I had a big cry over Chris on Monday night, but it ended suddenly when Kev contacted me on MSN. We talked for about an hour, and I felt completely restored after that.

I have a crush on Kev. He’s married, though, so it will never amount to anything. This is both good and bad, actually, because it will never amount to anything. On the one hand, having feelings for someone who doesn’t return them sucks. On the other, I don’t need a relationship right now, so this is better than pursuing an easy target.

I talked to him again last night for what will be the last time until he returns from a 3.5 week trip in the US. Again, good and bad. He cheers me up so I will miss him, but maybe his absence will help me to get rid of the crush.

Anyway, I was up until nearly 3 am last night and I woke up again around 6 with abdominal pain similar to taking a bullet. I assume, anyway. I knew that it would eventually go away so I just rolled myself into the most comfortable position and waited it out, but it did make me wonder what I would do if I were ever really sick and how would I know?

That’s a scary thing about living alone. When I was 11, I had to write my own obituary for class. Most everyone wrote about having grandchildren and dying of old age. In mine, I was an unmarried, childless spinster who died alone at home when she choked on a piece of food. Age 35.

My teacher thought it was sad; I thought it reflected my desire to never get old and never turn into my parents. I no longer think that turning into my parents is such a ghastly fate. Dying because I am alone and can’t fend for myself in even the most minor medical emergency sounds just a bit more tragic.

I’ve been talking quite a bit lately with the Scotsman, who may soon get to reclaim his name here, because Austrian Chris is a twat. The Scotsman wants us to get back together and has made this very clear. I am, however, not ready to date. Last night, I was thinking about this and how I’ve been approached by a few men and I keep brushing off their advances because the thought of building a new relationship (only to have it crumble the way that mine and Austrian Chris Twat’s or ACT’s did) exhausts me. With the exception of Kev, with whom a friendship already existed and only a friendship is a possibility, the only men with whom I have any interest in communicating are those who I only see (want?) as friends.

This is a problem, though, because the Scotsman is extremely interested in me, and it sort of made me aware of the kind of dumbfuckery that Chris promoted and that many men believe, which is that you can never be friends with a woman you’re interested in. There is, possibly, a certain amount of truth in it. While I’m talking to the Scotsman because he is safe and warm and someone I really like, he sees all the time he’s putting in with me as a sort of insurance: he talks me through my breakup and then, when I’m read to date again, he’s obviously the first choice. Dumbfuck misogynists say that I’ll pick another jerk, though, and that the Scotsman is wasting his time (actually, a reversal of this could be seen in my relationship with David—I invested time and feelings and gave him what, I thought, he was looking for, but I was not a proper choice for a girlfriend).

I refuse to prove this theory true, though. Thus, I told the Scotsman last night that I am not ready for a relationship because I feel damaged by the last one, and I told him that it isn’t fair of me to ask him for anything because I know what he hopes to gain from it. He told me that he can’t help how much he wants me and how he loves the way I make him feel. Basically, he got out of it what he wanted to hear.

Moving on...

I’ve been able to take some time for myself and am working on reading Henry Miller's Tropic of Capricorn. I can’t decide yet if I like it or not but Miller's style and language are like nothing I’ve read in a very long time, so it’s wonderful and inspiring and definitely needed.

Holy crap! It's so random that I happened to look at The New York Times book review just now, as it's something I've only read a handful of times before, but what did I find?

One of my classmates from Wash U has written a book! Someone I knew as just another undergrad is making it big in the literary world. That's amazing.

I mean, this guy graduated with the same degree as me in the same year and he lived on Leon's freshman floor. I used to sit by him in Masters of European Literature II and would eavesdrop on him gossiping about his roommate who was a friend of a friend.

Anyway, his book looks really interesting, and I'd like to read it, but I probably won't be able to get my hands on it any time soon. Still, I'm so impressed and happy for him. Coverage in The New York Times for your debut novel? Way to go, man! You do the rest of the class of 2004 proud.

Article and photograph of the author here.

Yes, I'm still alive; I just haven't been blogging. Obviously. I got this crazy idea to take the time and energy that I would normally spend on updating my LiveJournal and refocus it on other writing. Three times in the last couple of weeks, I have done that pathetic thing that I, like many fellow bloggers, do where I'm out experiencing things and I start thinking about the blog entry I'll write about said experience. And all three times I have written the whole thing in my head, more or less, as I was riding the Metro or walking down the street or cleaning my toilet. And then once I had this nice little blog post written up and ready to spill out of my brain and onto the computer, I decided that it wasn't worth the time.

I think this is what normal people call "prioritizing."

I have started typing one of those three "blog entries," but now I'm going to call them "short stories." Or "essays." Because I think they're interesting and worth writing, but I think they deserve a better treatment than my blog. Emphasis on my blog. There are tons of blogs out there with everyday writings that are far better than anything I could ever write. But writing interesting things for LiveJournal can't be a priority for me right now, as I'm sure you've figured out while reading this.

Anyway, since I last wrote, Caroline's mom came and went. She was in Prague for about 9 days and I joined her and Caroline on a trip to Dresden. Later I joined her, Caroline, and Caroline's boyfriend Jirka (the "j" has a "y" sound) on a trip to South Bohemia. Because I'm in Bohemia. I didn't even know that until about a week ago.

Something else I learned is that Franz Kafka was born in Prague. I always thought he was a German, perhaps because he wrote in German, lived most of his life in Germany, and the copy of The Castle that I purchased last week quotes Vladamir Nabokov saying that Kafka is/was "the greatest German writer of our time." Or something like that.

Right now, Jeff and Helen are visiting Prague. Jeff is a friend from college who was an usher in my wedding, and Helen is his fiance. He wrote me the nicest email about a week ago, since seeing him here meant that I had to tell him why the hell I'm here in the first place. He said quite eloquently that he understood and offered his philosophy on the matter, which was that our generation has come to expect (and perhaps feel that we deserve) more than is reasonable. We think of ourselves as extraordinary and realizing that we aren't is quite a fucking letdown. I've actually thought about the same thing over the past several years, and I'd have to say that he's hit the nail on the head.

Anyway, that's enough for now. I have some pictures that I'll surely post in the next few days, but I can't do that now as I've already wasted too much of my precious time.

Oh my God, Kurt Vonnegut died.

It was my dream to meet him and now I am absolutely devastated. I knew he was old and had some health problems, but he was obviously supposed to hold out just a bit longer so I could visit him.

I am so sad.

But since I know he was a secular humanist, I will at least humor him with this: I bet he's up in heaven, smiling down on us.

Damn, I loved that man.

Largely inspired by the fictional organization KEVIN (or Keepers of the Eternal and Victorious Islamic Nation) from Zadie Smith's White Teeth, I decided to form my own organization with an acronym problem.

Today, I invited Barry to join me next Thursday for the founding session of the new Meeting of Overachieving Minds or MOM.

Barry: uh.. yeah.. somehow i don't think i qualify being in that club

Well, he doesn't sound enthusiastic yet, but let's just see if he shows up. Our first order of business is for one MOM to gain acceptance into Mensa. After that, we'll discuss our life goals as prospective Mensa members. Life for MOM should be interesting; let's see how it goes!

Today my coworker Barry shot me a link to a website where an author is assembling his novel, chapter by chapter. The novel is called Alien Horse, and it's the story of a talking horse trying to make it in a post-9/11 world.

Some of my favorite passages:

"'I know you don't believe talking horses like me exist. We do exist in another world. like your own, yet different.'"

"Elly walked away. I watched her leave. She had elegance to her motion. Compared to me, she had class. I wasn't a clumsy person but her movements were stylish to the point yet workable. The stylish movements did not interfere with her walking. She displayed charm when she walked. She had to have had personal training. I could only guess from sitting on her back."

"She had a normal woman's voice, most of the time. A few times she slipped into a strange horsie accent, reminiscent of Mr. Ed."

As Maggie put it: Coming soon to a vanity publisher near you!

On Sunday, I "took" Leon to Petaluma to get his anniversary present, which was to have his new copy of Going Postal and his older The Colour of Magic/The Light Fantastic signed by Terry Pratchett. I didn't exactly "take" him, though, as he was in the driver's seat while I was slumped over feeling dizzy and nauseated, thanks to missing two days of Paxil.

Despite this, Pratchett was enjoyable. Having only read one of his books (The Colour of Magic), I felt like a bit of an outsider, much like the little four-year-old girl sitting in front of me, who laughed and clapped when everyone else did even though she had no idea what was going on. (Our similarities end there, though, as only one of us did headstands in her father's lap while farting audibly.)

Leon said on the drive home that even he, who has read all but two of Pratchett's 40 books, felt a bit out of place. A lot of the crowd hung on Pratchett's every word and vocally reacted to nearly everything he said and Leon, while a true fan, just isn't that hardcore.

Nevertheless, Pratchett signed Leon's books and I snapped some photos (we weren't allowed to use flash and were instructed to remain in front of his signing table at all times, which caused me at first to think Pratchett must be a very strange man but later made me realize that these are some pretty tame rules for a guy who probably has been hounded by some fucking nutjob sci-fi and fantasy fans [note upcoming photo of man in witch hat]):



( Two more in here but load time is absurd! )

On our drive home, my Paxil withdrawal got the better of me and I made Leon pull over so I could retch in the parking lot of a Sizzler Steakhouse while two old people in a pickup craned their necks to see what I was doing, doubled over in the grass. Fortunately, it was just a bunch of dry heaving and I felt much better the following day.

Still, it wasn't the most romantic way to cap off a day that was in part a celebration of our first year of marriage. "Happy anniversary, Leon!" *gag, puke, barf* It sort of puts the headstand farts into perspective, doesn't it?

My mother-in-law is going to have her stem cell transplant at some point during the next month, as part of her cancer treatment. She e-mailed me this morning to ask if there is a book of poetry that I could recommend for this time.

I'm not sure if she wants the poems to read en route to the treatment (it will require a trip across Tennessee) or to read during the treatment, but I think it's a fair assumption that she wants something uplifting and inspirational.

I'm more of a Sylvia Plath, Jorie Graham girl, so I really don't know what to suggest. I don't want to suggest nothing because that sounds so dismissive and unsupportive. So do you know of anything she might like?

You should probably be aware that she is Jewish, so no Christian prayer stuff and it can't merely be humorous--it has to have more depth than that--because she isn't fond of light, silly comedy.

This is almost two years old, but I just came upon it today. It's Dave Barry's attempt to write a Da Vinci Code-type thriller.

Excerpt:

Chapter four: "It's a fiendishly clever code," explained Desiree. "As you can see, the words say ‘White House White House Bo Bite House, Banana Fana Fo Fite House, Fe Fi Mo Mite House, White House.'"

"Yes," said Hugh, frowning in bafflement, "But what can it possibly mean?"

"If I am correct," said Desiree, "it is referring to . . . the White House!"

"My God!" said Hugh. "That's where the president lives! Do you think . . ."

"Do I think what?" said Desiree.

"I don't know," said Hugh. "But we're about to find out."

Read more here.

Leon and I went for a long walk yesterday through hilly parts of Berkeley, and we commenced doing what we always do when we're out walking in Berkeley: we ate and we bought books.

I picked up a hardback copy of Sandra Cisneros' Caramelo, which I can finally take off of my Amazon wishlist. Wow, I added that book November on 2, 2002. And y'all think you have absurdly long reading lists. (That's basically all my Amazon wishlist is. A way to keep track of books I want to read.)

Anyway, I probably won't get around to reading that for another three and a half years. My bookshelf is already full of things to read.

I also bought Love Sick, which isn't so much for reading as it is for looking at all the pretty pictures! It was in the contemporary/pop art section and I tend to like things like this, only I never actually buy them. I told Leon that I might as well support an effort that intrigues me.

There were two others like it. One was called Goth-Icky and the other was Happy Kitty Bunny Pony. How can you not love that?



I also bought a really cheap paperback called A Kiss a Day Keeps the Corpses Away. It looks like horrible, horrible trash. I will devour it like a raccoon.

(Yes, I am the queen of metaphors.)

Anyway, I'm currently reading two books and listening to a third on my iPod, so we'll see how fast we get to these. None of them should take especially long, and I've got some flights coming up that I can read during. But more on that later.

I have no interest in American football, but I will have to buy Touchdown Jesus: Faith and Fandom at Notre Dame.

Based on its subject matter, I am fairly certain that my awesome nonfiction writing professor at Washington University, Scott Eden, wrote it. If it is his, I'm very happy for him. If it's not, it's no big loss. Hopefully I can find it in a bookstore before I shell out $16.50 to see if I'm right.

Highlight all of the books from the ALA's Most Frequently Challenged Books of 1990-2000 that you have read. Make an effort to read those not highlighted.

( My List )

Does this remind anyone else of The Stranger?

I completely forgot that I have a paper due tomorrow in my film studies class. I was thinking it was due Wednesday (a day that I don't even have class), because my papers in this class have always been due on Wednesdays. I told myself that I'd work on it tomorrow evening after going to the library.

What a strange realization that I actually have to be productive today! I had been reading with great interest a copy of John Updike's Too Far to Go, my first book for pleasure reading in nearly a month. Naturally I learn that I have to set it down and go to the library today.

What's most cruel of all is that it's a terrifically dreary day--perfect for curling up under a blanket and watching a movie or reading a book. Now I have to leave the warmth and comfort of my apartment for the cold, impersonal library.

I'm a member of the statements community, in which every post should be... *drum roll* ...a statement! Wow, that's confusing, isn't it? The community information goes to the trouble of explaining what a "statement" is. They claim that every post should be "a single declarative sentence."

Every now and then, someone will be criticized for posting a question, but, for the most part, no one is especially critical of the form that posts take. In the end, it's a nice community to read because it forces people to be concise.

Even so, I propose that this community should be called instead "Sentences," because it's really just an experiment in semicolon usage. Very few posts are actually declarative sentences. It's so funny to see how few people can follow the rules and how loosely they interpret the term "statement."

Also, I just came across the following post in my english_majors community:

Hey guys, I'm new here... I'm not an English major (not yet), I'm still in high school. But, I was just doing a project on Crime & Punishment, "Although there are many subplots, Raskolnikov is still the central character. Construct a drawing that represents the relationships of the characters to each other and to Raskolnikov. The drawing may take whatever shape you wish." There are a lot of subplots in the book... so I was just wondering if someone could help me out with that.

This relates to my earlier annoyance about people using livejournal to do their homework. I know that this person is asking for someone to outline this for him.

As someone who's read Crime and Punishment twice, I'm surprised that the version he read doesn't have an outline of the characters somewhere in it. Most editors go to the trouble of distinguishing the characters, because several are called by more than one name and that can be confusing.

Additionally, there aren't that many subplots in that novel. I realize that this is a high school assignment, but it still makes me very sad that the poster refuses to rethink the story enough to jot down the names of the characters. At the very least, a trip to Sparknotes.com would answer these questions for him.

It's so hard not to weep for these poor people when they're too lazy to look through a book or web site that would give them all the answers. Instead, they thrust the assignment at people on their friends list and say, "Here. You do it."

Books Meme
List of ten (10) authors picked at random from your shelves.
Delete from the list authors you *haven't* got and add others that you do.

oliveoyl's List:

Stephen King
Douglas Adams
William S. Burroughs
Ayn Rand
Terry Pratchett
David Sedaris
Anne Rice
Arthur Miller
Louis Sachar
Dorothy Parker

My List:

Stephen King
David Sedaris
Ayn Rand
Kurt Vonnegut
Dave Eggers
James Baldwin
William Faulkner
Sylvia Plath
Joseph Heller
Eliza Haywood

I was at Barnes and Noble just a little while ago, and I happened to notice on the table of New Fiction that there was a book by Alan Cumming. Shocking! Alan Cumming wrote a novel!

I was such a big fan of his a few years ago, when he was in Cabaret on Broadway and won a Tony. Then he wrote and starred in The Anniversary Party, which is a very good film. And now he has written a book.

I have to admit: now I'm jealous. He's accomplished three things in his life that I would love to do myself. At age twenty, I doubt all but one could ever be a reality. And even that's approaching life in a rather dreamy fashion.

And there he is, still in his thirites, with a Tony, a film, and a novel. He is star of stage and screen. He is writer extraordinaire. I think I have a new idol. Such a talented (and lucky) man.