by God! Who knew!?
article
December 29, 2008
December 28, 2008
things I bought myself for Christmas
- green curry tofu. I missed it soooooooooo much.
- Wilco, Being There. It's an old album, but it's new to me.
- House of the Spirits, Isabella Allende.
- a haircut. I really really needed it.
The above picture is Yoko Ono at age 74 [FYI: I am a Beatles fan that loves Yoko. The Beatles needed to break up anyway, otherwise they'd be making shit like the last Rolling Stones album]. Yoko claims that eating a lot of curry keeps you from aging and can make you live forever. I think she also said that about heroin. One of the two is obviously correct, because look at her legs! I absolutely do not want to live forever. Correction: I would not want to live forever unless I could eat a different kind of curry every day: Massamun, red, yellow, jalfrezi, masala... mmm curry.
Edit: I just took a shower and I can smell the curry coming out of my skin. No more curry for a few days. I have some plans that require me to smell like a human being.
December 23, 2008
MOAR JOY
I was supposed to go downtown today, but this is as far as I can get out of my house:
because it's been snowing for three days straight.
So I spent the day baking!
I am sooooooooo domestic.
because it's been snowing for three days straight.
So I spent the day baking!
I am sooooooooo domestic.
December 22, 2008
CHRISTMAS JOY
I had these big plans to spend a lot of time at home away from home to minimize the amount of hair I pull out of my head. HOWEVER, Chicagoland is suddenly covered by "dibilitating snow" and -30 degree windchill weather, so no one is supposed to leave their house, let alone bar-hop and shop their way to sanity/freedom. Yesterday I tried to go downtown (because I am obviously a crazy person with no regard for my personal well-being and only care about shopping and eating pho with Shelby) but the train switches were frozen, so I couldn't get there. It's probably for the best, but damnit, I want some Asian food. I also really need to get out of the house.
Yesterday my mom was sick, and my dad had to deal with basic food preparation all day, so he's in a bad mood. Honestly-- he had to make oatmeal, toast a bagel, spread cream cheese on it, and at dinner, he had to put stir fry on his own plate. These wimmentasks have obviously raised his estrogen levels so high that he's entering physiological PMS. All yesterday and all this morning, he has been doing bizarrely unproductive cleaning tasks, like washing my breakfast dishes before I am done eating and picking up random things and demanding to know if I needed to keep them (they aren't even mine!).
Two months ago, my mother forced my dad and me to get a flu shot and claimed that she would have no exposure to the flu so she wouldn't need one. Now she claims she has the flu, and it's our fault. I'm not sure that people who have the flu have enough energy to go to the gym for two hours then come home and scream at people/cats, but I'll give her the benefit of the doubt so that I can revel in my frustration that I have a degree in biology and she won't let me advise her about how viruses are actually spread. (Honestly, I'm not an expert or anything, but I do understand basic disease transmission. "The only place I go is the gym, where I am certainly not exposed to airborne fluids coming off hundreds of sweating potential flu virus carriers!" OKAY MOM.)
In summary, in case you can't make it through all of that bah humbuggery, MERRY CHRISTMAS from my family insane asylum.
Yesterday my mom was sick, and my dad had to deal with basic food preparation all day, so he's in a bad mood. Honestly-- he had to make oatmeal, toast a bagel, spread cream cheese on it, and at dinner, he had to put stir fry on his own plate. These wimmentasks have obviously raised his estrogen levels so high that he's entering physiological PMS. All yesterday and all this morning, he has been doing bizarrely unproductive cleaning tasks, like washing my breakfast dishes before I am done eating and picking up random things and demanding to know if I needed to keep them (they aren't even mine!).
Two months ago, my mother forced my dad and me to get a flu shot and claimed that she would have no exposure to the flu so she wouldn't need one. Now she claims she has the flu, and it's our fault. I'm not sure that people who have the flu have enough energy to go to the gym for two hours then come home and scream at people/cats, but I'll give her the benefit of the doubt so that I can revel in my frustration that I have a degree in biology and she won't let me advise her about how viruses are actually spread. (Honestly, I'm not an expert or anything, but I do understand basic disease transmission. "The only place I go is the gym, where I am certainly not exposed to airborne fluids coming off hundreds of sweating potential flu virus carriers!" OKAY MOM.)
In summary, in case you can't make it through all of that bah humbuggery, MERRY CHRISTMAS from my family insane asylum.
December 20, 2008
A few weeks ago, before bedtime, I encountered the worst thing that an insectophobic single person can find when she is exhausted and hoping to get a good night's sleep: a palmetto bug (read: GIANT FLYING ROACH) hanging out on the ceiling above my bed.
To make a long story short, I had to chase it around my room with a can of Raid for 20 minutes until I had finally sprayed it enough to kill it, and by the time the whole ordeal was over, I was too freaked out to sleep at all. Since then, I've been having nightmares almost nightly about waking up with insects in my bed, crawling out of the walls, etc. Sometimes I hear my heating vents rattle and I'm convinced that a roach the size of Paris Hilton's dog is skulking around up there.
Is there some kind of hypnosis that could benefit me? Something that would make me think of roaches in the same tomboyish way that I think of spiders, worms, snakes, toads, and mice? Could that remedy be delivered to me in a vodka tonic or tequila shot? Please advise.
To make a long story short, I had to chase it around my room with a can of Raid for 20 minutes until I had finally sprayed it enough to kill it, and by the time the whole ordeal was over, I was too freaked out to sleep at all. Since then, I've been having nightmares almost nightly about waking up with insects in my bed, crawling out of the walls, etc. Sometimes I hear my heating vents rattle and I'm convinced that a roach the size of Paris Hilton's dog is skulking around up there.
Is there some kind of hypnosis that could benefit me? Something that would make me think of roaches in the same tomboyish way that I think of spiders, worms, snakes, toads, and mice? Could that remedy be delivered to me in a vodka tonic or tequila shot? Please advise.
Want to know something that makes no sense? (If not: why are you reading this blog?)
In North Carolina, I have tons of crap to do all the time, and it's really important. It's my future that's at stake, sometimes. I get it done, and I don't feel overwhelming stress about it. I'm in Chicago now, and somehow every second seems overburdened with stress, making it hard to accomplish anything-- even though there are literally two things on my omnipresent "to do" list, and neither of them are particularly difficult.
Normally I'd be able to say it's because my mother is harping on me, or something... but she really isn't at all. It's been really nice, as if they are starting to admit to themselves that what they feel about my relocation is not outrage, but a sensation of missing my sometimes unpleasantly liberal and outlandish but otherwise irreplicable* quirky presence. I'm sure none of their friends gush adoringly about the differences between activation kinetics of sodium and potassium channels and how they influence the shape of an action potential. God, I'm getting hot just thinking about it.
*not a real word. What's an antonym for replicable?
** Should I start tagging my posts? Do people use tags?
In North Carolina, I have tons of crap to do all the time, and it's really important. It's my future that's at stake, sometimes. I get it done, and I don't feel overwhelming stress about it. I'm in Chicago now, and somehow every second seems overburdened with stress, making it hard to accomplish anything-- even though there are literally two things on my omnipresent "to do" list, and neither of them are particularly difficult.
Normally I'd be able to say it's because my mother is harping on me, or something... but she really isn't at all. It's been really nice, as if they are starting to admit to themselves that what they feel about my relocation is not outrage, but a sensation of missing my sometimes unpleasantly liberal and outlandish but otherwise irreplicable* quirky presence. I'm sure none of their friends gush adoringly about the differences between activation kinetics of sodium and potassium channels and how they influence the shape of an action potential. God, I'm getting hot just thinking about it.
*not a real word. What's an antonym for replicable?
** Should I start tagging my posts? Do people use tags?
December 18, 2008
December 14, 2008
RANT
Okay, this was going to be a rant, but instead I'm just going to calmly state that every Sunday, I call my grandparents, and they basically let me know that they think I am living in North Carolina because
- I want to "punish" our family by living in a state that isn't Illinois
- I couldn't get a job anywhere else
- I'm rebelling against jobs that earn money
- I'm rebelling against my Catholic upbringing by being a science pagan hippie liberal misanthrope (though this may be partially true, there would be way more effective ways to accomplish it than moving to North Carolina to get a PhD. For example: working for PETA, writing a sex column, becoming a professional groupie, moving to France and not bathing, interning for Barack Obama)
December 13, 2008
I love older Southern women. The stereotypical kind-- you know what I mean. They have this particular accent and way of speaking that would sound out of place on anyone else. Their hair is permed. They love food. They call you sweetie. In fact, they remind me of my paternal grandmother MINUS the martyr complex and offbeat pre-dementia, PLUS a more mothering attitude.
This week I discovered that my new-I'm-a-semi-grownup-with-my-very-own health insurance covered the HPV vaccine. My catholic parents would not let me have the HPV vaccine because they don't really understand the research on it-- more than that, they don't really understand how vaccines work. They also don't understand that even if you only have sex with the one person you marry, you can still get a disease. They told me if I wanted it, it would cost about $400 dollars and I would have to pay for it myself.
Anyway, when I discovered that I could get the vaccine using my own health insurance, I decided to do the responsible thing. I made an appointment and showed up 20 minutes early. No one was there except the vaccination nurse. She was ordering breakfast sandwiches for the office and asked me if I wanted one. I said no, thanks. She prepared me for the shot, telling me it would hurt. After I told her I'd had the flu shot, she said "Oh, no, honey, people tell me this is way worse than that!" and gleefully stuck the syringe into my arm.
HOLY BALLS it hurt! I'm strange because I've always, since I was a toddler, morbidly enjoyed getting shots. This was pretty unpleasant, though. After the injection, there was this burning sensation in my muscle for about two minutes, and for the next few hours, aching. But I love older southern women. In Chicago, some disillusioned and vitamin D deficient nurse would have dispassionately sent me on my neurotic way, leaving me to worry about insurance payments, side effects, and deltoid muscle atrophy. This woman gave me a little pat, told me I'd feel better soon, and made me feel just as secure as if she'd hugged me and put a lunch in my hand.
Hooray for southern women! And for immunocompetence.
This week I discovered that my new-I'm-a-semi-grownup-with-my-very-own health insurance covered the HPV vaccine. My catholic parents would not let me have the HPV vaccine because they don't really understand the research on it-- more than that, they don't really understand how vaccines work. They also don't understand that even if you only have sex with the one person you marry, you can still get a disease. They told me if I wanted it, it would cost about $400 dollars and I would have to pay for it myself.
Anyway, when I discovered that I could get the vaccine using my own health insurance, I decided to do the responsible thing. I made an appointment and showed up 20 minutes early. No one was there except the vaccination nurse. She was ordering breakfast sandwiches for the office and asked me if I wanted one. I said no, thanks. She prepared me for the shot, telling me it would hurt. After I told her I'd had the flu shot, she said "Oh, no, honey, people tell me this is way worse than that!" and gleefully stuck the syringe into my arm.
HOLY BALLS it hurt! I'm strange because I've always, since I was a toddler, morbidly enjoyed getting shots. This was pretty unpleasant, though. After the injection, there was this burning sensation in my muscle for about two minutes, and for the next few hours, aching. But I love older southern women. In Chicago, some disillusioned and vitamin D deficient nurse would have dispassionately sent me on my neurotic way, leaving me to worry about insurance payments, side effects, and deltoid muscle atrophy. This woman gave me a little pat, told me I'd feel better soon, and made me feel just as secure as if she'd hugged me and put a lunch in my hand.
Hooray for southern women! And for immunocompetence.
December 9, 2008
Simpler times
Today I judged an elementary school science fair and it reminded me of simpler times, when science seemed untouchably large, complicated, and god-like. Actually, it still seems that way most of the time, but now it's "supposedly" within reach. That's what they want us to think.
DID YOU KNOW?
You'll have less unpopped kernels if you freeze your popcorn before popping it.
2 days in white vinegar dissolves the eggshell off an egg and cooks it translucently.
Heavier paper makes farther-flying paper airplanes.
Regular ziplock bags prevent freezer burn better than freezer bags.
I miss working with kids soooooooo much.
DID YOU KNOW?
You'll have less unpopped kernels if you freeze your popcorn before popping it.
2 days in white vinegar dissolves the eggshell off an egg and cooks it translucently.
Heavier paper makes farther-flying paper airplanes.
Regular ziplock bags prevent freezer burn better than freezer bags.
I miss working with kids soooooooo much.
December 8, 2008
Things I should never do ever
- Stay up past midnight unless I'm hanging out with people. Not only is there NO POINT, but nothing good ever comes from it. I can't think of one instance.
- Eat pizza in North Carolina. In theory because I'm allergic to wheat, but honestly because it sucks.
- Plan to be somewhere before 7:30 a.m. Even if it does miraculously happen, it's not going to be pleasant for anyone involved. SORRY KIDS.
- Drink green tea; it makes me throw up. Why? Because I am a health anomaly.
- Wear those cheap 2 dollar obnoxious earrings you can buy in teen retail stores. They're the reason I pierced my ears and I'm allergic to them. They make my ears swell up but sometimes I risk it it, anyway, because, listen: Giant, bright yellow, plastic hoop earrings are worth any cell damage they might incur.
- Purchase butter. I don't eat butter. Why do I have butter in my refrigerator? What am I going to do with it? Does butter go bad?
- Pierce my nose. But I really really want to. Should I do it?
- Go to my high school reunion. Nothing good can come of that, and by that I mean, I could just go to a bar when I visit home and be alternately ignored/accosted by the exact same people for free.
- Send my dad a Barack Obama birthday card. It was hard to resist the temptation today, but I managed.
- Let people know that I refer to myself as two entities: Good elyse and Bad elyse. Oops, I just told you. That was Bad elyse's idea.
- Write in this blog. Bad elyse makes me. I need to go do something productive now.
December 7, 2008
Dear Chicago,
I miss your pizza. I miss the vagina building. I miss the Lake. I miss ethnic food. I miss Polish surnames. I miss the availability of hard liquor. I miss being anonymous. I miss the vibrations of the El. I miss your ubiquitous coffee shops. I miss shopping and not buying anything. I miss Belmont and Andersonville.
In 14 days I will be running my hand on obsidian buildings and shivering against the wind and smelling filthy city air and bouncing around on trains in my triple layered wool sweaters and ducking into shops for hot five dollar coffees to warm the tip of my nose while I walk.
Love, love, love, love, love...
elyse
In 14 days I will be running my hand on obsidian buildings and shivering against the wind and smelling filthy city air and bouncing around on trains in my triple layered wool sweaters and ducking into shops for hot five dollar coffees to warm the tip of my nose while I walk.
Love, love, love, love, love...
elyse
December 5, 2008
On Main St. in Carrboro, there is an apparently vacant shop with a printed out paper sign in the window that says "SMOKE SHOP" in some fancy Photoshop word art. I stand beside this suspicious place while I wait for the bus after getting groceries a few times a week.
Today, there was a new sign in the front window, and a small, Charlie Brown-style tree decorated with approximately four tiny lights at the very top. The sign said,
Today, there was a new sign in the front window, and a small, Charlie Brown-style tree decorated with approximately four tiny lights at the very top. The sign said,
MAYORS AWARD
FOR BEST CHRSITMAS [sic] DECORATIONS BY A CARRBORO BUSINESS
IS PRESENTED TO
THE SMOKE SHOP
BERT (recipient)
BEST IN TREES (category)
(signed by "the mayor")
FOR BEST CHRSITMAS [sic] DECORATIONS BY A CARRBORO BUSINESS
IS PRESENTED TO
THE SMOKE SHOP
BERT (recipient)
BEST IN TREES (category)
(signed by "the mayor")
Carrboro is the best town in the United States, and this is proof. I love living here.
It's weird to be in graduate school and live in such a way that you could, should you undergo a personal revolution/drugged up weekend (or anything in between), end in one fell swoop. It's weird that moving here, existing here, and continuing to live here is completely my decision, within my power.
My family really does not get it. They would be happy if I quit school, moved home, and got a job as a teacher. I'm positive that my parents pressured me to get into science so I would settle down and not become the next Mountain Girl. (MG was/is my heroine. Have you read the Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test? That girl rocks.) Even in middle school I was talking about fun stuff like running away with bands, getting tattoos, being a bartender, traveling the US to write novels, piercing things, and dying my hair purple. I was also writing protest poetry about the Man. They probably thought, "Here's something productive and rational that our wild child can direct her energy towards. Let's kill off sex, drugs, rock'n'roll, and wanderlust before they even occur to her." I'm sure they thought they could thwart my reckless future by making me love science. I'm sure they thought by majoring in biology, I'd meet some nice doctor and marry him. I'm sure, failing those things, they at least thought that my career in science would keep me untattooed, well-groomed, and close to home. Ha! Joke's on them!
Well, the point of me saying all this is that I am totally in control of my whole life, and I love it. I have never been happier and more scared of screwing up.
I have all this creative energy and I haven't figured out how to use it in science yet, but I will. I will. It's going to be revolutionary.... Viva la neuREVOLUTION! Or maybe, viva me eking out a PhD without losing focus and having to spend the rest of my life writing self-help novels or assembly instructions.
My family really does not get it. They would be happy if I quit school, moved home, and got a job as a teacher. I'm positive that my parents pressured me to get into science so I would settle down and not become the next Mountain Girl. (MG was/is my heroine. Have you read the Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test? That girl rocks.) Even in middle school I was talking about fun stuff like running away with bands, getting tattoos, being a bartender, traveling the US to write novels, piercing things, and dying my hair purple. I was also writing protest poetry about the Man. They probably thought, "Here's something productive and rational that our wild child can direct her energy towards. Let's kill off sex, drugs, rock'n'roll, and wanderlust before they even occur to her." I'm sure they thought they could thwart my reckless future by making me love science. I'm sure they thought by majoring in biology, I'd meet some nice doctor and marry him. I'm sure, failing those things, they at least thought that my career in science would keep me untattooed, well-groomed, and close to home. Ha! Joke's on them!
Well, the point of me saying all this is that I am totally in control of my whole life, and I love it. I have never been happier and more scared of screwing up.
I have all this creative energy and I haven't figured out how to use it in science yet, but I will. I will. It's going to be revolutionary.... Viva la neuREVOLUTION! Or maybe, viva me eking out a PhD without losing focus and having to spend the rest of my life writing self-help novels or assembly instructions.
December 3, 2008
why i love my ipod and sunglasses
Sometimes my life is outrageous and ridiculous. For reasons I don't quite understand, I am a bona fide creep magnet. Do I look stupid and gullible? Do I look like I am on the road to total self destruction? Do I look like I want to marry someone that lives behind Dunkin Donuts?
I'm not going to go into all the details, but I have been asked out by homeless men on the bus, homeless men on the street, and senile widowers while I'm trying to study in a coffee shop. In Chicago, men used to stop me in the street (DAILY) and tell me we'd have beautiful babies together. Once someone followed me home from the bus, trying to convince me to invite him up for a drink. I had to call the police to get him to stop following me.
What the hell? I am pretty sure I don't possess captivating beauty or radiate with charm. I am a nerdy, quirky girl with a boyish figure and anxiety problems. The only reason I can guess as to why so many strange men harass me is that god(s) wants to laugh at my discomfort. So if you ever catch me looking super unfriendly, with headphones in my ears and sunglasses on a cloudy day, it's because I don't want Joe Sex Offender to ask me out on a date again. If you're a cute single man, by all means, harass me, please harass me.
I'm not going to go into all the details, but I have been asked out by homeless men on the bus, homeless men on the street, and senile widowers while I'm trying to study in a coffee shop. In Chicago, men used to stop me in the street (DAILY) and tell me we'd have beautiful babies together. Once someone followed me home from the bus, trying to convince me to invite him up for a drink. I had to call the police to get him to stop following me.
What the hell? I am pretty sure I don't possess captivating beauty or radiate with charm. I am a nerdy, quirky girl with a boyish figure and anxiety problems. The only reason I can guess as to why so many strange men harass me is that god(s) wants to laugh at my discomfort. So if you ever catch me looking super unfriendly, with headphones in my ears and sunglasses on a cloudy day, it's because I don't want Joe Sex Offender to ask me out on a date again. If you're a cute single man, by all means, harass me, please harass me.
December 2, 2008
Lucky Numbers: 2, 13, 36, 11, 18, 17
Thank heaven I bought those 196 packets of instant organic zen oatmeal, because right now it's the only food I have in my apartment! I am a poor, poor, poor, poor, poor grad student, but it's totally cool because I fucking love oatmeal.
Yesterday I got a fortune cookie that says "If you're happy, you're successful," but what about all the stipulations? Like, what if you're happy but really cranky? Then maybe you're a successful power-bitch. That wouldn't be so bad. After all, bitches get things done, right? Unfortunately I've never used that power for anything beyond stealing someone's boyfriend, which I no longer feel so happy about...
Anyway, past bitcheries aside, success is a loaded word, Fortune Cookie. That is why I am taking this time out of what I intended to be a productive morning to lecture you all ("y'all") about the caveats of asserting nebulous truisms and not qualifying them. That's just bad writing, and I demand a lot more from my fortune cookies. I'd like to see The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock next time, in fact. Get working on it.
LEARN CHINESE- Be invited = (zuo) (ke)
Yesterday I got a fortune cookie that says "If you're happy, you're successful," but what about all the stipulations? Like, what if you're happy but really cranky? Then maybe you're a successful power-bitch. That wouldn't be so bad. After all, bitches get things done, right? Unfortunately I've never used that power for anything beyond stealing someone's boyfriend, which I no longer feel so happy about...
Anyway, past bitcheries aside, success is a loaded word, Fortune Cookie. That is why I am taking this time out of what I intended to be a productive morning to lecture you all ("y'all") about the caveats of asserting nebulous truisms and not qualifying them. That's just bad writing, and I demand a lot more from my fortune cookies. I'd like to see The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock next time, in fact. Get working on it.
LEARN CHINESE- Be invited = (zuo) (ke)
December 1, 2008
AND
Now I am going to spend the rest of the semester working my ASS off. But don't worry, I'm sure I'll have plenty of crazy things to write here as I go through delirious recreational withdrawal. You can live vicariously through my inanity.
FANGIRLING
Last night I saw Fastball play in Carrboro and it was pretty awesome. I used to see tons of live music, and then I went to college, got poor, decided to take that time to listen to only music from the 60s and 70s. This is mostly because half of the jackass elitists at my college were so bossy and competitive about their indie music that I was totally turned off by anything modern, no matter how good it was. Now I have this deep deep appreciation for good music that stems from the Beatles riffs ingrained into my deepest brain regions, so you can believe me when I say that it was an excellent show.
The concert was awesome, but having been a fan for 11 years, I have NEEDS that were not completely satisfied. Like having Tony on bass and keyboards. So I made a fantasy Fastball concert lineup. It's like fantasy baseball! But a billion times less boring! (And that's the last time you'll ever hear me pun Fastball with baseball because I am a better punner than that, baby.) (Note that this doesn't include the new music because I don't have that on my iTunes yet.)
** Jug bands are awesome.
*** Let's be honest; I have no self control when it comes to musicians.
I love you, Fastball!
The concert was awesome, but having been a fan for 11 years, I have NEEDS that were not completely satisfied. Like having Tony on bass and keyboards. So I made a fantasy Fastball concert lineup. It's like fantasy baseball! But a billion times less boring! (And that's the last time you'll ever hear me pun Fastball with baseball because I am a better punner than that, baby.) (Note that this doesn't include the new music because I don't have that on my iTunes yet.)
- Morning Star
- Airstream
- Out Of My Head (Keyboards necessary*)
- Emily
- Drifting Away
- Freeloader Freddy (underrated; I like the revolting Miles-coughing at the beginning)
- I Get High (Tony's falsetto is the best, *)
- Whatever Gets You On (I fucking love this song and I don't think I'll ever hear it live)
- You're an Ocean (*)
- Damaged Goods
- Love is Expensive and Free
- ("encore")
- Mercenary Girl
- Warm Fuzzy Feeling
- Red Light
** Jug bands are awesome.
*** Let's be honest; I have no self control when it comes to musicians.
I love you, Fastball!
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