being mean

a and l, welcome back to the usa.

i turn in a huge stack of graded essays for ajjc’s “films of wwII” class tomorrow. in honor of asshole tuesday: notes from the process. unfortunately, i have to keep them to myself (but i will share them here with yall) because ajjc is kind. he is not an asshole. when i tell him i’m behind on my draft, he says things like: “Re: your project: stagefright, anxiety, panic et al. may prove enriching. Not to worry: you can also bring it to me a couple days later.” when I tell him that this quarter’s group is a rough bunch and I can’t tell whether I’m being too mean or way too nice, he says, “Re: too mean? or too nice? a psychoanalytic answer would be that one doesn’t exclude the other.” read these quotes in a thick french accent. imagine them spoken through a smirk that is half smarmy/half demure if that is even possible. so much grace. totally sincere. he’s out there, for sure- but not an asshole. as for me, though….

aaron topol, fun-with-adjectives is not fun to read.

david smith, please be brilliant.

john fishbeck, why when i took your paper out of the sheet protector did it smell like apple juice?

john fishbeck, it seems that the theme for your paper is: in a suspenseful movie like valkyrie the use of tension and suspense is used to create suspense.

erin hourigan, if you want to claim that tarantino’s inglorious basterds is a 20^th century romeo and juliet you’re going to have to put in a helluva lot more work than that.

trevor leonardo, did i miss something or is your thesis really how the jew bear is like a golem?

lewis simon, don’t end your essay with a random food-for-thought question.

dean elhag, it’s film analysis. technical writing, not poetry. are you embarrassed that you wrote: the men take a seat, MS [medium shot]. their cool grey uniforms dance in the light.

someone, say something please!!

everyone, stop saying: “tarantino wonderfully uses…” “tarantino elegantly demonstrates…”

………………..these are real sentences……………….

This does not only created tensions within the emotions of the protagonist but also the feelings of anxiety within the emotions of the audience.

On the one hand it is not a major part of the movie, which would leave it unbalanced if it were missing. However it adds to the story and the emotional connection as a hole.

With the exception being Landa, whose impregnable mental prowess and sinister cunning similarly transcend human capabilities establishing him to the viewer on a level that rivals that of the Basterds, a true nemesis.

They started a fair that built partly on “love” and partly on the fact that Hannah traded sex for being read to.

From the first shot, Oskar is not able to take his eyes away from her let alone let her out of his sight.

This was an interesting sequence because it was confusing in the beginning of the sequence and still confusing at the end.

i did not include any of the word salad written by the non-native english speakers. i’m not that evil. but it was there and kind of amazing. i have to admit it’s a little bit fun for me. like watching the limbo stick. can anyone go lower than this paper? holy crap they can!!

did you observe asshole tuesday today?

speak to me, paul

I.am.al.most.done.

The family went on a trip for 9 days and left me to weird out with my work. Which was good. And lonely. And productive and strange. It made for a bit of (unintentional) fasting and praying. Fasting as in, “Oh shit, I didn’t eat today, except that slice of honeydew and toast. No- the toast is still on plate.” Praying as in saying outloud with my computer on my lap, “Speak to me, Paul Bowles!”

In the cafe right now trying to wrap this thing up. (I say cafe, because I saying Starbucks depresses me). Music isn’t right. Bebel Gilberto and the like- lovely but not at all what I’m needing right now. Headphones on. I can still kindof hear the mariachi band.

So distracted.

I want to know what if means if you say how’s it hanging? I don’t really ever say how’s it hanging and I don’t know if I’m just twelve on the inside or what but to me it conjures up one thing only. So if the barista asks a tall balding businessman (office body) in a loud voice: how’s it hanging? and he says “good” and smiles then I feel like I’ve witnessed an  awkward intimate moment. There’s a visual… just all in all, no thank you.

So distracted. Focus, focus, focus..

 

maybe

The project that I have been dreading. The draft that I wrote and then read and read and read and read until I could not tell whether it was any good or coherent at all. Then placed the cursor over the print button, squeezed my eyes closed and clicked. The stapled sheets slipped into the professors’ mailboxes. And the sickness and dread- that I am not eloquent enough or able enough or creative enough. I just hoped they’d be gentle.

And though I might be eaten alive next Tuesday in the it’s-not-working-shop, I sat on Prof. A’s psychoanalyst couch yesterday… so funny he has that in his office… I sat upright with a pillow behind my back. He always wants me to sit on that couch, instead of the swiveling office chair. Insists it is more comfortable, although it feels like such a movie prop, and myself a character, that I find it almost distracting to be sitting there sometimes. I folded my hands in my lap and waited for it.

The word he used, the word I never would have expected was: fantastic. He praised it for nearly an hour. He read passages he liked and told me why he liked them. He pointed out some areas that he’d like to see expanded. He offered some books that I might flip through for inspiration. He thanked me for my work. He said he was eager for the next installment. My other two readers might shut me down when I meet up with them next week, but I’m so encouraged that my advisor, the head of my committee, is in my corner. And that maybe I won’t just get through this. Maybe I’ll actually shine.

the glad game

i’m weirdly happy. even though i shouldn’t be. even though i am writing a paper now that is due this afternoon, that should’ve already been writ and that in more ways than i can count, i am failing at everything. still, a kind of peacefulness. not apathy, but some existential “this really doesn’t actually matter” kind of feeling. all pollyana, life-is-okay because of:

a package in the mail. mix cd of happy from andrea. who makes mixes for friends anymore!? mixes were (are!) the best. before pandora (or jango or last.fm or whatever) we used to rely on our FRIENDS to show us what was good and to patch it together so that it flowed and created an atmosphere. this made me feel thought-of. loved? 

professor william o’brien signs his name billy. date set for thesis defense! 1^st of june at noon. (weird slip; i first wrote: fate set…)

kyle makes minnesotan wild rice and mushroom soup. he shakes his head in disbelief and says, what’s wrong with me? i just spent ten minutes reading the comment section for this recipe and thinking ‘i could do that! i could make it without the dairy so that i can freeze it!’  i’m becoming such a stay-at-home mom

frankie full of grace (except for feather-fluffer). necessary handholding through the very basics Did you remember your ID card? and There’s a button here somewhere (guiding me toward an obvious sticker that says “on”) when my brain has maxed out completely

then she makes my day with the invented verb “ebuchaneezered”

oh shit

this: the more i read her, the more i like her. the more i really do. despite myself.

this: f and i pathcrossing on campus one day after main gym and the histrionic thigh machine. both of trying not to walk like cowboys.

this: before crossing the street tonight, a bus passed. so close i could feel its velocity in the gust. and for a second there was poe’s imp of the perverse. a flitting thrill and hope. that it would hit me. and i would be cartoon flattened. and i could say, “but i have an excuse! the draft is late [or subpar or unfinished] because i died!” (i can be a bit macabre).

and this: a found note-to-self

tropical rainstorm. i have an aztec clay mask on my face. i’m telling kyle stop making me laugh because it’s making my mask crack. i’m drinking  a detox tea. 

reminding me that it’s not so bad at all. just a world someone got going too fast, like those old school playground merry-go-rounds, hanging on for dear life with legs flying out behind me.

but i do like

this poem.

Thing
by Rae Armantrout
We love our cat for her self regard is assiduous and bland, for she sits in the small patch of sun on our rug and licks her claws from all angles and it is far superior to "balanced reporting" though, of course, it is also the very same thing.

a letter from a famous poet

A pulitzer prize winning poet wrote a letter to me of all people! I should print it and hang it on my wall!

Dear Elizabeth, I understand that I am on your honors committee but I don’t remember ever hearing what your project will be. Am I still on this committee. When will I see or at least hear about your project? Have you scheduled your defense?
Thanks,
Rae Armantrout

Luckily for me, I’ve spent the last… is it two years now?… polishing up on my literary analysis, so I’m really good at finding a richer reading and looking at this bit of correspondence through the prof-theory lens.  Here’s what I’m getting from this piece:

It is week five. You are behind. Actually, you are blowing it. Get your shit together pronto.

I don’t think I can pull off this quarter. Wrong attitude to have, I know. But this e-mail should be a slap in the face and a shake of the shoulders. A pull-yourself-together-kid! moment, but it is functioning instead as a punch to the gut. Wind knocked out of me. Oh help. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can………