Boo to the World

Or, what to do when the event that was supposed to get you through the rest of the week is "cancelled."

Boo to the Lies
Anyone who knows me well, knew that the second I saw the Gwynne Dyer posters up around the university I started planning the upcoming week around his arrival. It's dorky, I know. But when two days in February have been drawn out over three weeks, you take what you can get.

So, you shouldn't be surprised by the fact that when that scrawny little know-nothing from the USC approached the podium and said that the whole thing was cancelled had I something to throw, I would have thrown it.

With that news at my disposal, I just sat there with my jaw nearly hitting the floor, teeter-tottering between rage and devastation. Then a ray of hope: a man with a silly red scarf announced that there is no way that it should be cancelled--Dyer is coming. Well, I don't usually make it my business to take the advice of men in silly red scarves, but some days you believe what you want to be true. Today was one of those days.

And come Dyer did. I was so glad I waited that I came up with a complex story about how the USC tried to sabotage the lecture in order to sell more drinks to minors while emptying out seats in front of the stage. My story was elaborate, sure; but if I were you I might doubt its validity. Just a thought.

So what did I learn? As much as a person possibly can from a writer that one has studied with nearly religious fervour. That is to say, I was happy to hear him speak, and he said some things that I hadn't thought of or fully understood, but they were things that I had read in one of his books or articles somewhere along the line.

Granted, I never thought I would hear the words "Long live the Communist Party of China, I guess" come out of the mouth of such a man. Just like in his writing, he structured his lecture very carefully to end on a baffling paradox that pulled everything together so neatly/disturbingly/confusingly that I sat there in shock for about twenty minutes, at which time I realized I was late for meeting Alycia.

Jean will be disappointed with me, but I didn't make a "In Dire need of Dyer" sign or stand up and shout when he arrived. I loved the fact that the USC set up a large pitcher of water for Mr. Dyer, and he found a way to get a beer instead. It's really classy to talk politics with a pint in hand. Note to self: always drink a pint while discussing the fate of the world.

Boo to No Shows
Besides Gwynne, I had an "interesting" afternoon. I met up with Alycia and hiked up to Essex to give a resume writing presentation, to which no one showed up. But there were cookies so we stuck around and talked to the Academic Counsellors. Eventually, about 6 or 7 people did come in at different times and we sat down and put in some face time with each and every one of them. For the most part they were polite and receptive, grateful and extremely nice. And then it was time to go...

Boo to Idiots
But you know that my stories never end that well. About two or three minutes before we were supposed to check out, this kid comes running in, laptop in hand, and says, "I just really need some help! I'm not too late am I?" And I, knowing that Alycia had to run home to do her feasability report, said, "I can give you some help quick. But I have to run soon so that I can catch my bus." I thought he seemed like a nice kid and you all know how bad I am at leaving someone who wants (my) help high and dry.

I thought it would be normal. I thought that I would tell him what I tell everyone else in a matter of seconds and then be on my way. But nothing I said sunk in with this kid. Every suggestion I made he argued with me about. I didn't want to be rude, and I finally suggested that he come in and talk to someone else at the job search clinic, where there are more resources and someone would be able to explain more thoroughly why "was trusted to close the store" is a passive and inappropriate point for a job description. [Sidebar: If you don't know, I can explain it. It's really not that difficult. However, if you try to tell me that "was trusted" and "closed" are both verbs in the passive voice I will personally club you to death. Okay?]

Boo to London Transit
And so I missed my bus. It was after 7, which means that the buses come way way less often. And so I froze a little. Took the 9C up to Wonderland and walked the rest of the way home. Upon arrival, I remembered that I hadn't eaten all day and despite the fact that the only thing I really wanted in the whole world was a rum and coke, I made myself some cheese sticks and tried to forget all about life.

Boo to Homework
Clearly I have not done any of my reading or homework as I was supposed to since my long and treacherous journey back from the school. Two out of my three analyses are done, but I don't know if they are right at all so I quit. I should be reading Robinson Crusoe but I love talking to you all so much more.

I finished up As I Lay Dying last night, but haven't touched the other things that I wanted to have done in anticipation of slack week. Granted, I will have a full week, plus a few days, to catch up as I see fit.

Boo to March
It is upon us. March is so close it hurts to think about it. Prepare yourselves for more drama than usual (and I know, I provide a healthy dose as it is). In March I should hear something about Ford for the summer. Boo to Ford. Boo to March. Boo to essays.

Boo to the World!

Yes, that means you. Boo to you too.

Random: Visual Version

As promised. I am not to blame for more than half of these random pictures. (Did you like my ambiguity there? I sure hope so.)

I didn't think this is the picture I was choosing...but they take so very long to load. It's kind of scary, but only if you are a wimp like me. Dennis took it. He can have all the credit. (Jobe 2006) Yes, I am citing everything because Rory made me think it was a good idea.

Katrina and her drunken friends in Korea. They wouldn't be so happy if they realized I was missing. (? 2006)

This is the first picture I was looking for. It is Rory's interpretation of how the blanket I am making him would look. He clarifies, "Only with more stars like that one and a really ugly green" (Burns 2006). No wonder he was worried. No wonder his worry made me want to cry.

The look on Brett's face when Ana kissed me at the bar as a birthday present. Also, the reason why we had to pose again for the camera--Shane turned to take a picture of Brett at the last second instead of us...stupid boys. (McGinnes 2006)

The look on Ana's face after she took the nasty shot as part of the drinking game. Here's what was in it: rum and coke, orange juice and vodka, motts clamato, banana liquer and sambooka. Oh, and I think some sort of mango juice. I would have died first. Ana's a trooper. (McGinnes/Smith [the distinction is a little hazy on a night like that one] 2006)

My fourteen year old brother skating on top of the pool. No, that's really not safe. If the picture had audio, you'd be able to hear me yelling at him to get off the pool and at Shane for thinking it was funny... (McGinnes 2006)

This is an otter and its yellow slide. We saw the otter at Storybook Gardens. I love otters. (McGinnes 2005)
This is a picture that Rory painted and sent to me via MSN. Look at that talent (Burns 2006).

Wouldn't you like to live in an apartment with a view like that? I would too. Unfortunately, I think that apartment is make believe because Dennis cut out some building that was uglying up his photo. If you were ever curious about what a hangover and some boredom in London can do for you, this might be the best answer you're ever going to get. Suddenly I feel like a horrible hostess. (Jobe 2006).

The penguin that Shane won for me at the movies on our 3rd anniversary. Isn't it adorable? (Smith 2005).

And that is that. More randomness to come, but you knew that already didn't you? Back to Gulliver's Englishness.

Random

Every now and then I like to make a post that makes you walk away saying, "Well, that was random." This is one of those times.

Yesterday during my group's rendition of One Flea Spare, (1.2 and 2.5--for those of you that are familiar with Naomi Wallace) Rohan spit in my face. He was supposed to miss. He missed the place he was aiming for (the floor) and the saliva caught me between my nose and upper lip. Everyone who didn't see what happened was convinced that my acting skills had just improved dramatically as I finished the extremely emotional scene on the brink of tears.

Gwynne Dyer is coming to UWO and I'm going to see him at all costs. The cost will likely be 2% of my participation mark in the class where I either get spit on or gaze at myself in a mirror, pretending to be the lesbian lover of Rohan--a gay man.

At least the cost isn't cash. Shane's on unemployment and I'm trying to save my death money. There's no one left to die to give me more inheritance if I can't pay my rent next year.

OSAP should look a little more seriously at the little girl--me.

I finished up Shane's red blanket in time for Valentine's Day and he forgot to take it back to Toronto with him. I didn't realize he left it until about two seconds ago.

I started Rory's blanket and it makes me laugh so very hard. It is a green and black starburst blanket. Rory tells me it is superb.

Jean is making an identical blanket but her starbursts will be orange. She keeps calling me to ask me how the pattern goes. It is SO simple. [Row a: ch 3 (counts as dc) 2 dc in next 2 dc, ch 1, (dc in next dc, ch 1) across to last 3 dc, 3 dc in las 3 dc. Row b: ch 3, 2 dc in next 2 dc, ch 1 (7 dc in next 7 st/sp, ch 1) across to last 3 dc, 3 dc in last 3 dc, etc.]

More than wanting to know the pattern she wanted to know why her starbursts didn't look the same as mine. My initial reaction was to tell her because hers are orange and mine are green. My second reaction was to tell her that I had no idea because I lost my ability to see things over the phone after the terrible boating accident of '89.

No, there was no terrible boating accident of '89.

No, there was no terrible boating accident at all.

It was a snowmobile accident, okay? I saw the tree, but no body told me the brakes didn't work.

The deadline for submission of applications for English 298E has been extended. I now have an extra week to get ulcers about applying for a creative writing class that I probably won't like anyway. If you still want to help me out with that one visit http://irisinexile.blogspot.com or ask me for the manuscriptI put together to hand in yesterday.

I was so ready to be a better person before I went to sleep last night. I convinced myself that I just need to buckle down a bit and everything would be okay. I packed gym clothes so that I could go to the pilates class and everything.

Hostile Wednesday hit and my resolution failed. Again.

Not only did I get spit on yesterday in Modern Drama, I had to feel up and kiss a stranger. Well, it was Shane, but not the Shane you think it is.

I am painfully aware of my feet right now.

My essay on Gulliver as a foolish Englishman and how his persona helps satirize the values of Great Britain as a whole in the 18th century is not going well. It's due tomorrow. I have all the books, a half decent outline and 4 pages written. But I can't make it long enough. I have never had the "not long enough" problem--only the "way way too long" problem. I am tired of thinking about Swift.

I am forcing myself to stay in the computer lab for as long as possible because if I leave I think I might make a run for it. And American Lit is really quite important.

I haven't finished As I Lay Dying yet. That's what we're supposed to be talking about in American Lit.

My mom reminded me 15 times before I left on Sunday that I needed to check the mail for her Valentine. It still hasn't come.

I actually have no solution to the sound of this pollution in me. Only more problems.

Monday morning on the bus instead of bursting into tears (like normal) I started laughing so hard because I was listening to Here is Gone and it reminded me of my first Goo Goo Dolls concert with Jenn, Jay, and Rebecca. The look was all for me.

If there were one person in the world right now that I would really want to talk to it would be Rebecca. I guess absence actually makes the heart grow fonder. I was pretty fond of her from the get go though.

Rory has decided that my dream job would be to type out interviews for newspapers from audio tapes. He based this decision on the fact that I am anal about putting two spaces between a period and the first letter of the next sentence.

Blogger always erases the second space. It drives me nuts.

Hillary is coming to London for the weekend. She is very excited. On Saturday she is going to make me dinner.

I have a psychology exam at 2 o'clock on Saturday afternoon.

I hate the world for hating me.

Try as I might, some days I am destined to lose every game of FreeCell that I play. Today appears to be one of those days.

The SDC is recruiting new volunteers for the Career Assistant Program. You could do what I do, only not quite as well. I am the sole returning Career Assistant out of the 13 volunteers that we had this year. That oughta tell you something about my perseverence--or everyone else's lack thereof. This will be my third year as a Career Assistant. They will never change my title though unless I'm enrolled in a program so that I can become an intern, or have graduated from a program so that I can be a counsellor.

My ability and tendency to trust anyone decreases more and more with each passing day. You've done nothing to counteract this phenomenon.

I sent a bunch of people ecards for Valentine's day. If you didn't get one, don't be offended because I was only sending them to people I was actually talking to at the time. I sent one to Dennis and he was so mad at me. But I got an email that says he opened it. I bet he loved it and now he feels horrible for treating me so cruelly. Actually, I mostly bet that he was drunk and didn't know what he was doing. And now he hates me a little more than he did the day before.

My plan is working.

Gilmore Girls might just be the best thing that ever happened to me.

On May 6th, Shane made plans to take me to the restaurant at the CN Tower. Convinced it was our 3 and a half year (plus two days so that it would be a Saturday) anniversary, he arranged everything a few weeks ago. He told me to keep the day free last weekend.

Shane never plans anything more than two minutes in advance.

May 6th is a month too early for a three and a half year celebration. Three years, five months, and two days seems like an odd occasion to plan something big.

After I pointed all of this out he started claiming it was all part of his master plan to divert my attention. Wow.

This entry just keeps getting longer and longer. But there was a specific something I wanted to say and now I can't remember what it was. So I just keep typing.

I am pretty sure I forgot to put deoderant on this morning and I'm paying for it now.

I am a question to the world. Not an answer to be heard. Or a moment, that's held in your arms.

Terri-Lynn and I have invented new slang. That's so feb of us.

It smells like kelbassa in here. I don't know why. At least its not making me hungry.

Damn, I just realized I haven't eaten anything yet. Coke won't sustain me forever, or will it?

Sometimes, the ability and drive to persevere is priceless. More often than not, worthless.

I'm going to go home tonight to try to find the name of the rhetorical scheme I just used there.

I lost my third FreeCell game in a row and I still can't remember what that everso pertinent point was.

Stay tuned for "Random: The Visual Version" with such entries as "This is my lamp. Dennis took a picture of it and then made it look more blue. I don't understand how he did it. I don't think I care. But maybe I do." It will be all kinds of great fun. I was not the answer so forget you ever thought it was me. Whatta ya got to move you, darling? Please don't say spitting in my face.

Groundhog Day: An Exposé

It's always been a pack of lies, of course, but it's fun, and we need fun if we are to survive another Canadian February. --CBC News Online. February 2, 2006. Available: http://www.cbc.ca/news/background/groundhogday/

Wiarton Willie, the groundhog that kept the lie working for him, so he could continue to work for a lie...until the day he died.

(Photo courtesy of CBC News Online.)

When I first found out about Groundhog day, I was perplexed. Seriously, the logic is fairly twisted, don't you think? If it's sunny then winter is going to last but if its snowing or cloudy or generally disgusting then we can throw a party because spring is coming early. And CBC says we can blame the crazy Scots for it.

Groundhog day should have been put to rest with Willie's death, but they just found a replacement. More than that, the display of Willie's body at his wake (which you have to admit is a little creepy to begin with) was a farce. CBC reports: "On Groundhog Day, they put Wiarton Willie face-up in a small pine casket, bright pennies over his eyes, paws clutching a raw carrot. But it was a fake! Turns out the real Wiarton Willie was so disgustingly decomposed he couldn't be put on display, so they found a stuffed facsimile and laid it in the casket."

Honestly, I don't know how that could be shocking. Animals rot after they die. If they could fake Willie's ability to predict the future, then why would they even consider not faking his death/burial? And why the hell did anybody care? I don't think anybody did. Well, no body but these guys:

A bunch of old men with no legitimate reason left for dressing in ugly suits and donning weird top hats. The only one I would trust even a little is the guy in the black hat, he just seems to be having fun and smiling for the camera. The big guy in front scares the crap out of me. He looks like he's thinking about punching someone in the face for doubting Willie's magnificent ability to see or not see his shadow. After that, the man on the far right who is "consulting" with the groundhog is probably just off his rocker. I make it a rule never to trust people that I think are insane.

But the plan is set. Next year, Andrew and I are going to blind[fold] the new Willies so that it is impossible for them to see their shadow. I said maybe we should just give them each an eye patch, so it would be harder but we wouldn't be cheating as much. Andrew pointed out that it's all a lie anyway, so it's not cheating because it can't be true. I was inclined to agree.

Happy February everybody. And remember, "Christmas lights are for Christmas, NOT groundhog day!"

To Derek

This is my blog, Derek. And this is my blog entry that is dedicated to you so that your first impression of my blog wasn't a list of books that the university is making me read. After the story about the birthday party at the yarn event, I figured I'd better put forth a little extra effort. Also, this is a picture of waffles. They are good wholesome fun. The kind of fun that I like best.

So, Derek, here you are. And I rushed home just so that I could write you this cute little message. Seriously, I didn't rush that much, mostly because I missed my bus...then there was some walking and some grumbling, then some getting on the wrong bus...story of my life actually--ask anyone.

I figure the nicest thing I can do for you at this point is to get you reading in the right direction. You need to start at the beginning, November of 2004 and read a couple of the early, super bitter rants that got me started in the blog business. Just dabble a little. If a title sounds interesting, give it a shot. But I will warn you now, at least half the time the title is incredibly misleading. If you want to know more about my quasi-religion, and my following, there are pictures posted of my new converts (some which I already showed you) and the rules are archived somewhere...try September or October 2005.

Now, from time to time you may read something or a see a picture that seems slightly out of character for me. I'd just like to remind you that I am actually the perfect little angel that I make myself out to be, and you should never, for any reason, doubt my honesty when I tell you that I do not get into any trouble. Testimonials to come. The world loves me...they just have a weird way of showing it. And Derek, you should convert now too.

To the rest of you Weinists and Weiners, tell Derek how great I am in the comments and maybe he will be persuaded to invite you to his flame-shirt party. I'm going to wear a tutu and my purple crown.

PS Happy Birthday to Jean. Jean it's your birthday. You thought that this blog would be all about someone who is not you, but you were wrong. Jean, you are old today. And I love you Jean. [Note to self: I do not love Eugene. (Note to self: start writing more notes to self.)] Stop the madness. Convert.

What I'm Reading: Back to School Edition

Alternatively titled: "For Better, or Quite Possibly Worse" because the things I have to read for school, and the things I want to read despite school are rarely very well aligned.

If the Christmas edition of "What I'm Reading" didn't satisfy your thirst, here is a look at my slightly more scholarly endeavours of late (and those yet to come):

1. The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas by Gertrude Stein. American Lit. No, you read it right. All in all not a bad read, if you can handle the tone--super conversational.
2. Boswell's London Journal by James Boswell, Ed. Pottle. Restoration Lit. If you like to read about 18th-century sexually transmitted diseases, this might be the book for you. I am considering writing an essay on Boswell's Scottishness...I was supposed to finish the book for last term though and haven't cracked the spine even as we speak. Maybe I will stick to Gulliver's Englishness...it's slightly less disgusting.
3. The History of Rasselas, Prince of Abissinia by Samuel Johnson. Also for Restoration Lit. I don't have any clue what it's about, but I have to do a 60 minute presentation on it in March. So I put it on my list to remind myself.
4. "Dress Suits for Hire" by Holly Hughes as printed in Clit Notes. Modern Drama. There's a stirring moment in this play that actually makes the sacrament of Christ sexually explicit in ways I never thought I would live to see. For a more dramatic rendition, come to my presentation Tuesday afternoon. Oh ya, I'm pretending to be a lesbian for like 10 minutes. I bet the unbelievability caused by my wretched acting will be deemed my fear of successfully performing in an identity I don't wish to sympathise with. I bet.
5. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof by Tennessee Williams. Modern Drama. I actually read it for last week's class but still feel it deserves a bit of a recommendation. For anyone feeling sexually frustrated or ostracized...you'll really identify with the central metaphor. Seriously, that's what I've been told.
6. Poems by Ezra Pound. American Lit. So, Pound was a fascist and my professor has actually spent the better part of his academic career trying to figure him out. Maybe you can solve the enigma for me and I'll use it as my fourth year thesis.
7. The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemmingway. Impotence is a fascinating subject for fiction, don't you think?
8. Chapter Ten of Child Development...I think it's more on cognitive development...maybe even information processing theory. In case you thought I was too literarily-minded.
9. "Reading as Goal-Oriented Behaviour" by D.G. Bouwhuis. DTP. Worst twenty minutes of my life spent reading. Maybe not, but holding some serious clout in the very most boringest category.
10. George and Rue by George Elliott Clarke. Because I really want to read it! This was my new book of the month and Shane's "ya ya I'm sorry I left you worrying about whether I was dead or alive for hours at a time" present to me on Saturday. I am so excited to read it I can barely breathe. And I have so much to read for school...but I am going to sleep with George tonight. That's all there is to it.

Stay tuned. I'm surprisingly pleased with life the world and everything tonight, but you know how closely bitterness always follows sweets. For the sake of keeping your faith in me I'll let you in on one of my more clever aphorisms of the last month of so: "I feel the same way about doctors that I feel about pants: everyone should have to use them but me." I said something I can't touch and I always want way too much, anyway. Convert to Weinism. Convert to knowledge.

Some Things to Think About

"If you don't shut the hell up right now, I'm going to rip out my uterus and strangle you with my fallopian tubes." --Jean, on numerous occasions. Why is it that when we get angry we start talking about our uteruses?

Everybody is a little worked up right now. A month after Christmas, resolutions are failing and reality is setting in again. I warned you about that. But no one likes to listen to me, and since I tend to believe I'm at least partly to blame (because I say so many important things it's sometimes hard to keep track), I'd like to take a moment to point out a few important things:

• The Conservatives can't end the world. Don't forget that across the country there are people whose worst nightmares involve Jack Layton just thinking he has any control, and likewise, some people would have done absolutely anything to prevent the Conservatives from getting elected. In a university environment, I get a lot more exposure to the latter, but when I'm home the former reigns supreme. The middle ground usually wins out in Canada, which is why Mackenzie King lasted so long--he said nothing and did as little as possible. Some things will change, but there are still a lot of people in Canada who will make sure Bush knows how we feel about him, no matter what Harper says.
• Valentines Day is usually worse for couples than single people. I know you don't believe me, but coming up to the 14th of February, more fights break out over the absence of one or the other or both partners on a day that has been commercialized. Don't forget it was named after a guy that was brutally killed for his religious beliefs. No, not cupid.
• January marks the second half of a relatively short school year. If you can get through four months at an unstimulating low- (or, for many of us, high-)paying job, at which you would rather rip out your own tongue, tear it in half, and stick each half in your ear rather than hear the conversations around you, then you can handle 15 hours of class a week and few piddly readings. You don't get a reading week halfway through the summer. You're lucky if you have the energy to get trashed once a week with those people that inspire the tongue ripping.
• Someone you know has it much worse than you do and you don't know it. My old philosophy of just trying to make life easier for everybody else comes into play here. I know, you're dog ran away and your parents won't give you any peace and you are all confused about what you're going to do about that boy/girl/teacher/friend/enemy...and of course, I'm not trying to cut you down for a little self-pity (we all know how much I enjoy it) but chances are, when you are really upset about something huge, you don't act the same way as you would about that little blowout you had with your roommate. Right? So focus outward just a little. Make sure everyone around you is okay. If you haven't seen someone for a few days, give them a call. Making sure the people you care about are still breathing amidst your own sorrows will at least make you seem like a good friend. That means when you really need a favour, you can find a few people who owe you their life or their sanity and let them take you somewhere to get plastered.
  
• Your best friend is probably not the person you think it is. It is not the person you spend every second with, or the person who listens intently to you when you have a problem. It is the person who absolutely insists on staying the whole five hours at a yarn event even if it means you have to walk, hitchhike, or ride your bike back to London. It's the person who asks the dumb questions that force you to give an honest answer. The person who laughs at you for getting all worked up over your disastrous life. It's the person that you call in tears, who shows up at your door and kidnaps you for Second Cup. She is the person who you talked into driving you to a yarn outlet in Listowel, you got lost, compensated with a can of coke, and made sit and wait in a college hallway for three hours so that you didn't have to take a bus to Waterloo, even though you told her she didn't have to take you. Of course she did. It was the yarn outlet for heaven's sake. If you don't have one of those, I pity you so much.
  
• Some of the people that really care about you act like they don't. It's the kindergarten tactic: torment the one you love. I've never been more mad at Shane then when he starts pushing my buttons because I know that he is doing it on purpose. I have a lot more patience for the person that doesn't know how I'll react. What's all this mean? If I'm driving you nuts it's because I love you. What a compliment!
• Everything's wrong, and it's alright. When in doubt, sing a lot of songs that make you laugh. Or, tell somebody this joke: What is green, has four legs, and if it falls out of a tree it could kill you? A pool table. It's funny because you wouldn't expect a pool table to be in a tree!
  

I am so late for class again. I was supposed to work out my essay outline for my Gulliver's Travels paper. Instead, I rambled about things you should already know but that I really think a lot of people have forgotten. The most important thing to remember is THINGS COULD BE WORSE. Always. Don't forget to convert. Your bitter happiness is awaiting you.

Everything that's Wrong with the World

As of 11:39 tonight:

Conservative: 124 seats
Liberals: 102 seats
Bloc: 50
NDP: 31
Independent: 1

No one is happy and the CBC keeps saying there's a partial victory for everyone. So, right now, the NDP has some sway; but I think you're crazy if you think they can get along with the Conservatives. We'll see. Back to the polls before you know it I bet. Maybe by then the choices will be more appealing. Not likely. Here comes hostile mid-January. Man alive.

Jumping Jolly January

I lied. I really hate it. January sucks.

January is madness. I think madness and January should be synonymous. In fact, from now on, I'm going to use them interchangeably. When chaos breaks loose, I'm going to curl up in a little ball and cry: "This is JANUARY!" And the whole world is going to look at me and say, "Well, thank you Mrs. Obvious." Because the whole world is not very creative when it has to be expressed collectively. Also, I'm going to start dating my work, Madness 18th, 2006. Moreover, I will refer back to the beginning of Madness, just after New Years.

So, my friends, this is why Madness is january:

• Half the world is trying to make resolutions and the other half is resolving not to make any. And I hate them all.
• People get paranoid about crazy things, like fruit flies stealing their buns. Who has ever heard of fruit flies in Madness? It is way too cold for them.
• Delayed midterms. More than that, all the teachers that think that Madness is not january and January is not pure madness, so they make you do more work than normal because you have the time now and you won't have it in March.
• Snow. I know, yesterday I would have told you that I would much prefer snow to the freezing rain that was dripping down my back. But today is not yesterday and today I hate snow.
• Crazy teachers. I had a whole month away from them, and when I came back the madness had spread. They have the worst cases of the Januaries I've ever seen. Today my DTP teacher ended his lecture like this: "So is everybody okay? Isn't life great? Are you all feeling good? How about this weather eh? I fell in love for the first time on a day just like this. I was thinking about it this morning; I can still remember the way the snowflakes looked on her eyelashes...I was six. I'm lying I was old. You can leave now if you want." JANUARY!

Want some tips on how to live through this Madness? Hide. Go to bed for a week and then go to the doctor so you can be diagnosed with SAD and get out of those delayed midterms and not find yourself crying about snow and the January of Madness. I've gone so far as to invite company (two people in one weekend!) in an attempt to counteract the January that is driving me to drink. I don't know how much of a solution that is. It's like I said to Will, we're great at identifying a whole list of problems, but we haven't got a single solution. What a world. Happy hostile Wednesday. Don't forget to convert a friend.

My New Year's Resolve

Things that I want to believe I can start or stop doing.

Resolution #1 (And the pains it took to get me there...)
The new year causes a lot of things to happen for lots of people. Talk of New Year's resolutions gets old really fast, and I'll tell you off the bat, my resolve has nothing to do with boring the likes of you. (That means I can bore you or I can not...t makes no difference to me.)

Well, so here's what actually got me thinking: back in October, when the Shane and Erin Book of the Month Club was just getting underway, I bought myself the Daily Show Day Calendar. Ya ya, who buys a calendar in October? Me, okay? Are you satisfied? Well, I was behind a little, and didn't start tearing off pages until I got back to London. And I stood there for a long time, wondering what I should do with them. Now there is a stack of 12 or so, just sitting on top of my book shelf--messy as all get out. Moreover, everything that is on the calendar is in the America book, which Shane bought me for Christmas. So it's not as though I will never be able to find the quotes and whatnot if I throw them out.

And I couldn't figure out what my affiliation to these pieces of garbage is. For the life of me, I don't know why I can't just get rid of them. Part of me is a little sad that so much paper is being wasted, but to be honest I don't let myself dwell on things like that...it's not that hard to recycle after all.

Yesterday, I was doing some reading and watching tv and my mom came in, all excited and asked me if I read her Chicken Soup calendar story yet. Then she brought it in and stood over me until I read it and smiled up at her and told her it was cute. And I thought to myself, How crazy is she? Then went back to my reading.

So it finally hit me, when I went into the kitchen today: my mother makes me do it. I want to keep those calendar stories because my mother is a pack rat. Tried and true, she is pained by the mere suggestion that she is keeping too much junk because she is not only a pack rat, she is also in major denial. It's only the fifteenth of January, and already she has put about ten Chicken Soup calendar quotes up on the fridge. Oh, so she threw out five? That's bad but not so bad, right? Well, no...Saturday and Sunday count together.

And that of course, brings me to my first New Year's resolution: I'm going to actively embrace my pack rattiness. That means, I won't worry about why I keep things or even where I keep them...I will just be proud of myself for keeping them. Go me.

Don't worry they won't all be that long.

Resolution #2: Dedicated to every body else
Now, here I am, having a few drinks while I type away. The tv is playing some movie I don't want to watch and no one is saying any thing I'm very interested in hearing. And then, Andrew dropped my booze on the concrete floor! Oh my goodness gracious, so much for creative juices...and here is it, number two: I'm not going to let any body I wouldn't trust with my life handle my alcohol. That means that if you have any plans to slip me a little date rape, you better be damn convincing and a completely trustworthy, unclumsy kind of wonderful. Nothing less will do. My faith was shattered like the bottle, and even if you put all the pieces back together, it would never be the same again.

Resolution #3: Boo to Listening
I think more than anything I am tired of advice. I'm really exhausted from hearing other people tell me what I think and what I feel and what I should be doing differently. I know that sounds harsh, but the fact is the people who offer that advice don't know how to live their own lives, so they think they can control mine. How annoying. Even if they know better, sometimes I think I'd rather stay in the dark. That means, ignorance is bliss--for real this time. And I'll make it fair, if I ask you a question, you don't have to spare my feelings, but for the love of Pete's starving family, don't take it upon yourself to tell me something because you think I need to know it. Let me decide. If I want to or need to know something, then I will probably find out, with or without you as the case may dictate. You can count on the same from me, unless otherwise stated in section V.ii of our friendship/enemy agreement. Got it?

Resolution #4: My Life is a Closed Book
Pretend it doesn't even exist. That'll make things a lot easier on me...I can't have any secrets if I don't have any...what is the opposite of secret? We'll try it another way: I won't be hiding anything, if I am hiding everything...Yes, twisted logic, that is resolution number 4 and 5.

Let me know your resolutions too. I know you have some good ones. Let me get you started: resolution #1 for every body but me...listen to more goo. I said something I can't touch cuz I always want way too much anyway...then you might know what it is I'm talking about.