Leslie last rambled at 08:49 a.m. on Sunday, April 22, 2001

• I sent Aimee a rambling, edgy theory about feminism and barbituates last night. The poor woman was only trying to tell me about a book called The Surrendered Housewife. I think my rant started to sound like a Unabomber manifesto at one point. [I watched a documentary on him a couple evenings ago.] I hasten to qualify my comparison between myself (me?) and the Unabomber: I can't grow my own food. I can't cook my own food. I can't live on $35 a year. I like credit cards. I can't grow that much facial hair although I've tried. My name isn't Ted. I like technology. Oh, and I know absolutely nothing about making bombs. I almost forgot to add that part. These differences should allay any fears you may have about me, but I do want to publically apologize to Aimee.
• Should change Bookhag's motto to: Bookhag: Blogging instead of researching.
• Found a website called InspirationRX.com. I am a quotation junkie. I've been collecting them on scraps of paper, e-mails, Word files for a long time. My theory is that someday I will gather them into one place and be able to discern a general purpose/direction/theme/path for my life based on the quotations I've collected. Sort of like a cheesier, less intellectual and hip version of High Fidelity. I loved that film. Must read book this summer. So anyway, I find InspirationRX. At first glance, it looks way to upbeat for me. There are no quotations even from Flannery O'Connor. I plan on submitting a couple. I did a search for the word "appearances," because lately I've been fond of saying that appearances matter more than what is actually happening. A site search revealed a total of six quotations related to the word appearance. As I suspected, most of them totally disagreed with my idea of appearances mattering. I won't bore myself with a recap. I'll just quote the least offensive of the six, by author Unknown. I wonder if he's related to the Unknown Comic. Anyway: "All things are less dreadful than they seem." This gave me hope, because I've been feeling pretty dreadful lately. I wonder if Unknown and I were to meet if he might amend his quotation to something like, "Most things are less dreadful than they seem."
• It's thundering. I love the noise.
• I enjoyed reading Caliban's posts about his theory of everything. It reminded me of Causaban's "Key to All Mythologies" from Middlemarch with a couple of exceptions. One, Pat is nice, unlike Causaban. Two, Pat is more capable of pulling off such a daunting task than Eliot's character. Anyway, when Halie and I had that class together, the one where we had to read that frickin-frassin' book, we made up a lot of bastardized quotations incorporating things from the novels into the phrases. It was a way to avoid work. So when I was at Halie's house the other day, recovering from my afternoon of wild carousing, I noticed she was using one of the phrases as a screen saver: Love means never having to finish the Key to All Mythologies. I don't even feel compelled to apologize to either Eliot or Erich Segal. Do you think I should?

Leslie last rambled at 10:48 p.m. on Saturday, April 21, 2001

• I've been reading about implicatures and the concept of conversational cooperation and Grice's maxims for conversation. It's pretty interesting stuff. Leech and Short say that implicatures are the "extra meanings" we infer, and which account for the gap between overt sense and pragmatic force. This is interesting. I've already said that. I'm just musing about my own conversational style. For example, I often have to say to people, "I'm just kidding," or "that was a joke." Now, the latter is sometimes because I"m not funny. I know you find this difficult to believe. Actually, I'm funny in a 9 yr old sense of funny. If I could harness it, I might be able to have some success writing for this age group. I dunno. But otherwise, it might be that when I have to explain myself, it is somehow because I have violated the principle of conversational cooperation. Now that in itself would be an interesting muse. My current, impulsive take on the situation is that the people I talk to on an encounter/acquaintance level are way too serious. This doesn't apply to my colleagues and associates at the university. They are almost universally funny and ironic. Other people don't seem to want to be funny or creative. They want to be mundane, non-something. Non-everything. Bland. I'm not especially controversial, I don't think. But I see my conversational approach/reason for speaking as I do with others is to comment on life's oddities in sardonic, witty, and otherwise ironic ways. Do most other people just seem to want to "get along," or be agreeable with each other? HOw boring. Hm. I'm not quite sure my concept or thinking about this is quite working entirely. But it is interesting. I'm being redundant. I am redundant. Ubiquitous, even. I am redundancy itself. The epitome of redundance. Did I just made up a new word. Your redundance astounds me. I like that. You know, I'm not exactly sure that my purposes for communication/conversation are to move toward some mutual end with the other with whom I'm conversing. I've not ever thought too much about why someone else would want to talk to me. What sort of expectation of mutual ends my conversational partners might have that they're assuming I'm also buying into. This is scaring me. I feel that there's a chance of some frightening personal insight coming on if I continue this line of thought tonight. That would be bad. Very bad. Definitely a bad idea. I've decided to resort to Rainman imitations when some intuitive, honest insight might occur. Safer that way. Definitely safer. Kind of want to tell Meredith about this, but maybe not. Might wait til later in the evening.
  
  I bought a CD by a group called Lifehouse. They're romantic and optimistic. And ultimately unrealistic, but I do believe life can have those moments of intensity that this group describes. Lyrics I like tonight: "I am hanging on every word you're saying, even if you don't want to speak tonight, that's alright, alright w/me, I want nothing more than to stand outside heaven's door and listen to you breathing that's where I want to be." Maybe he doesn't say "outside heaven's door," but "outside Evan's door," which is still romantic, but adds an entirely new dimension to the sentiment. It's a beautifully delusional sentiment either way. I am of the opinion that illusions are good. Once they're gone, it's hard to work your way back into the old ones, and new ones are trickier to acquire. You become skeptical and suspicious and careful. Oh, he also says, "Finding my way back to sanity again, I don't really know what I'm gonna do when I get there anyway." That's not helpful, Lifehouse. I'm like Peter Frampton: Oh, won't you show me the way? There has to be someone. Something. And if Jenet or a Jesus Freak reads this, do NOT tell me it's the God of some institutionalized religious denomination, it isn't. Trust me. I've had that conversation. Actually, I have been having conversations with a clergy from a Hawthorne short story. Not Dimmsdale. This is the minister who suddenly begins wearing a black cloth over his face [I think the story is called "The Minister's Veil"] because he thinks he's so sinful he can't look people full in the face. It really unnerves his parishoners, and they leave the cloth on even after he dies, but I find comfort in talking to this entity who seems to get shame and humility and contrition. I'm a lot like that kid in the Sixth Sense except that I see dead authors. I've referenced that movie twice in the past month on my blog and I've never even seen it. So anyway, Lifehouse is romantic and mellow and melancholy, and that's what I'm into at the moment. LIke when I was thirteen and sat in my room and played my Bread album incessantly. Some critic said that the lead singer [of Lifehouse] sounds like Eddie Veter. He does some, but not as nasal. Ditto for Train. Not that they sound like Eddie Veter, but that they're mellow and melancholy and poignant and that's why I'm liking them at the moment.
• I did like Aimee's Cake, too. They're probably considered trendy and smart in circles more elite than the one I hang in--- that would be the circle of women who put 100 miles a day on their car between work and shuttling kids to appointments with stops at McDonald's and Jewel in between. No, the average Cake listener probably drinks Absolute Citron or Absolute Mandarin flavored vodkas. The gentleman at Thirsty Liquors agreed with me the other day that flavored vodkas are rather trendy right now. I sounded like I was talking about shoes. "Do you have this bottle in a smaller size, perhaps with a lower heel so I won't stumble while I'm weaving drunkenly across campus?" The bouncer and the barman smirked at each other over my head. I looked up from signing the credit card slip and there they were, exchanging a meaningful smile that stopped as soon as I saw them. Lovers clandestinely flirting? Possible. Two men enjoying the feigned soberness of a splotchy-faced, middle-aged woman buying a bottle of vodka small enough to fit in her purse? More probable. And oh yes, let's not forget to add the Altoids. Who knows what they were thinking. The men, not te Altoids. I'm trying not to let the paranoia meter get into the red range. Better go make a mantra. Ashamed and chastened by my late morning purchase, I at least had the presence of mind to wait until I left the parking lot to open the bottle. I'm not without some small scrap of dignity. Those bastards.
• I have half a page of notes from Leech and Short about implicatures and nothing in the least that seems useful on a paper about dialogue or idiolect in O'Connor. I'm really making this work quite difficult, I think.
• I'm glad Caliban had a good date. Sincerely glad. It allows me to leave open the possibleness of connection.

Leslie last rambled at 07:58 a.m. on Saturday, April 21, 2001

• And here's one for the "Some-things-women-say-make-me-want-to-spew-file:"
  "That's not to say this isn't a sensitive issue for many families. When a man doesn't support his wife's career, it usually means he's scared. He could be afraid that she'd leave him if she were no longer dependent on his money. Or, he may think that he's less of a man if he earns less than his wife does. Or, he may worry that his wife will be too busy working to take care of him. The wife may misinterpret these emotions and think that her husband doesn't support her professional aspirations and maybe even resents her job. I have a suggestion for how women can avoid this situation. It may anger some feminists, but I think women should ask permission from their husbands to succeed. I'm not trying to make a political statement. All I'm trying to say is that if a woman doesn't receive her husband's permission, either implicitly or explicitly, she could sabotage her career and her family's happiness. A husband can better accept his wife's business success, if he doesn't see her achievements as a negative statement about himself. A woman should make sure her husband understands that she's working not because he's not earning enough, or because she thinks she's better at business than he is, but because she enjoys it. As I said, Stephen didn't have a problem with me making more than he did last year. He's building his own accounting career and he feels no emotional need to shoulder the majority of our family's financial responsibilities. In fact, I think he'd be happy if I were to write a bestseller. If that happened, I could see him retiring and enjoying having me support the family. Azriela Jaffe
  
  Let me see now. Where might I begin this particular rant? Alright. First of all, I have to admit that I can actually see her writing a bestseller. If Aimee can predict that the pope will die this year, I can predict authorial success for this woman [as if there's any logic in that at all]. Azriela captures that part of the American consciousness that doesn't want to treat others humanely and respectfully. Truthfully, she has addressed a dilemma or difficulty in dual career families, and that is why, if she gets a book out on the market, it could potentially be a bestseller. I imagine, unfortunately, though, that her book will be something like The Rules for Dating or whatever that book was. The Rules for Working Wives: How to Manipulate Your Spouse into Letting You Have a Real Life. Ask permission? ask permission? Let's see how this conversation might go... "Um, excuse me, honey, but I--"
  
  "Hey did you buy any pork rinds today at the grocery store?"
  
  "Well, um, sweetie pie, I got out of my job interview very late and I wanted to make sure I was home in time to reapply my make up, do my hair, and light a few candles before you came home from your big important man's man job, shuggums. I hope you're not mad at me."
  
  "Where'd you leave the newspaper? You know I like pork rinds . Now I have to eat these pretzels with my beer. This isn't going to be a habit, is it?"
  
  "Well, sugar pie, that's sort of what I wanted to talk to you about. My interview with Winkum, Blinkum, and Nodd went really well today. They offered me a corner office and a six figure income. The chances for advancement are incredible, honey. They wanted an answer right away; they're that anxious to have me work for them, but I told them that I had to come home and ask my husband for permission to be successful and useful, utilizing the talents, education and abilities that I have worked hard at acquiring over the years. They completely understood, dear. They said you were one lucky man. THEIR wives never asked THEM for permission to have a life. They're really jealous of you, baby. So what do you think? Do you think you would be able to give me your permission to be productive and useful and make a lot of money? I promise that you won't have to do one itty bitty extra bit of anything around here at all! I'll take care of everything. The only time you'll even notice that I'm bright, smart, capable, and competent is during tax season when you have to look at my W-2's, or when we take the four week vacation to Bali or send the children to an Ivy League school. Otherwise, I totally promise, my big strong husband, that you'll never even notice that I am a human being! So what do you think, honey, do I have your permission to have a job?"
  
  "Dammit! Now we're out of beer, too. Look, the pork rinds are one thing, but a man likes to have a beer and newspaper when he gets home from earning a living. Is it too much to ask for you to get me some beer on your way home from that goddamn-- what was it-- secretary interview?"
  
  I'm not suggesting that this dual career thing isn't a sticky area in marriages, but there are some implications here. What if you ask your husband's permission to be successful and he says no? What then? "Oh, okay, dear. I totally understand that my ego, wants, needs, dreams and desires are absolutely subordinate to yours. No problemo! Now, would you like homemade apple pie or chocolate cake for dessert tonight?"
  
  It takes a hell of a lot of work for intimate couples to negotiate the issues raised by dual careers, but asking permission isn't the way to go. And, if you're married to a person who isn't willing to overcome threats to their identity based on a bank account, then you've got a lot more problems than when, where, and if you're going to work or be successful.
  
  How do people get started writing publically so that they can end up putting this stuff on the front page of Netscape, to be digested by millions?

Leslie last rambled at 01:14 a.m. on Saturday, April 21, 2001

• Something I wish I'd made up: "Rehab is for quitters!"
• While there are some humorous t-shirts at Old Glory.com that don't pertain to drug or marijuana usage, most of them do. Be warned.

Leslie last rambled at 01:03 a.m. on Saturday, April 21, 2001

• My Inner Capitalist is strong tonight. Check out OldGlory.com. I've never been here before. Over 5,000 t-shirts. I love t-shirts. My newest purchase: a black t-shirt that says, "You say 'psycho' as if that's a bad thing." I think I'll wear it Monday when I have to go see Dr. Hardy about an extension on my paper. I'm seriously thinking about a medical withdrawal. Not getting a grade in the 20th century violence novel or linguistics and Flannery O'Connor is not going to ruin my chances of a highly lucrative career in the fast food industry.
• I've spent a lot of money this week. Bought a bottle of Emporio Armani perfume at Marshall Fields. I bellied up to the bar and said, "Gimme your most expensive fragrance." She did, and then I said, "Why don't you give me one of them there affordably priced fragrances." The clerk sniffed disapprovingly and sold me a bottle of Eau de Skunk oil. She didn't even ask if I wanted to open a Marshal Fields charge card. That's alright with me. I'm going to take the money I saved on the perfume and buy a shirt. The leading favorite right now: A bright pink shirt with a sun on it that say, "Don't I just look like one fucking ray of sunshine?" Hm. I may want to refer back to Meredith's observation about sarcasm.

Leslie last rambled at 10:47 a.m. on Friday, April 20, 2001

• Aimee was blogging about think tanks. My two cents wouldn't fit into her discussion link, so here it is, for what it's worth: There's a think tank in my hometown, Rockford Institute. Ultra conservative, I think. I vaguely remember hating them for a publicized stance on abortion. RI exists in a large, white Victorian home converted to a place for personal reflection and synthesis. I get the impression that it is a lot like graduate school there-- you read a bunch of junk, shoot the shit, and the night before someone important speaks, you write a 35 page paper. Oh, but you have to wear a suit and tie. And be white and male or agree to sign a paper admitting that you wished you were white and male. And be Republican.
• I bought two new shirts and a new cardigan. I have no idea what I was thinking. The cardigan is this color: #FF0099 and the shirt is primarily this color: #FDB859. I look like a friggin peacock, for gawd's sake. These colors are all over the mall, but they are definitely not all over the people on the NIU campus. I want to hide, I want to hide, I want to hide. I also got a sleeveless sweater that would rival Donnie Osmond's Coat of Many Colors. Oh the shame, the shame of it all. What was I thinking?
• Meredith's diagnosis: "She tends to use sarcasm to mask her pain. So, assume that anything that may seem mildly offensive is supposed to be funny, even if it really isn't." If I don't have funny, what do I have? This will be a really good thing to tell David when we see him Sunday. I like the professionalism of the language. Merci beaucoup, Merde!
• Alright. None of ya'll have clicked on the lame mantra link over on the other side of my page here, so I've also linked it here. One time fun for the entire family. Save yourself the money you'd spend on professional therapy. Use the link. As Jeff Ward's friend would say, "Dooo it..just doooooo it."

Leslie last rambled at 02:09 p.m. on Wednesday, April 18, 2001

• Schools that really piss me off:
  Northwestern
  U. of Pa.
  and that school in Texas that hired Bobby Knight.

Leslie last rambled at 10:34 a.m. on Wednesday, April 18, 2001

• Possible paper titles for Giles's class:
  Wade Whitehouse: To Infinity and Beyond!
  Russell Banks' Affliction: The Epic Goes Post[al]-Modern
  Affliction and the Mythopostal. I Mean Mythopoetic
  The Aesthetics of the Mythopostalmodern Novel
  So whaddya think?
• A few days ago I was talking about armpits, both shorn and un. That was when I had a razor. How is it that children [especially GIRL children, it seems] think that their mother's possessions are their possessions? One of them "borrowed" my teal green Gillette Ultra. No one has copped to the crime yet, even though I threatened them with meatloaf and geology documentaries.
  I wonder, maybe, if living among lots of people and always having to share and negotiate makes a person more rather than less selfish. I have never lived alone, so I've never known the certainty of possession-- I've never enjoyed the knowledge that if I left my hairbrush on the bathroom sink that it would be there, waiting for me, for the next time I chose to groom the dog. Perhaps this is why I have such an issue with my missing teal green Gillette Ultra razor. My kids had better just be glad that their dad left his Sensor unattended or they'd really be in trouble.

Leslie last rambled at 11:44 p.m. on Tuesday, April 17, 2001

• Caliban says he is grinding his teeth from the stress of the PhD program. Don't worry, Patrick. To the rest of us, it looks like you're smiling, and really, isn't that what life is all about-- appearances? You can get a bite plate so that you gnaw the hell out of that instead of your own enamel/dentin/whatevercomesafterthat, but I refer you back to the fact that NIU doesn't offer us dental insurance. Beef jerky, maybe? John Wayne always bit on a piece of leather while being sadistically tortured. Now that's called True Grit. [omg...I'm so sorry. It's something I can't seem to control right now, this pun-iness] The real question: what would MacTeague do?

Leslie last rambled at 09:49 p.m. on Tuesday, April 17, 2001

• Jen has suggested the euphemistic "sensitive" in place of moody or pissy. I love it-- and the example sentence, too. Beaucoup thanks, Jen! Wanna see it? Go here. I have no shame. Plugging my own bulletin board.
• Attended my daughter's chess tournament tonight in Marengo. Marengo is a rural farm [redundant, redundant] community sitting/existing at the crossroads of Rt. 20 and Rt. 23. I really didn't know chess was a spectator sport. There weren't any damn cheerleaders. It's really difficult to tell a pawn from a rook/bishop/queen/little castle thingie even at a mere, oh say, 25 feet. If I wasn't feeling quite so sensitive tonight, I might even make up some play-by-play stuff.
  "Wow, Horace! Did you see how decisively she shoved her plastic white horse head two squares up and one square to the right?"
  "I sure did, Darryl! She really got alla that black plastic piece that doesn't look anything like a castle or crown or little black horse head, didn't she? But what was she thinking? She didn't even consult her slide rule for that move!"
  "Perhaps the electrical tape holding her glasses together impeded her vision, there, Horace. She seems a little discombobulated, actually. I'm sure you noticed her missing pocket protector."
  "You're analysis is highly accurate there, my dorkish-like compadre. I've calculated the probability of her winning this game without a pocket protector or slide rule and statistically speaking, the odds aren't on her side of the checkered board. Oh Purina! This has the makings of a crayola-left-in-the-station wagon-on-a-hellish-summer-day meltdown, Horace. Horace? What are you doing with that laser pointer? Horace! aaaaarrrrrrggghhhh!"
  That's the sort of cheesy chess commentary I'd do if I wasn't feeling so sensitive this evening, but I am rather you-know-what tonight, so I'll save the bad jokes for another time. I beg a thousand pardons. I know how disappointed you must be.

Leslie last rambled at 01:47 p.m. on Tuesday, April 17, 2001

• Linguistically speaking, I'm rather infelicitous or nonfelicitous. I'm feeling nonfelicitous/infelicitous? Basically, I'm FUBAR.

Leslie last rambled at 09:49 a.m. on Tuesday, April 17, 2001

• Check out my horrorscope for the week [courtesy of astronet.com]: Everybody who didn't understand you last week-- all those folks who missed your important Gemini messages will unfortunately come back to haunt you. You were right, you know. But being correct and being not listened to [being not listened to?] has some drawbacks. As Saturn commences to really get up close and personal with you guys, as he begins his little extended stay in your sign, get ready to work hard. "Hard work?" you cry. "But I've been busting my tail as it is!" [I write slightly better dialogue] All that noise you created when no one was apparently listening? You've just signed up for a long list of duties, and this is the very beginning of it. Get used to the idea. Be glad you're a Gemini. Overtime, double-time, too much work --that isn't so much of a challenge to you>
  
  Wow! Does that Kramer guy know me or what? I am so totally a believer in horrorscopes now. Thanks, Kram! And now, back to sword falling.

Leslie last rambled at 10:46 p.m. on Monday, April 16, 2001

• I'm afraid of mice and rats. I'm not crazy about gerbils or guinea pigs, either. Even Mickey Mouse is creepy, but for reasons other than the fact that he is a rodent. Well, he's really a cartoon, but a cartoon rodent. I think rabbits are rodents, too, aren't they? I'm not afraid of rabbits. Except what's the name of the invisible one-- Harvey?
• I'm terrified one of my children may die before I do.
• I never want people to think I'm pathetic or sad or tragic, even. I didn't get introspective until I got home this evening. Right after Steve went to bed, we got a phone call from Shirley, a kind and wonderful woman who needed tax advice. I'm afraid of procrastination, too, but this fear obviously isn't equally strong in all human beings. Shirley is divorcing and she got really bad money advice from a supposedly reputable insurance agent. She now owes the government fifty-four hundred dollars, and I suspect that the money she withdrew was probably her retirement savings. She is a middle-aged woman with a steady but relatively low-paying job and probably little to no money for retirement.
• I am afraid of my own ability to discern who and what is good for me.
• I need help creating some euphemisms for the words "pissy" and "moody," as in "You're acting really pissy and/or moody today." I'm fond of mercurial. There's a certain charm to unpredictability, but I don't think pissy and mercurial mean quite the same thing. Post your suggestions to the bulletin board thingie that Matt set up for me. Merci, mon ami.
• Just about once a year, I'm grateful that I married an accountant. This is that time. But can I trust him?

Leslie last rambled at 04:34 p.m. on Monday, April 16, 2001

• I learned a new word today--hypnagogic. This exactly describes my conscious state after one glass of wine, 1/4 of an Appleby's electric lemonade, or .5 mg. of Xanax. Oh, to live in that happy, happy place.
• Caliban e-mailed me with some info on bipolar meds. I'm going to add the topic to the Bookhag bulletin board, so feel free to share.

Leslie last rambled at 04:22 p.m. on Monday, April 16, 2001

• Alright. Matt helped me set up this LUSENET discussion forum thing. I'm not quite sure how it all works, so let's just give it a try and see what happens.

Leslie last rambled at 10:42 a.m. on Monday, April 16, 2001

• O.K. Forgive me. I find this funny:
  Rumination of the Day:
  I'll bet it would suck to get bitten by a radioactive basset hound while doing an experiment in high school. It's bad enough that you would have to call yourself Bloodhound Man, but you'd probably get "Super Nose" as your super power, and going into the locker room every day after gym class would be absolute torture.
  (Clynch Varnadore)

Leslie last rambled at 07:16 a.m. on Monday, April 16, 2001

• simcoe cites a Salon article reporting that Joey Ramone died. For this I'm sad. I can't resist, however, adding that his birth name was Jeffrey Hyman. Man, if I was a guy born in Queens in the 70's w/that last name, I'd be pretty punkin' P.O.'d, too. Joey, I'm with you. I wanna be sedated.

Leslie last rambled at 07:07 a.m. on Monday, April 16, 2001

• I hate those days when I forget to shave one of my armpits. I feel lopsided somehow. Not that today is one of those days. Nope. I remembered today that yes, indeed, I truly do have two armpits and by golly, both of them get hairy and need trimming.
• You know, I've sort of been wondering lately [like in the past three (3) minutes] if perhaps instead of being depressed I might be bi-polar. This isn't the same as being bilingual. Although I'll bet being friends with a bilingual bi-polar could be a really fun/horrific experience. I'm digressing, however-- let's return to the really important subject: moi! I guess I'd want to know what sort of drugs are used to treat bipolarity. I'd have to compare them with the ones for depression and decide which ones were more enjoyable.

Leslie last rambled at 07:31 p.m. on Sunday, April 15, 2001

• I wore a tank top to work Friday. This was my official "Yes, Spring is finally here," statement. I donned turtlenecks and pullovers last September, so the change to this thin, sleeveless, [rather low-cut], and square-necked shirt left me feeling a bit risque. Oh, I wore a denim workshirt over it in the computer lab, and I switched to a nice blazer when I went to teach, but still, the occasional feel of the wind on my exposed collar bone reminded me that I had skin and now other people were actually seeing it.
  So on this balmy spring afternoon, with the sun heating the air in my Sherwood Forest green mini-van, I decided to be a tad bit naughty. Yes, dear Readers, I dared to shed even the denim workshirt and drive home sans sleeves!
  I cracked the window and dialed my CD a bit louder. Driving one-handed, I rested my elbow on the door, allowing the sun to hit my forearm. I have to admit, I was feeling pretty damn fine-- the weekend, the warmth, the road, the music, it was all good. It was the kind of afternoon when the sun might even put a tinge of pink on winter whitened skin, so I glanced down and to the left, wanting to make sure. What I discovered: the skin that should have been tautly perched above my bicep was hanging under my arm like a turkey's waddle, jiggling rhythmically to the tire's thump on Annie Glidden Road.

Leslie last rambled at 07:51 a.m. on Saturday, April 14, 2001

• This is the network hub we got for our home. It operates off of one IP address and automatically assigns random addresses to the other computers hooked up to it. I'm not overly proud of my home networking achievement, do you think? Pride goeth before a fall....
  More later. Oldest daughter needs to be squired somewhere. Gawd, it isn't even 8 am yet.

Leslie last rambled at 09:06 p.m. on Friday, April 13, 2001

• I bought a bottle of wine last Sunday because I thought the color was pretty. It is a Forest Glen White Merlot. Isn't it a nice shade? An in-between red and purple. It doesn't taste too bad, either.
• So which would work better in getting an extension granted on my semester assignments: Dear Dr. _______, I am really overwhelmed with work and unforeseen family complications/demands. I want to do a good job on my assignment, so I would like to turn it in on ______ date.
  I could say that, or I could say, "Dear Dr. ________, I'm one step away from crazy. I don't know what that means exactly, but it sounds sort of scary. I'm very close to crying in front of you even as we speak. I know this embarasses you intellectual, scholarly types, so I"m not threatening you, but merely offering a warning. Let's not make this unpleasant, shall we? I have access to automatic loading pencils and I sort of know how to use them. I'm almost as competent as your 116 class, Dr. Giles. I am also capable of sending spam e-mail at odd hours since I don't sleep often or long. Please don't make this unpleasant for either of us. Let me turn my project in late and no one gets slandered. What do you think? Too subtle? Too nice? Not eerie enough? You can reply in e-mail. Aimee did. She wants me to get t-shirts made that say, "I belong on this planet. Where do you live?
• Actually, I told my remaining dozen students that if they stuck out the rest of the semester and passed that we should all go get a tattoo to commemorate the occassion. Actually, I want a belly ring. A few more pounds, a few more pounds. Aimee is my inspiration. You go, girl!

Leslie last rambled at 07:19 p.m. on Friday, April 13, 2001

• Now that I have my home network up and running, Aimee suggested setting up a family intranet.This is the first memo I'm firing off:
  MEMO
  TO: All Family Memmbers
  Re: Laundry Practices and Procedures
  Dear Family, I must applaud your efforts at housework help. I honestly appreciate all that you have done while I've been working and going to school full-time. I must admit that I always used candles instead of week-old garbage to scent the house, but the combination of used coffee grounds and curdled milk has rather grown on me.
  Yes, your housework help has not gone unnoticed, particularly your enthusiastic and creative laundry assistance. As long as you're down there experimenting with new color combinations and re-sizing sweaters by applying massive amounts of dryer heat, I'd like to pass along a few tiny reminders and suggestions.
  1. Efficiency is good, however, 2 weeks worth of laundry for a family of six cannot always be reduced to three, tightly compacted loads. Break out of your efficiency rut, I say, and try a change of pace! You may, perhaps, try sorting by color-- the blues with the blues, the whites with the whites, etc. Yes, I know that doing this with people is called discrimination. Practicing this skill with laundry, however, is discretion. The buzz amongst college freshmen is that tie dye underwear is out. Solid colors are the flava of the day.
  2. Once again, I have to thank you, dear family, for working really hard at folding those three loads of laundry for a family of six that you do each week. Bravo. It is true that I've been studying a lot lately, and may not have noticed a significant fashion trend, so I ask this question: Are people wearing their clothing inside out with the seams showing these days? I only inquire because every piece of laundry in my basket has been folded with the seams and labels to the outside. I know that showing off the tags of your clothing--Tommy Hilfiger, The Gap, The Limited, etc. could certainly be viewed as a status symbol, but my Jacquelyn Smith knock-offs from the Dollar General store are not going to create much envy where I work. I know this is asking a lot, and so I would totally understand if you ignored me and never did laundry again, but could you maybe try to turn the clothes right side out prior to folding? It is a radical concept, I admit. I'm only asking that you give it a try. See what you think. Feel free, of course, to reply via the family intranet. Thank you for your time and attention to this communication. Keep up the good work, and have a nice day.

Leslie last rambled at 12:10 p.m. on Friday, April 13, 2001

• Sometimes I have to listen to Top 40 radio. It sedates my children, which is a good thing. So I hear a song that repeats this phrase frequently: "If you want to be somebody else, change your mind." Damn! Is that all it takes? Why didn't I know this? It must be some sort of karmic train wreck or something that I would hear these words just when I discover that I belong on this planet, am trying to find my way, and will, dammit. Here is a plan of attack-- a guide-- a map, a recipe, "The Rules" for belonging, finding, and succeeding: Change My Mind. Change My Mind. What a lovely ring that has. I can't help but repeat it-- to myself, and to all of you, oh faithful readership. Perhaps I will give Jenet a run for his disciples.

Leslie last rambled at 11:37 a.m. on Friday, April 13, 2001

• What Lester Ballard would have said if he had Haley Joel Osment's line in The Sixth Sense: "I see girlfriends." This is great. I mean that ironically/satirically/sarcastically. The reviewer calls Child of God "the most sympathetic portrayal of necrophilia in all of literature." Laughing good.

Leslie last rambled at 11:33 p.m. on Thursday, April 12, 2001

• Feeling incredibly guilty and embarrassed for calling the people that regularly read Aimee's blog, "groupies." I am just jealous, cuz Aimee's geekier and funnier than me. I? Must remember to ask Meredith. Not that Meredith has been much HELP to me in other areas, however. She refuses to help me in my evil plan to "take my mind off of things and get away from it all." This is a euphemism. I'm suddenly worried that the Air Force person that read Aimee's blog will mosey on over to mine. Fat chance, but one never knows, especially when my little pita site here offers helpful self-help advice like saying, "I'm on this planet. I belong here." It suddenly occurs to me, however, that maybe I'm not on this planet. Perhaps that is the reason no one reads my blog. I'm not really here. Never have been. It also could be that I don't have some way awesome eff'ing cool "discuss amongst yourselves" pop up window for people to make public comments, either. I'm sort of afraid to get one now, though, because I'm not really certain if I truly, once-and-for-all, want to find out if I'm on this planet. If I'm not on this planet, how the hell am I going to find my way, dammit, and to where?

Leslie last rambled at 11:23 a.m. on Thursday, April 12, 2001

• One Xanax, taken 20 minutes prior to searching for a parking space at Northern Illinois Univerisity, will relieve all anxiety and irritation at having to walk four eff'ing thousand miles from your car to the building. If you're into such things, by the way, the Xanax site linked here deals with its absorptive properties in men only. Not that I usually notice things like that.
• Marty, my therapist, suggested that I practice a bit of self-compassion in the form of a mantra-type statement. His suggestion: "I'm on this planet, I belong here, I'm trying to find my way, and dammit, I will." It was so profound, I had to write it down. Let me know if this works for you. I'm all about sharing.

Leslie last rambled at 12:25 a.m. on Wednesday, April 11, 2001

• Taylor, my oldest daughter, got the award for Most Outstanding Freshman in her Key Club. I could have cried. I haven't totally f'd her up. She has managed to become capable and bright and upbeat and competent despite me. Well, she probably did it just to spite me, but that's okay, because the world prizes those qualities. Another penny from heaven.
• Matt is a bit testy today. He pointed out my redundancy in two e-mails I sent him. I told him to "have a nice day." Twice. That probably is one of the larger faux pas that an English type person can committ-- redundancy. But is it really redundancy if the one committing the redundancy doesn't remember that they're repeating themselves? The Alzheimer's defense. Now what was I talking about?
• Evan has strep throat. And a broken arm. He was so grateful when I brought him popsicles and chicken noodle soup. Every once in a while, I think that perhaps he was worth stretch marks and having to move to the relaxed fit jeans. I'm terrified, actually, when I think of him/them being gone.

Leslie last rambled at 10:46 a.m. on Tuesday, April 10, 2001

I just got an e-mail saying that I will be getting an extra month's salary this term. Is that the faint tinkle of a bell I hear in the distance? What angel just got their wings? This is a cruel joke. We'll get the money, spend it, and then they'll inform us that they are doubling our teaching load each term. I'm blogging on one station of my home network. How'd I get a home network, you ask? I did it myself. Yep. Followed the 3 easy steps to complete and utter family geekdom. I keep moving from one work station to the next trying to prove to myself that this couldn't possibly work, but it does, Virginia, yes it does.

Leslie last rambled at 08:59 a.m. on Tuesday, April 10, 2001

• Just looked at my blog in AOL's browser. It looks really sucky. My left table column overlaps the right one. Ugly, ugly, ugly.

Leslie last rambled at 08:57 a.m. on Tuesday, April 10, 2001

• I'm using my children's computer. I have to because I'm trying to install some network hub on the other one. My children's computer has little glittery stars that follow the mouse across the screen whenever you move it to click on something. It must go, or I must die.

Leslie last rambled at 11:02 p.m. on Monday, April 9, 2001

This is what I would have said on Aimee's discussion link if it would have let me. I kept getting an error: "I think you did pretty cool w/the code for your own blog discussion thing, Aims. I'm probably going to beg to steal it. I wonder if anyone will discuss w/me. We'll have to see, won't we? Anyway, I sort of like being a side kick. You get cool lines like, "Holy socks, Laundry Lady! Your whitening mist really did the trick! Besides the cool lines, you also don't have the ultimate responsibility for when everything gets eff'd, which it inevitably does. You can always say, "Hey, don't look at me. I had a shitty teacher!"That's what my students say all the time.

Leslie last rambled at 10:23 p.m. on Monday, April 9, 2001