Ritchie? Pussy is an informant? Carmella nearly had an affair?

It’s a fucking soap opera and I am addicted. I cannot stop watching it. Three in the afternoon on a Wednesday and there I am, sitting on the couch in a wife beater and sweat pants, mouth agape, watching The Sopranos. All I need is a box of bon-bons and an extra cat.

This afternoon, I tore myself away from The Sopranos to watch Grizzly Man. Depressing. Very, very depressing. Though the kind of mad passion Timothy Treadwell possessed is quite fascinating to me. Sadly, sometimes the most passionate people are also . . . um . . . insane. See, the thing is, grizzly bears can’t be your friends. Actually, no bears can be your friends. Except maybe teddy bears . . . and even those can only be your friend for a short time before it becomes what they call “abnormal.”

I’m currently trying to build enough momentum to propel myself down Clark and over to Trans-Mission where lw is dj-ing tonight. I should probably shower and go there. Be social. Stop hanging out with all these bears and go hang out with some trannies . . .

Link of the day (one of my all time favorite SNL sketches): THIS.

Okay, this heat, as my father would say, is “ri-goddamn-diculous.” Seriously. I’ve been whispering sweet nothings to ef’s air conditioner just so it doesn’t go and die on me. Because if it dies, I die.

Last night, lw and I went out for ten cent hot wings and cheap PBR in Wicker Park. The soaring temperatures made it difficult for me to scarf down my highly delicious hot wings – and that’s how I know it’s really, really hot. If I can’t finish a basket of greasy chicken bathed in hot sauce, something is WRONG.

I spent the day writing (I’m on a roll right now) and revisiting De Beauvoir’s Woman: Myth and Reality– trying to decide if I have the stamina to teach the piece. (Hell yes, I do.) It felt good to read theory after not having read much theory in a while. After reading the Beauvoir essay, I treated myself to watching a movie, Transamerica. Very good. Very sweet. Made me cry a little. At first I thought it was kind of lousy not to give the primary role to an actual transgendered person (because I’m sure there are many out there who want to and can act), but I heart Felicity Huffman (I’ll forgive her for doing “Desperate Housewives”) and she did a wonderful job.

ha and I are planning to go see Strangers With Candy tomorrow and I’m looking forward to that. That show was brilliant and brilliantly offensive. In my book, any show that succeeds in making me blush and laugh at the same time is impressive. (The last movie to do that was Sarah Silverman’s Jesus is Magic which ha and I happened to see together as well.)

Link of the day: THIS.