Bookhag
Who needs a penis? I've got a new 17" Dell flat panel monitor. I wonder if having one means I'll actually have to do some work.
02:01 p.m. on Tuesday, May 14, 2002
I almost ran over a three-person utility crew last week. Their truck was blocking one lane, and the guys were standing in the middle of the other. There are always three, you know? Which may be an improvement over dyads, but there's probably a reason besides the utility company being open-minded. One guy was wiry and leathery. He looked to be in his early 50s. But he might be younger. The outdoor life ages a person quickly, I think. The other guy was about the same age with a well-tended, competitive beer belly. He was probably bald under the hard hat. The third guy was tall, young, brown, and lean. Quite nice to look at, so I'm glad I didn't accidentally run him over. I started thinking, though, that this seems to be the composite of practically every utility company work crew I've seen recently. Have they always been like that, or am I just noticing? And how do the gorgeous young guys shrink a foot and add 30 pounds in 15 yrs? Do the young, handsome guys have more opportunities in other fields? Do they leave? Only the wiry and the beer-bellied are lifelong utility company workers? Sometimes I wonder why I think about these questions. They're petty and mean in some ways, but musing on the men in the street keeps me from having to examine my own sorry existence. And isn't that a noble preoccupation?
09:47 a.m. on Monday, May 13, 2002
The bottom of my left foot hurts when I walk. It is a commashaped area, the heel is the circular dot of the comma, and the pain curves off down the outer edge of my sole ending at the ball. It's hard to describe foot geography. I suppose a podiatrist could do it, or someone well-versed in anatomy, but I'm neither. I just know that there's a large, roundish area of tough skin between the arch and beginning of my big toe. I've always referred to it as the ball of the foot. I don't know if anyone else does or not. My calves and hamstrings are tired from the walking I've done this week. I'm not used to it. The info. I received with my pedometer says that most people take between four and six thousand steps daily. The only way I've made that number is to work out on my treadmill 35 minutes each night. My job is more sedentary than I thought, even though I work on a university campus and have to park a million miles from my building. My hip sockets were hurting this morning, too. Six ibuprophens haven't helped today. At 1:03 P.M. I finally am feeling better. Hell of a way to spend the first 7 hours of the day, though. On the bright side, my headache is beginning to go away. My brain feels fuzzy, though, and the will to do anything-- move my arm, take a sip from my coffee, chew, even-- is non-existent. I am planning and giving three parties this weekend, and I can't conjure the energy or enthusiasm to write down the list of things I need to buy and/or do to get ready. Everyone will just have to muddle through the best they can. That's what I've been doing. Amy's husband is fixing my car today. I don't quite have the money to pay him, so I hope he doesn't cash the check right away. On the other hand, I can just delay paying another bill until I get paid on the 16th. It's what I've spent my married life doing, juggling and balancing, so I don't know why I'm stressing over this particular item. Probably because it involves having to work w/my spouse. I saw an adorable Cape Cod for rent yesterday. I've always loved it-- nice fenced in pocket-sized yard, well-kept, updated-- it would be a great place. It still had Christmas decorations up which seemed a little odd to me. The "Feliz Navidad" sign on the chimney seemed at odds with the traditional Cape Cod style, but why is that any stranger than a Cape Cod house in the middle of a solidly midwestern town? I think these thoughts embarrassingly say something about my stereotyped thinking. Tired. Just tired.
11:08 a.m. on Friday, May 10, 2002
Is it a good thing if when your boss has one chance to compliment you and he says you're "very funny"? I had a good idea this morning at about 8:00 A.M., and it's been downhill ever since. And, of course, since I didn't write it down, I can't even remember what it was. I think it involved a chart, some goals, and a list of funny consequences. I got sidetracked from the good idea, though, at the thought of having office chair-iot races for the department. This was all before tedium set in, of course. I e-mailed a friend that I haven't e-mailed in a while and received a cryptic message in response. I'm paranoid that I've goofed up somehow and don't know what I did. I work for someone, though, who fosters and nurtures (are those the same thing?) this kind of paranoia. All of one's work mysteriously and quietly gets turned over to other people until some Wednesday you're sitting in your office and you realize you have no deadlines to meet, no projects to work on, and no e-mail besides porn spam. You suddenly get the idea that your boss wants you out, but wants it to be your idea. So you start job hunting and eventually transfer to another department without ever really having discovered how you screwed up in the first place. I am extremely dense about these matters, though, and I perpetually fear that I won't realize he wants me out for a couple years or something. I can always find ways to entertain myself, ways to stay busy, ways to stubbornly believe I make a difference, that I matter. Or think that I matter. So, I honestly hope after 18 months or so he'll just scream at me that I'm an incompetent fool and he doesn't ever want me to set foot in his department again. I hope it doesn't happen, though, until I get my car paid off. And I really hope it doesn't happen w/this person I e-mailed. Either the silent "get out" or the screaming "get out." Jobs I can live without. Friends are a more precious, however.
02:27 p.m. on Wednesday, May 8, 2002
I have put in my full 7.5 hours worth of work in 5.5 hours today. I am done. So why is it only 2:20? Had lunch with Meredith today. Hi! Haven't laughed that much since Christina was here. Was reminded why I like English people so much and why I'm not enjoying my job so much. Not enough literature peoples around. Desperately need a nap. Am making coffee instead.
02:18 p.m. on Tuesday, May 7, 2002
I picked up a copy of DeLillo's The Names at the library book sale a while back. Christina said I should read it. I started it over the weekend. The early dialogue was hysterical. The cult idea is funny, too, if the book didn't take it so seriously. A group of people who are just interested in alphabets? forms? Get the idea he might be poking fun at some of us English type folks? THe fight between James and Kathryn over where Tap is going to go to school, though, isn't any good at all. Heck, my arguments w/Steve are better than that. Today was Evan's birthday. He's nine. sniff. TJ's birthday is Saturday. I'm not in the least bit nostalgic about hers. She can get out, I say! It's time. Past time. Waaaay past time. She's been a little moody lately. I, of course, have been perfectly even-handed, balanced, and centered. A model of decorum and good breeding. That's the first thing that comes to your mind when you think "Leslie," isn't it-- good breeding? And I don't define that by the number of times I've been pregnant! Hopefully I'm having lunch w/Meredith tomorrow. I e-mailed Maggie last week. She e-mailed me back. Steve R. sent me a short joke in e-mail, too. It was only slightly perverted. That's about it. Other than I'm still not sold on this working full-time stuff.
10:55 p.m. on Monday, May 6, 2002
I love chairs with wheels! Not exactly wheelchairs, but an office chair that rolls. I have a very nice one. I don't think I've stood up all day. Now I have to go to the bathroom, though, and I can't find anyone to push me down the hall. No one has much love for their compadres on Mondays, I guess.
01:25 p.m. on Monday, May 6, 2002
Chris got the job coaching the Rockford Lightning. Interview at 10! The kids are excited. I think it's been a strain on Karen having Chris work so far away from home. I don't know why I'm so concerned about Karen, her work load, etc., except that maybe I'm jealous that she can manage and I can't. Yeah, that's probably it.
I keep forgetting to tell Christina that I'm reading DeLillo's The Names. Very funny and poignant so far. Pretty much obsessed with language and memory, which pretty much ends up being about nostalgia and longing for something that most likely was never present originally. Nostalgic for something that never was? hm. It all gets too deep for me. Planted flowers today, getting ready for Evan's and TJ's birthday parties next week. Need to call my mom and invite her for mother's day. I just have to vent a little-- Steve's mom just got back from Mayo. She had a check up. They did a breast biopsy which turned out to be fine. She was just saying to me today, "When I thought I might have cancer, I just didn't know if I could cope-- some of these women on the cancer floor were wearing turbans. It was very scary. Turbans? She's worried about wearing a fucking turban when my mom's cancer is incurable? She knows about my mom. It just struck me as a rather selfish sort of thing to say to me. Kind of inconsiderate. She obviously didn't want to be sick. I don't know if she's scared of dying. I think she'd rather go before Bob. She wouldn't know what to do w/out him. She'd be timid and demanding. Even more than now. I don't know if it is possible to be both things at once, but I feel like it is. I'll have to think about it some more. Anyway, I need to take some pictures of the yard. It looks really nice. I'm glad I felt like working on it all day even though now I feel pretty crappy. My forearms are sunburned.
08:27 p.m. on Saturday, May 4, 2002
02:01 p.m. on Friday, May 3, 2002
And yet another example of bureaucratic constipation:
A student registered for a distance learning course requested a transcript from campus Registration and Records. The university refuses to give the student the transcript until said student physically drives to campus and gets immunizations and vaccinations, because "all students at the university must have proof of current immunizations on file." What kind of place do I work for?
08:00 a.m. on Sunday, December 2, 2001
Back here (again, and finally) looking for a usenet address that Matt gave me long, long ago. Starting a family discussion list about what food to bring to Christmas dinner. Sherri has bon-bons on her list already. Hope the cable modem doesnt go down. If it does, I'm back to using AOL as my ISP. With a phone modem. Horrors!
12:23 p.m. on Sunday, October 14, 2001
Ah, the power of the pen/computer/word:
I received a $70 refund from NIU's library, forgiving my book fines. All because I wrote an eloquent appeal, basically explaining that I was too sick to get my books back on time. The money should keep me in lattes for a couple months.
Random thought: If weblogs existed when Flannery O'Connor was writing, would she have had one?
And yet more writing:
Mr. Morphis makes an excellent suggestion when he proposes the U.S. question
past foreign policy decisions, but using the analogy of a child's temper tantrum in
connection with terrorism is misleading at best, dangerous at worst. Communities
build collective histories about themselves. These stories influence community
perceptions and attitudes, and attitudes and perceptions influence actions.
Thinking of terrorism as a childish temper tantrum could encourage ways of thinking
that might perpetuate rather than end deplorable terrorist acts.
Specifically, neither the citizens of foreign countries nor their governments are
children of the United States. A perception based on a parent-child metaphor
encourages authoritarian or elitist attitudes. The temper tantrum metaphor also
implies a lack of self-control or an impulsive over-reaction to an isolated situation.
This perspective oversimplifies the complex and multiple forces that have influenced
and exerted pressures on the people and cultures of the Middle East, United States,
and rest of the world.
I do not suggest U.S. foreign policy directly caused the September 11 attacks. To
do so would be yet another over-simplification. Rather, I want to suggest
the myths or stories that the people of the United States construct based on the
terrorism in New York and Washington influence both personal and collective
responses to the tragedy. Building a story of irrational Middle Eastern people who
impulsively lash out like petulant children against a wise U.S. parent is dangerous
both individually and politically.
Theologian Francois Fenelon (1651-1715), wrote, "All wars are civil wars, because
all men are brothers... Each one owes infinitely more to the human race than to the
particular country in which he was born, " and mystic Charan Singh (1916-1990)
said, "Even for our enemies in misery-- there should be tears in our eyes." We might
do better to build a communal framework on metaphors that promote
empowerment, not power; cooperation, not polarization.
09:44 p.m. on Monday, September 10, 2001
Signed on to AOL tonight for the first time in ages (to check my mail, of course). There's a link to something called, "How good is your Gaydar?" It is a quiz to determine how good you are at picking out cars that gays, lesbians, or "straights" drive/own. And it was located in People Connections' gay/lesbian content area!!! I can't quite put my finger on it just yet, but for some reason, this type of guessing game worries me.
Hi, Aimee. I had fun chatting via IM w/you tonight. We should get together soon. I'm almost over my agoraphobia, I think. I even went grocery shopping today.
01:15 a.m. on Wednesday, September 5, 2001
Okay-- Netscape's front page poll for yesterday was, "Which are you more afraid of-- being attacked by a shark, killer bees, or a rat?" Don't they know there are bigger things to worry about? I'm praying the dust bunnies under my bed don't get pissed at me. What a weird question. Oh-- and I HATE NIU's most recent incarnation of the library website. Functionality and useability is all I ask for in a library web site. Is that too much to ask for? Going to stick shish-kabob skewers in my college librarian Barbie now.
11:57 p.m. on Tuesday, September 4, 2001
Hm...something else looking weird. Let's see if it was just a fluke...Yep. Just a fluke. Definitely a fluke. Whew. All's well in blog heaven tonight.
11:54 p.m. on Tuesday, September 4, 2001
My last entry was really effed up. It's probably because I was griping about
01:10 a.m. on Sunday, August 19, 2001
yikes....I think everything was deleted when Eric transferred stuff over to the new server. Wahhh!
Self-diagnosis-- more fun than a proctology exam! Diagnosis: The Colleywobbles Sometimes referred to as Leslie Syndrome, after the only human being ever diagnosed with this illness. The Colleywobbles is a psychosomatic yet debilitating condition that affects working mothers during the most crucial years of their mid-life crisis. The disease initially manifests itself in a severe and prolonged lack of motivation, enthusiasm and/or energy for doing simple, everyday tasks like bathing and breathing. Symptoms are intermittent and tend to worsen around the school year, weekends, holidays, summer vacation, or any day when there are a lot of tedious and unrewarding chores to do (carpool, childrearing, housework, paper-grading, waking up in the morning). Normal activities such as talking may even prove to be too difficult for Colleywobbles sufferers. Currently, there is no cure for The Colleywobbles, which affects roughly one in every 30 gazillion people, primarily middle-aged women from medium-sized towns in Northern Illinois. Research into the cause of this mysterious condition has been hampered by the idiosyncratic and ego-centric nature of the disease. Frequently, the Colleywobbles patient's family and friends suffer as well. Feelings of resentment and self-pity are common and quite understandable. Those closely connected with the Colleywobbles sufferer tend to make statements like, "I have to do everything around here," or ask questions such as, "Can't you just get over it and start feeding us again?" or "So I guess this means you aren't taking me to the mall today?" Adverse side effects caused by the disease can be improved, however, with heavy and regular doses of psychotropic medications and rapid infusions of Hershey's Hugs and peanut butter M & M's. Other recommended treatments include copious daily ingestion of daytime talk shows and/or anything on the Lifetime channel. More severe cases of The Colleywobbles may require intravenous doses of Ben and Jerry's ice cream. Some patients improve markedly when given large amounts of freshly made Cafe Breves with extra whipped cream. During rapid onset or acute attacks of The Colleywobbles, off-brand ice milk or faux cafe mochas (commonly found in many convenience stores and 24-hour Mobil gas stations) may be substituted, but these cheap imitations are not recommended for regular treatment. Other forms of therapy include cover-to-cover readings of People magazine or any Danielle Steele novel and the hiring of a houseboy/gigolo, cook, chauffeur, and childcare worker.
12:01 p.m. on Tuesday, July 24, 2001
10:55 p.m. on Wednesday, July 11, 2001
I'm taking clonipins and printing out Medicare information. Do you know how much disinformation and confusion there is about this stuff? It's bureacracy. However you spell it. I wonder if I could make a small supplementary living out of developing procedures for wading through all of this stuff. The practice I find most objectionable is that the government makes everything so difficult for people who are already not at the peak of their game. These people are at a disadvantage already, and, I suspect, are so downtrodden by the system in which they find themselves that they willingly submit to whatever disinformation or misunderstood information someone puts in front of them. I could be a super hero that could change all that. Somehow. I could call myself "monomyth" (I borrow this term/name from Caliban, who is extremely nice to me even though we hardly know each other. I am thankful for people that are nice to others just because, and not because of self-interest. I have nothing to offer him. I'm not as well read, I'm probably rather more conservative in my philosophical/ideological/religious ideals, although I'm becoming more cynical daily. I'm not even that funny. Or interesting. So, I think it is very nice that he would help me. Maybe it is like that movie that I haven't seen called "Pay it Forward." He does a good thing, then they do good things and so on, and so on, and so on...Just like the Herbal Essence commercial before it became a totally orgasmic experience. Organic, I mean. Damn, I wish shampoo was what did it for me. But that's another story. Thank you, Pat!
11:12 p.m. on Tuesday, June 26, 2001
Aimee's Celebrity Stock Market thing sounds fun. Here's one thing I know about celebrities: anyone whose head is larger than their body has an eating disorder. They will be briefly popular but fall from grace quickly when rumors of their skinniness make it into the pages of People magazine. It happened to Celine Dion, Courtney Cox, and Calista Flockhart. I'm pretty sure Nancy Reagan is anorexic, also. No one's head should be larger than their body. No one's ass should be larger than their head, I mean hey, look at me: I'm the poster woman for why asses should always be smaller than heads. This line of reflection isn't reading right to me, so I think I'll stop while I'm behind. Yuck, yuck. Man, do I know the anti-depressants are kicking in-- I'm back to using really bad puns. My children are old enough to understand them now, even, and tell me they aren't funny. But I only have to amuse one person a day, moi. Today isn't their day, and tomorrow isn't looking good, either.
Well, I guess I'd better take the load less travelled and do some laundry. Two loads diverged in the laundromat, and I, I took the load less pre-treated. And that has made all the difference. I'm copyrighting that. It'll be the title of my Erma Bombeck rip off book. We have a lot in common, Erma (may she rest in peace) and I. Kids, housework, breast problems... yeesh. I'm really sick.
Oh, but I forgot the good news-- we have swimming pool! I could post a pic, but that would involve getting my digital camera out, installing the USB software on this computer, and finding a recent pic. Too much work for tonight. Tomorrow, maybe. I don't have to worry about my health anymore. Now maybe I can worry about giving Dubya a grade for his presidenting. Hey! I did that verbing thing! People supposedly hate the trend. Like saying, "I e-mailed him, or yeah, we instant messaged for a while." Personally, I don't mind it. Oh. Must remind Eric that I want to help him install the new NWR computers. I hope he hasn't done it yet. Must have Aimee and Merd over for a swim and some gossip. Gotta figure where to stow the kids first.
11:30 p.m. on Monday, June 25, 2001
Okay...so maybe literary research is getting a bit to esoteric? Check this out: University of Texas at San Antonio - 2nd Interdisciplinary and Multicultural Conference on Food Representation in Literature, Film & The Other Arts, February 14-16, 2002. Proposals for individual papers or
sessions should be postmarked no later than August 31, 2001. For more information see display. San Antonio is an awesome town, and February would be a good time to visit. Now, if only I had a topic. Food representation..."Please sir, I want more..." Hunger, poverty, starvation, something about the morality and politics of hunger-- a moral failing to be hungry and thin in nineteenth century England. Something like that. For some reason, I have no desire to do these presentation things anymore. They all seem so-- well, masturbatory. Not that I have anything against masturbation. But to get all ecclesiastical here for a moment, there is a time and purpose for everything. I just don't think a literature/food representation conference is the place. This is, of course, only one woman's opinion. So the good news is that my most recent MRI didn't display any blatant signs of MS. Now if only my body would stop displaying them. I went to the emergency room a few weeks ago-- the ER doc told me that if I would admit myself to the psychiatric ward, I could "get a full medical work up." I told her I could get one of those on the neuro. floor, too, so why didn't she admit me there? She wouldn't come right out and say she thought I was crazy, but she did tell me that I didn't display "clinical neurological symptoms." I guess it is all in my head. One way or another. So after the nurse gave me the wonderful news that I didn't have MS, I asked her what was next in terms of testing/treatment for my symptoms. She replied that the doctor hadn't mentioned anything more about that. I guess once you find out you don't have MS, they figure you're so relieved that you don't give a shit that you still have very weird things happening in your body. My body. I'm truly not bitter. Why would I be when I live in the second largest city in Illinois and yet must travel to a small town just over the Wisconsin border in order to see a neurologist before September? That wouldn't make me bitter. What does make me bitter? My DVD/CD ROM crashing on my laptop. Now that really bites. And I was in the middle of Space Cowboys, too. I'm going to attempt hardware removal tomorrow probably. What else do I have going on?
11:00 p.m. on Monday, June 25, 2001
Having a difficult time releasing ownership of a website that I made as a service learning project this year. Some doofus decided to change something and used Front Page. It eff'd w/the code, of course, so now my beautiful, efficient and elegant javascript navigation won't work in Netscape (or any other browser), I suspect. He also deleted the school logo that I'd created. The problem I have with this is that the people making the changes don't know enough about how code all works to anticipate this sort of problem. Most of the world uses Microsoft Explorer, so most of the children and other people who access the site will lead happy lives, blissfully unaware of what some idiot with a stolen version of Front Page did to my nice little cross browser compatible website. Time to take some Xanax and then remove all traces of my name/presence from the site. ::sniff:: I'm disowning my brainchild. Orphaning my first little baby website. Throwing her to the Microsoftites, those Neanderthals. Must remember to wear black and toast my fond memories of the site w/a good Irish whiskey. Ciao, my little HTML beauty. In those utterly incapable hands, you'll be dead in no time. On a lighter note, I got a Sony Clie handheld in a u-bid auction last night. Can't seem to find out if it has web browser capabilities. Guess I'll see when it gets here. Hm. I have two items coming in mail order next week: the u-bid thing and some stuff from Victoria's Secret. That's an interesting juxtaposition, isn't it?
01:15 a.m. on Friday, June 15, 2001
No one has e-mailed me in the last 30 minutes.
11:42 a.m. on Wednesday, June 13, 2001
Have no idea when I last blogged. Became allergic to the process for a while, I think. Haven't read anyone's, either. Can you say self-absorbed? Need to find euphemism for that characterist. So I just want to say that I get really bothered when I e-mail a person and I want to hear back from them like almost immediately, and I don't hear back from them even hours later. I'm talking about my job interview thingie that I had at NIU on May 31! Oh. Well, that isn't really that long ago, I guess. Add impatient to list of qualities that I must find a euphemism for. Oh. Just remembered something about my unfinished school work. Need to e-mail Caliban.
11:11 a.m. on Wednesday, June 13, 2001
08:04 p.m. on Saturday, May 19, 2001
From the May 9 Onion: "I'm a family man like [James Drabeck], and it's sobering to think that everything can disappear like that in the wink of an eye," Tierney said. "He must have been
quite a guy to warrant that purple horse piņata."
05:49 a.m. on Tuesday, May 15, 2001
Christina says that I bring out the worst in people and that this is one of my better qualities. Sniff. I hate it when people compliment me!
She also says that I say nice things about my children when I'm not really paying attention. I'll have to be more careful about that. I don't want anyone getting the idea that I love them or anything. Especially them. That would be bad. Very bad.
10:47 p.m. on Wednesday, May 9, 2001
Maudlin thought for the day:
I have the kind of friends who count-- the ones who will pull my sorry ass out of the gutter and bitch at me and baby me and tolerate me when I'm a fairly miserable human being. These are the best kind of friends to have--- sadistic ones. I'm thanking my Higher Blogger for all ya'll tonight.
07:28 p.m. on Tuesday, May 8, 2001
The loveliest sentiment expressed in a rapidly wearying conversation: "You want to destroy literature? Make it compulsory." ~P. Dunn
As Giles would say, "Can I footnote you on that?" Come to think of it, I need to find my pike. I think I've been using it to spear timid socks who insist on hiding under my bed, huddled next to the dusty stack of Cosmopolitans. I am unafraid to say I'm a Recovering Helen Gurley Brown wannabe. My socks and I are now dosed with regular and appropriate amounts of serotonin reuptake inhibitors and are confident enough to attend [and enjoy] normal social functions like the premier of Crouching Necktie, Hidden Tube Sock. We still tremble in fear in the face of an intellectually lively professorial debate via listserv, however.
I have no idea what I'm babbling. I pray regularly to my Higher Blogger that I'll get out of The Academy with a few of my illusions intact. I think as long as I continue to remain ignorant of what Foucault and Althusser and Macherey said I'll be alright. Thank goodness they're never quoted in Oprah's magazine or on a Hooters billboard.
01:09 p.m. on Friday, May 4, 2001
10:39 a.m. on Friday, May 4, 2001
12:48 a.m. on Thursday, May 3, 2001
08:49 a.m. on Wednesday, May 2, 2001
09:54 p.m. on Tuesday, May 1, 2001
I so very much want to do something to them, but 1) we are now talking about criminal activity, and 2) I can't think of anything truly entertaining. Paint their noses red, maybe? I saw a catalog ad for "fake" bullet holes. Maybe I could paste a couple of those on their asses? The deer, not the neighbors. Tattoo them with bumper stickers? It was such a nice neighborhood, too. Will pink flamingos be far behind? Lawn skunks? Plaster squirrels? I do not need this stress during finals week. Where the hell is Wade Whitehouse when I need him?
The spire didn't even point perpendicularly to heaven-- it angled towards, well, Chicago, if you want to know the truth. What are we worshipping here? The Deer cult moves into my neighborhood and the church spire that should be the ultimate "You Aren't Here Yet" sign for heaven is actually pointing the way to the Windy City.
The Lah did not like this, no'm, He did not. So He madeth the wind to rise and smote that slanty building of evil, with it's steeple pointing to the New Sodom and Gomorrah. To put it plainly, the wind ripped the tusk off the end of the building. Oddly, it looks more church-like now than before.
