A list

About a week ago, Fanny and I talked (online, since we live in different cities) and decided to revive this blog. I volunteered to write the first post (supposed to have been up days ago). In the days since, I have been thinking--after all, we need the perfect post to lure people back. It had to be brilliant. Except I couldn't think of what to write about. I started but did not finish quite a lot of posts. Today, I'm giving up. Next time, you'll have a better thought out piece of writing but this is not it.

So you'll have a navel-gazing list:

- I'm currently trying to put together a book proposal.
- A colleague and I have written an article that we'd like to send off to a journal.
- I stay home and write my thesis but the more I write, the more it seems still needs to be written.
- I have no social life at all. I don't even watch soccer or go to the cinema anymore. This is because...

I'm now unemployed. No job. Surprisingly, the unemployment part is not much different to being employed except now I seem to spend 2-3 days in a row wearing pajamas and t-shirts, not leaving home.

This could be a problem since social interaction was (is) not my strong point. It turns out I am quite happy of spending days in solitary musings and/or writing without actually having any desire to talk to people. I have also become (more) cranky so that when I do have to interact with people, I give a passable imitation of a werewolf.

The fact that, these days, I'm living off my meagre savings means I have no desire to go out and about. Going out would mean restaurants/pubs/bookstores, all of which are places where I tend to spend money. Since I returned to the USA 4 weeks ago, I've eaten out once.

Something has to change.

me = grumpy old woman

I was an at Important Academic Event today and something happened that rather annoyed me. So, as is usual, I'm laying it out here.

It was a seminar-type situation where one person was presenting. There were a couple of professors and junior scholars, including a good friend of the presenter. When it came to Q&A, the Good Friend kept on finishing the presenter's lines/arguments and jumping in when she (presenter) was asked a challenging question or asked to follow up/explain.

It got to the point that the presenter looked at Good Friend, GF jumped in and voila! Later, GF was making a lot of comments about how "tough" the presenter had had it and how the Q&A was unfair.

I was wondering what academics or academics-in-training would make of this? I found it insulting but then I'm the sort to prefer making an arse out of myself solo (and have a regrettable tendency to become highly sarcastic when publicly-challenged/pushed). But, still, I can understand a supervisor/advisor helping out if/when their student is under fire* but a Friend? Especially one who jumped in without the presenter actually being in trouble?



* I'd like to make it clear, though, the general view was the the Presenter was not under fire and the questions, while wankerish in their repetition, were straightforward ones, asking for clarification.

Best. Thing. Ever.

Everyone knows I love The Hills, right? I've moved past my secret shame, my self-mocking shame, my cultural zeitgeist shame, and right into whole-hearted, affectionate love. Don't judge me.

So tonight was the finale. Which is a bizarre concept because who has finales of lives? Also, who makes such poor decisions in their lives?

Anyway.

There was a commercial for this (from Broadcasting & Cable):

MTV plans Exiled!, an eight-episode documentary series that will ship the mini-divas from its Super Sweet 16 series to indigenous tribes in far-off lands like Africa and Antarctica for the chance -- their parents hope -- of gaining an altered world view.

Basically, this seems like a big Fuck you, Princess.

I cannot wait. (Squueeeeeeee)

My fervent wish is that this will maybe be the beginning of an antidote to the materialistic, fame-mongering, elitist, unexamined life attitude that's so disturbingly pervasive (and please don't take this as proselytizing. Remember: I adore The Hills).

My dread is that this project will make these people look like jack-asses who manage to offend people around the world and objectify other world cultures into sideshows.

I live in hope.

In which I blatantly crib from Bum and admire an even more youthful actor.

Since when did Shia LaBeouf become hot?

(Also: since when did I become a pervy old woman?)

I say this based on Disturbia, which I watched tonight and shivered and screamed and exclaimed "oh shit!" at all the appropriate moments.

And also, you know, kind of thought the very, very, very, almost-could-be-my-son-if-I-made-very-bad-choices-in-high-school (I said almost! Give or take 5-7 years) Mr. LaBeouf was kind of ... cripes, I feel gross admitting this ... kind of hot.

Was set up!

With the low slung jeans and bare feet and spectacular house with lovely windows and ... you know, adolescent angst and longing.

This is even in the face of his questionable activities. And the audacity of figuring into the holiest of holies, the Indiana Jones saga. Even with that present in my mind.

It's official. I've grossed myself out.

(But Disturbia was a good movie.)

in which i'm bereft of words

Except to say: I saw Russell Crowe sing on Saturday night. Really. With one of my (nostalgic) favourite bands Great Big Sea.

Everything before GBS came on stage had convinced me that age has caught up with me. Drunken louts crowd-surfing and random blokes saying "oh, so how are you Irish?" had nearly made me go home before GBS came on. But, memories of Australia (where I first heard GBS) and of their previous concert made me stick it out. Then, the fantastic surprise. The introduction was well-done and RC was fab.

Spinster.

There is a cute boy who works in my building. And of course I say "boy" though he is likely in his thirties. This keeps me in the "girl" camp because oh my God I am not a woman yet. Or womyn. Or lady. Though I do like the phrase lady-bird. I don't know why. Perhaps because I see a bird in a very elaborate hat. And that makes me smile.

Anyway.

So this boy-man who works in my building. I do not think I've tipped the stalker-scale yet. We've noticed each other in the garage. We've exchanged "oh, the dollar bill feeder isn't working" pleasantries at the vending machines. We've tossed shy smiles back and forth.

And I am a total pussy.

Because I will not go any further than this. Will not lay myself open to vulnerabilities and rejection and, lord save us, possibilities. Gracious, no.

I can hear Bum hitting her head against the keyboard right now. Perhaps screaming at me in that way that makes her voice go up just a little with exasperation. All very charmingly accented.

Because I feel like my days of flirting without alcohol are past. And I will be the woman in her house with millions of dollars worth of art that articles are written about and journalists can't call just "woman" or "lady" or "that crazy old bat." No, the call her spinster.

Except I will be the spinster with millions of dollars worth of cosmetics and trashy novels.

That?

That right there?

That's called catastrophizing. Pro tour.

uh-huh

Today, I went and saw Sweeney Todd*. I actually arrived there in time for the previews. These included a a horror film, two films about war and conspiracy, and two musicals. The last one--Mamma Mia--concerned me a bit since it starred Colin Firth, who'd morphed from A) to B) without my being aware of it. Nothing wrong with B) except I can't quite imagine having fantasies about that chap (and also he reminds me a bit much of various blokes who used to hang about the beaches around where I grew up)

I checked IMDB who told me Pride and Prejudice came out in 1995. No wonder Mr Firth's looking a bit more settled.

Please excuse me while I go off to have an existential crisis.


* For the 2nd time. It's not that good (I think Alan Rickman would have made a better Todd and someone else should have played H B-C's role) but it's still better than a lot of films out there right now.