The Adventures of a Shakespeare Fanatic

The Last Hurrah

2006-05-02T20:33:00.000-07:00

My dear readers (all four of you):

After much deliberation, I have decided to kill my blog. I have several good reasons for doing so:

1. The Chronicle for Higher Education performed a survey about potential professors who blog, and the universities that consider hiring them. Turns out having a blog is the kiss of death for almost anyone wanting a job in education, and since I'll probably be working somewhere in that field sometime soon, I think that I should not take the risk of appearing in any way unfavorable. Dev and Kelly, I'm sure you understand the pressure there.

2. Much as I enjoy blogging, my poor journal has been sitting on the shelf, untouched, for almost a month now, and it is too precious to negelct much longer.

All right, I guess I only have two reasons, but they are good and sound. Never fear, I will still stay in touch with you all via e-mail and my responses to your blogs. (That's a subtle hint to Sophie and Marcie: get blogs!)

I will miss my blog. I will miss the chance to share pictures and vignettes from my quirky, off-centered life with all of you. I will miss the community. But I just can't afford to put my career at risk.

Thank you so much to all my readers, for your faithfulness and your delightful comments. I'll be in touch.

This is the Shakespeare Fanatic, signing off

Almost Bliss...

2006-05-01T20:28:00.000-07:00

The time: Saturday night

The place: Rick's Cafe Casablanca

The reason: Blackberry - peach champagne sorbet

I'm going to recreate that recipe if it takes me all summer.

Since I Hate to Dwell on the Negative...

2006-04-24T06:31:00.000-07:00

Here are two wonderful things about my life this weekend:

On Saturday night, Emily and I went to see Loyola's production of The Learned Ladies by Moliere. I cannot remember the last time I laughed so hard. It was evident just from the set that Loyola gives more funding to their drama department than NNU is able to. The costumes were hilarious, Louis XVI masterpieces, with the men wearing those Captain Hook-style wigs with ringlets cascading down to their buttocks. The villain's get-up was the best: a violent fluorescent pink brocade coat, orange pantaloons, and a red shirt. Oh, it was ghastly. As for the characters, there was not a dull one in the cast. I was really impressed by the amount of talent I saw there. Emily and I were still laughing when we parted ways at the El stop that night.

And then, on Sunday, I went to the Chicago Symphony Orchestra with a group of people from my Sunday school class. Rouse's Rapture was well-played, but I'm afraid I can't get too excited about modern orchestral pieces. The next piece was by far my favorite: three movements from Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto in D Major, Op. 35. The lead violinist was Joshua Ball, a Grammy award-winning fellow who showed me what fabulous things one could do with a violin. Oh. My. Goodness. He played with such skill, it sounded like the music of angels. After the last movement, the crowd cheered and bravoed for so long he had to come back out on the stage three times to bow and present the rest of the orchestra. It was magical. The last piece was good too, but it had already been eclipsed by the Tchaikovsky, and I remember very little about it. On the whole, it was breathtaking.

So you see. Life isn't all schoolwork and unhappiness. There are some bright moments, too.

Hindsight

2006-04-23T18:51:00.000-07:00

You know, I'm becoming more and more certain that it was right for me not to get in to the PhD program. Not only do I feel entirely unqualified for that kind of work, but I am starting to loathe homework like you would not believe. The thought of being chained to a keyboard for five more years, churning out rehashed ideas that have been rehashed fifty times already, is enough to give me the dry heaves. I just don't know if all the agony is worth it in the end.

Just three more weeks of hell to go. God preserve my sanity until then.

The Spirit of the Hunter

2006-04-22T15:23:00.000-07:00

Killed a spider today. The only reason this event is noteworthy is because the thing was the size of a Lorna Doone shortbread cookie. It crawled out of a small hole in my ceiling and onto a pair of pants I had hung from the exposed water pipe to air-dry. When I took down the pants, the evil creature fell on my comforter and then scuttled under my bed. Of course, now I had to kill the thing, because there is no way on God's green earth that I would be able to sleep knowing that a huge spider was lurking right beneath me.

So, I armed myself with a sturdy shoe and went on the hunt, quietly sneaking up on my bed and systematically flinging my Rubbermaid storage boxes (which I keep under my bed) across the room, hoping to expose the dreaded beast. Finally, I was down to the last box. I crept up, shoe at the ready, and tossed the box aside. Unfortunately, there was nothing behind it. I now feared the worst: that the spider was seeking shelter in my sheets. Then I spotted a flicker of movement behind the bedframe. Now it was time to whip out the big guns, aka the vacuum cleaner.

I got the vacuum into position, slowly crept towards the beast's hiding place, and suddenly flipped the switch. There was a whirring, and then a fabulous thunk as the huge body was drawn in. Ahhh, it was a satisfying sound. My bloodlust has now been satisfied. Who needs big game hunting when you have ferocious beasts living in your own bedroom?

A New Job Category

2006-04-19T06:52:00.000-07:00

In my relentless search for places to work after graduation, I have stumbled onto a new category that has quite a few opportunities for a student like me: boarding schools. There are over thirty all-girls' boarding schools in the United States, granted most of them closer to the East coast than the West. In fact, there are only four girls' boarding schools west of the Mississippi, so that considerably narrows my chances of moving back to the West. But within this category, I've found places where an MA in English is just what they need.

Thus, I'll be spending a large portion of my day today polishing up my resume and mailing off another slew of envelopes. You know, I'd sleep so much better at night if I just knew where I would be in three months. This suspense is starting to grate on my nerves.

Play It Again, Sam

2006-04-13T18:01:00.000-07:00

Well, it seems as though the fates have decided that I have not humiliated myself enough when it comes to my interaction with the opposite sex. Yes, once again I have made an utter fool of myself. You know, Emily has been thinking about joining a sisterhood of Episcopalian nuns in London, and the way things have been going, I may just switch denominations and join her.

Tuesday was the first day this year to get over sixty-five degrees, so I decided to wear a skirt to class. I haven't worn a skirt since I first moved here to Chicago, so I was feeling very feminine. I was also feeling very self-confident, since I was wearing a skirt that I have not been able to fit in to for several years. After my classes that night it was still very nice out, so I decided to walk home. As I was walking, I happened to look ahead and notice that a handsome man was out walking his dogs just a block ahead of me, and that he had stopped to let them play for a few moments. Feeling rather confident, I decided to do a tiny drive-by flirtation. Hey! Don't pretend like you haven't done it. I know for a fact that at least half of my readers have done this at one time or another, so don't even start to judge.

So, I walked by, and just gave the little smile and nod typical of a drive-by flirtation. He smiled and nodded back, and I walked on thinking smug thoughts about the impression I must have made. Well, I just know that God heard these smug thoughts, and sent me the following punishment.

The next day, I was hurrying across campus with my classmates to my Early Modern class, when I spotted Dr. Clarke (my Victorian Novel professor) walking towards me. And walking alongside her was the man from the past night, and with his dogs too! I suddenly wondered if this man was a student of Dr. Clarke's, perhaps an advanced doctoral student that I had not yet met. Since I needed to talk to Dr. Clarke anyway about meeting with her next week, I broke ranks and trotted over to where they were standing. After a few moments discussing office hours and meetings, Dr. Clarke perhaps noticed my somewhat divided attention, and so politely decided to introduce her companion:

"And have you met my son?"

If ever I wished for a stray lightning bolt to come along and incinerate me, that was the moment. Her son! I was so horrified that all I could manage was:

"Oh yes! I remember you from last night!"

Of course, as soon as I said it, I regretted it. What must Dr. Clarke think about such a vague answer? Panicking, I nearly lost my bearings, trying desperately to think of anything to take their minds off my previous sentence. My eyes strayed downward towards the dogs sniffing around my feet. That's it! my bewildered mind cried. Talk about the dogs. Make them think about the dogs instead of me!

"Of course, it would be difficult to forget seeing such cute dogs as these!"

Curses! Now I've just insulted the poor man, saying that his dogs were the most memorable part of our encounter! Good heavens, why do I do this to myself? My mind now in a total fog of terror, I said a quick goodbye and bolted towards my class as though my very salvation depended upon it. Now that I think about it, I must have seemed terribly rude. Blathering like an idiot, and then darting off like a shot in the middle of an introduction, what other impression could I have made? Merciful heavens, could I have made a greater fool of myself?

I wonder if the nuns in London are accepting applications.

Testing One, Two, Three...

2006-04-08T07:17:00.000-07:00

Whoa, isn't this so neat?! My photo host set up this program where we can make animated photo strips and post them. These pictures are from Marcie's birthday party last year, when we went up to the Owyhees. Every year we go up there, hike around, visit the birthday rock, carve another year into our birch tree, and make hobo dinners in the camp fire. It's sad to think that we won't all be able to do it this year, or at least we won't be able to do it right on Marcie's birthday, since I'm stuck here in Chicago until July. Ah well. However, if we wait until the summer, then we'll be able to spend more time up there, since the sun will set later in the day.

Anyway, pretty neat photo feature, huh? It jazzes the entry up a little, I think.

Finally! Something for my Vitae!

2006-04-06T21:10:00.000-07:00

I just found out today that my panel has been selected to present at the Midwest MLA conference this November! Yay! Gosh, I suddenly feel so professional, being part of a real research panel and all. We're presenting on the intermingling or warring of high and low culture within Victorian British and American fiction and poetry. Oh, I'm just so giddy about the whole thing!

I also got that paper I was worried about turned in on time. Hooray. One last paper in feminist criticism in a few weeks, and then I'm free from the whole wretched business. It has been fun and all, but I just don't see myself ever getting excited about feminism. Some things about it rub me the wrong way.

Crock-Pot

2006-04-05T13:00:00.000-07:00

If there was anything I could change about myself (according to my present mood and situation), I would change the way I write papers. Not the style itself, but the way that I compile data and get everything ready for a paper.

I am so slow in that department. I was describing to Samantha yesterday that I am very much like a Crock-Pot when it comes to writing. Instead of reading a book, writing out notes and quotes, and then using the notes from several books to put together a paper, I must instead read every book twice without taking notes, let all the information stew in my head for a few days, until the pressure of the paper deadline forces out something tangible and of worth. So maybe I'm half Crock-Pot, half pressure cooker. I've had this assignment and all the texts hanging over my head for three weeks, and it was just this morning when I finally came up with a topic to write on. It's a good topic, and I'll write a good paper, but why must I always wait until the last minute to produce anything worthwhile? (The paper is due tomorrow afternoon.) It is exceedingly frustrating.

And the worst part about it is that I never learn to alter my habits, because I always get away with this. All of the papers and presentations I have done this semester have been put together at the last minute, but I still end up with the good grades. How can I be motivated to change my ways if I never suffer for them? Except for a sleepless night or two, a healthy dose of stress, and a guilt-riddled conscience, there really is nothing prompting me to alter my methods.

So, here I am, ready for another night of staying up late, typing frantically, and cursing my own laziness and stupidity for not having done this last week when I had oodles of time. Disgraceful.

A New Direction

2006-03-30T06:46:00.000-07:00

Well, that's that.

For those of you who don't already know, I wasn't accepted back to the PhD program here at Loyola. Yes, I was disappointed. I thought that a couple of professors would put in a good word for me, and perhaps they did. Ah, well.

But, on the upswing of that, now I can finally take action on my future. I'm looking at adjunct positions at NNU, BSU, Alberson College, Wheaton, and other universities here in Chicago. The big dilemma now is whether I should stay here and skip all the mess of moving to a new area, or move back to the Boise area where I have a better shot at getting some jobs. Hmmm. The other thing, too, is that I will have to find a second job no matter where I end up teaching. Adjunct professors are not at the high end of the pay scale, so I will probably need to find a part-time job at a clinic or hospital to supplement my income.

I sat down with my journal a few days ago and wrote out all the pros and cons of both staying in Chicago and moving back to Idaho. Nothing got resolved, unfortunately. Both sound equally appealing, but on different levels. Oh, I just don't know! I guess that the best way to figure all of this out is just to apply to all the colleges, see where I get accepted, and then go from there. Why can't God just tell me what to do? As Emily says, I want a Holy Grail moment. You know, in the Monty Python movie, when the clouds part, and a very cardboard cut out-ish God peeks out and says, "Arthur, this is your quest." That's what I need.

Sinner or Saint? You Make the Call!

2006-03-22T12:44:00.000-07:00

I have done a bad thing. I lied in church. It was for the purpose of self-preservation, but I did lie in church.

Over the past few months, I have been, um... dogged by one of the guys in my Sunday school class. I have always tried to be pleasant and friendly with everyone there, since the people in my class are great and I would like to befriend them as much as possible. Apparently, my smiles have been misinterpreted as messages of physical attraction by a certain individual, who has taken it upon himself to give me compliments and impress me with his attempts at wit and conversation.

Last week, I was doing my best to avoid this certain person. (I'm not trying to protect him here. I've just never learned his name.) He attempted to corner me in class, but I quickly jumped into the middle of a group of gals heading upstairs to church and escaped unscathed. I hoped that a buffer of other females would be enough of a deterrent after the service, but nothing doing. While I was in the middle of an involved conversation with Dee and Larissa, he stepped up, whirled me around by the shoulder, and started with the same barrage of questions he has subjected me to every week. Luckily for him, I was able to keep my head and remember that God frowns upon open violence within the church walls.

I started exchanging the usual mindless banter I reserve for conversations of this nature, when he suddenly swooped in with a surprise attack and asked for my phone number. I was only half paying attention, so when he asked I was knocked completely off balance. I stood there silent for a few moments, racking my brain for something, anything to tell him.

C'mon, think! Just tell him no. No, too blunt. Could I tell him that I've pledged my body to God and that no man shall ever touch me? No, he might not believe me. Crap!

"Okay. Sure!", I say with a smile plastered on my face.

Oh, you idiot! What were you thinking?! Quick, come up with some reason not to actually give him the number!

"Um, you know, I don't actually have my phone number memorized. Let me see... I know I wrote it down here in my phone somewhere."

Okay, now just whip out the phone and pretend to press the buttons until he gets bored and wanders away. Oh my goodness, what have I gotten myself into? Oh no, he's not losing interest! He's still there!

"I know it's in here. I'm so bad with all this new technology." *uncertain titter*

I can keep fiddling with my phone for only so long. What does the man want from me? I've already made myself look like a complete cretin by pretending not to be able to memorize my own number and work a simple cell phone. Not that I care what he thinks about me, but I still have my dignity and reputation to maintain, darn it! Okay, enough of this act. I'll just tell him I can't find it.

"You know, I can't seem to find it. Sorry."

Whew!

And then the dreaded reply: "Oh, that's okay. I'll just give you my number!"

Aargh!

So he handed me his cell number, grinning. "It would be best if you could call me on Tuesday, in the early to late afternoon, because I'll be on a road trip and I'll have lots of time to talk. You can tell me all about your spring break trip." And off he trotted, looking as smug as the cat that had made off with the cream.

So instead of nipping this situation in the bud with a moment of unpleasant rejection, now I'm left with an open door, an unused phone number (which found a cozy home in the garbage can the moment I got to my apartment), and some cruel realities to convey in a couple weeks. Maybe I should just switch churches. Goodness gracious, I hate these situations!

Why I Fear Theory

2006-03-16T09:42:00.000-07:00

From Barbara Johnson's A World of Difference:

Instead of a simple "either/or" structure, deconstruction attempts to elaborate a discourse that says neither "either/or", nor "both/and" nor even "neither/nor", while at the same time not totally abandoning these logics either. The very word deconstruction is meant to undermine the either/or logic of the opposition "construction/destruction". Deconstruction is both, it is neither, and it reveals the way in which both construction and destruction are themselves not what they appear to be.

Oy. I'm in trouble.

Sticky Moments of Translation

2006-02-28T06:31:00.000-07:00

From Robert Douglas-Fairhurst's Victorian Afterlives: The Shaping of Influence in Nineteenth-Century Literature:

These grammatical patterns have a cognitive function, in that they shape our view of the world, as well as reflecting the shapes we retrieve from the world. Because there is no Eskimo word for "sheep", for example, Bible translators are denied "the lamb of God", and must make do with "the seal pup of God"...

Are you laughing too? Good, because I nearly fell off the sofa due to unrestrained laughter.

Procrastination

2006-02-27T16:29:00.000-07:00

I really shouldn't be writing this entry. I should be typing my fingers off, working on class journal entries, class presentations, and book summaries. But darn it all, I just can't work up the will to do anything. After writing this, I'll probably wander into the kitchen, make myself some popcorn, and daydream about everything in the world except school. Not that I don't enjoy my classes, but I'm just so sick of thinking about them I could almost... well, I'm not sure what. You see! You see what grad school has done to me!! Not an ounce of creative thinking left in my mind; it has all been sapped in order to ensure my survival in this madcap, nonsensical world.

Now if you'll excuse me. I've got some popcorn to make, and some first-rate guilt to stew in. Dear heavens, will school ever end?!

Doubt

2006-02-24T19:55:00.000-07:00

The life of a graduate student is one of constant doubt. Or I should say, my life is one of constant doubt. I can't really speak for the entire community of grad students out there.

There are days when I can't wait to get to work on my PhD, envisioning myself finally in a classroom, actively helping students realize their own potential within the realm of English studies. I plan syllabus after syllabus in the sunny part of my mind, wondering about different ways to present a text, what interesting points I could make, how I could make the text interweave with the thoughts of the students. I dream of teaching at a small private school, more interested in my connections with the students, faculty, and community than in prestige or publication (even though I know publication is an unavoidable part of academia). I think about being happy as a professor.

Then there are days when I wonder if I should just stop with the Master's degree and grab a job beyond the Ivory Tower. Less debt for me to pay off, immediate job experience, and best of all, no doctoral thesis to stress over for four years. No more graded homework! The thought is pure bliss! I could move to a new city, or stay here, and start living the life of a normal adult. There are lots of jobs out there that I could take on, and each in their own way would be fulfilling.

But, oh, I want to be a professor. Whenever I get discouraged with classes or schoolwork, I just think about the first few weeks of my senior year at NNU. I came in to that school year defeated by Biochemistry, feeling as though I had given up on every dream I had for my future. I had waved the white flag; my switch to English was merely a move to the second-best in life. But then, an extraordinary thing happened. The professors in the English department took me in, encouraged me, and introduced me to a world that I could both love and excel in.

I will never forget my first class with Professor Dennis. I was on edge, eager to get the syllabus down pat so I would be prepared for the semester. I remember panicking because he neglected to expand on his expectations for the final paper. After class, I rushed up to him, and nervously began to babble about how I needed to know exactly what he wanted from me, how I wanted so badly to do well, how I was scared about being in a new program, and a dozen other worries. After politely listening as long as he could, he interrupted me with a smile and said: "Don't worry about it. We'll take care of it when we need to. I'll help you with whatever problems you may have. Besides, you're going to do well here anyway, so I wouldn't get so worked up about all this." I just stared for a moment, and then started to laugh and cry at the same moment from pure delight. A teacher said he had faith in me, and that he wanted to help me. Oh, what a wonderful moment that was, when I realized that these professors cared about me as a person, and saw potential where others didn't.

(Just a note: This is in no way a negative message concerning my science professors and my experience in their department. They were encouraging, only I was too frustrated with myself. And they did express hopes that I would do well and offered help, but I was so supremely unhappy I didn't listen to them. The biology and chemistry departments at NNU are staffed with wonderful professors who care about their students. My negative experience was based solely on the fact that I had neither the aptitude nor the heart for that particular branch of academia. There, I have rendered this entry entirely inoffensive.)

I do so want to be a professor, but I worry that I am selling myself short or limiting myself by not considering other opportunities. During my science years, I was so locked into thinking that I just had to be a physician that I was blind to any other options. I don't want to go through that again. Ugh, it's so hard to be open and neutral when your future is hanging in the balance. But I will try.

Even though I really do want to be a professor.

Trivia

2006-02-23T09:20:00.000-07:00

For all the Wicked fans out there...

I stumbled across this quote from The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy when I was doing some reading for my Early Modern Magic class. Odd title for a class, I admit. A more accurate name would be The Occult, Witches, and Religious Beliefs of the British Renaissance. When I read this clip, I knew that I needed to post this because Marcie and Devon would get a kick out of it.

(Discussing Henricus Cornelius Agrippa's work in the occult) Some of the medieval works in which Agrippa sought his arcane wisdom had marginal, even scandalous reputations in the Renaissance. The most notorious was "the book published under the name of Picatrix", the Latin title for the Arabic grimoire only recently confirmed as a source for Marsilio Ficino's refined theorizing on magic as well as Agrippa's more sensational compendium on the occult.

Cool, huh?

Glad to Be Indoors Today

2006-02-18T07:24:00.000-07:00

Current Temperature: -5 degrees F.

Today's High: 9 degrees F.

Today's Weather: Sunshine along with a few clouds. Very cold. Dangerous wind chills as low as -25 degrees F. Winds NW at 10 to 20 mph.

My weekend house arrest notification courtesy of The Weather Channel online.

Heavenly Visitation

2006-02-17T18:59:00.000-07:00

My apologies to the three people who read this blog for the lack of recent postings. Yes, I feel bad about it. No, not enough to make me change my ways and start posting more frequently.

My dear friend Marcie came to Chicago last week to keep me company, see where I live, and take in the beauty of the Windy City. I cannot tell you how wonderful it was to have a friend to hang out with and talk to. It was a five-day session of complete happiness.

Perhaps the most exciting part of the trip was Wicked. Marcie snapped some pictures of the theater before the show started, and not five seconds later was verbally attacked by a member of the Usher Gestapo who swooped down out of nowhere and started screeching threats about copyright violations and prison time. Poor Marcie had to delete all of her pictures with the be-bowtied Nazi hovering nearby to ensure that not one pixel remained.

Apart from that incident, it was a magical evening. Words cannot describe how thrilling it was to see the music brought to life before my eyes. The set itself was so clever, the singing spectacular, the dialogue both hilarious and heart-wrenching, and the ending so jaw-droppingly unexpected I'm sure people would have stared at my reaction if the house lights would have been up. I would love to go on and on about how great the production was, but I know several of my friends are planning to see Wicked soon, and I don't want to give anything away. And yes, there are some things to give away; I'm not just teasing you for my own amusement.

Marcie even got a chance to see Travis and Lindsey while she was here. We all went out to a tapas restaurant on the Magnificent Mile (my second favorite epicurean experience, after sushi) and had a delicious time just hanging out and talking about how wonderful Nampa and Chicago both are.

Our other big excursion was to the Shedd Aquarium. There was a really cool shark exhibit with a simply massive tank, and a dolphin show, and a tank full of beluga whales that Marcie and I could have watched for hours. Belugas have always been a favorite with me, partially due to a childhood song I listened to over and over in the car called "Baby Beluga" (My poor parents; they must have been so sick of that song being played during every road trip and grocery run). Belugas are just so gentle and dear. It was amazing to see them swim over to their trainer and frolic and compete for kisses and rub-downs. Now you all know how to disarm me; some people swoon over puppies, some over kittens, and for me, belugas.

Marcie got to attend one of my Feminist Criticism classes, which was very cool. She got to experience what I do (whether one actually does anything in grad school is a matter of debate), and she also had the chance to meet some of the students that I have come to know over the past few months. On Marcie's last night in town, we met up with my classmate Emily and her boyfriend Matt at the Cheesecake Factory. We ate cheesecake and talked for hours, with Marcie entertaining the Detroit natives Emily and Matt with stories of hunting, hiking, and autopsies. We had so much fun.

Emily told me several days later that it was fascinating to see me "in my natural element". Thanks, Marcie, for coming and letting me find my natural element for five heavenly days. Thanks, Mom and Dad, for making those days possible.

Gourmet Experiment

2006-02-06T09:10:00.000-07:00

Because of my penchant for 18th and 19th century British novels, I became familiar with the idea of kippers on toast for breakfast at a fairly young age. It always seemed like something very British and wonderful, probably because kippers are mentioned in several of Jane Austen's novels.

Anyway.

So, I saw some tins of kippers in the grocery store last week, and of course had to buy one so I could see if kippers on toast was all that it was cracked up to be. I was rather disappointed. Being a fish lover, I enjoyed the kippers, but it seemed like a rather bland meal overall. Of course, now that I think of it, 98% of British food is bland enough to border on unpalatable, so perhaps I was expecting too much.

The Scent of Ritual

2006-02-04T08:43:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday, Emily invited me to attend church with her at St. James' on the Magnificent Mile. Excited at the prospect of attending church with a new friend, and eager to stare at pretty stained glass windows and gilded objects, I arrived at church a few minutes early and had to wait for Emily in the... well, I guess you would call it a vestibule. I need to shape up on my vocabulary of religious architecture.
Emily told me how whenever she invites someone to come to church with her, something strange happens, so that none of her friends get to see a normal service. This week was no exception. The bishop was there, so there was more pomp than usual in the ceremony, and he officiated over some of the service. I have never attended high church before; it was an interesting experience. The acolytes walked down the aisle with the candles and the golden Bible and the swinging censer, which smelled much more pleasant than I thought it would. I'm not usually a fan of incense, but this smelled so good! It made me immediately hungry for Persian food.
I ran into some difficulty when the chants started. Coming from a nazarene church which shies away from anything that seems remotely catholic in origin, I have had no experience with chanting. Tonal acrobatics, let me tell you. I was sure to be as quiet as possible so I wouldn't embarrass Emily in front of her fellow parishioners. My voice was all over the scale, and rarely on the right note.
I also got a big shock during communion. It was presented in the traditional style, with the community cup. I received the wafer, and took a sip from the goblet, but I forgot that alcohol is allowed in Episcopal churches. I nearly choked when I tasted the wine. Looking back, there were several things that could have happened which would have been supremely embarrassing, but fortunately nothing really happened, except for my eyes bulging out at the first taste. The priest probably thought I was having a deeply spiritual reaction. I can just imagine him thinking to himself: "Well, it looks like someone hasn't been to confession in a while. Just look at that reaction! Poor lost lamb, I'll have to corner her after the service and ask her if she needs guidance." Yup, that's probably what he was thinking.
It was a really neat experience, though. I enjoyed the rituals and miniature ceremonies throughout the service, the head priest gave a good message, and the whole church had a very welcoming air about it. And, to top it all off, my hair smelled of incense for the rest of the day.

The End of the Spike

2006-01-21T20:59:00.000-07:00

Well, the dream of owning a small and affectionate pet for my apartment is over. I went over to actually see some hedgehogs in the flesh while I was still in Idaho, and the animals turned out to be much different than I anticipated. The websites on raising hedgehogs praise them as being warm and affectionate, although I could find no trace in either warmth or affection in any of the specimens I sampled. They curled up threateningly at the first sign of disturbance, made a rattling/hissing noise when moved, and seemed oblivious to the humans in the room as soon as they were left alone.

On one of the websites, one owner described the spikes of the hedgehog as feeling like "a brillo pad on the skin". Whoever wrote that must either have leprosy or skin like a catcher's mitt. Brillo pad, my eye! Those things are darn pointy! I left the breeder's house with spike divots all over my hands. No, sadly, a hedgehog is not the pet for me. I must seek elsewhere. Onward to the chinchilla store!

Coincidence

2006-01-19T08:24:00.000-07:00

The movie Ten Things I Hate About You came up in conversation last night between myself and Emily Jane. She was praising Heath Ledger's performance in a movie she saw over Christmas break, and our talk immediately veered over to his earlier work. I have not thought about that movie for so long, I was surprised at how much I remembered about it. It must have made a deep impression somewhere in my teenage mind.
This morning I checked my computer for Apple updates, as usual, and saw that QuickTime was promoting a few new movies. Yes, people, in the glorious tradition of Ten Things, we now have She's the Man, a teenage over-sexualized version of Twelfth Night. Check out the trailer here if you dare.
I really should have no problem with directors stealing plots and characters from Shakespeare. After all, the Bard himself was a formula writer who took all of his plots from previous plays and legends. I really shouldn't mind that a glorious, witty, and poignant play should be distilled into a teeny-bopper sex fest full of well-muscled pubescents and bare midriffs.

But I do. Grr...

Mid-Winter Update

2006-01-03T09:09:00.000-07:00

Since I am still considering my time here in Idaho as a vacation, despite the fact that I have been doing quite a bit of school reading for the next semester, I have been less inclined to update my blog. However, I feel that I should at least remind you all (a.k.a. the two people who read it faithfully) that I am still alive, still perky, and still loving my life. Here are some tidbits from the last few weeks:

1. Marcie is coming to Chicago in February! Her plane tickets were my primary Christmas gift this year. Mom cleverly hid my gift in a photo puzzle she had made, which I had to assemble before I found the hidden message. We're going to have the best of times, visiting all the cool locations around Chicago. I'm determined that she should try sushi while she's there. And, best part of all, Mom and Dad bought us tickets to go see the musical Wicked. Oh, it's all going to be so great!

2. I got my grades from fall semester, and it turns out I did better than I thought I would. The first month of school, I can tell you honestly, I read and wrote next to nothing. The only possible explanation I can give for that wretched month was merely my shell-shocked condition. Leaving my parents for the first time, moving from a town of 70,000 people to a metropolis of 2.8 million strangers, and experiencing independent life for the first time are my only excuses. But, as it all turned out, I accomplished more than I thought possible, and I am left with the sure conviction that I can do even better next semester.

3. I am taking a trip to Boise this week to visit with some hedgehog breeders. I have tossed around the idea of getting a hedgehog as a pet for some time now, and since I have some leisure time in the next week, I plan to research as much as I can and determine how soon I can get one (if at all). Living all alone, the apartment seems a little desolate whenever I come home from class or grocery shopping. If I just had a living creature of some kind to come home to, it would be so much more pleasant.

Honestly, how could you not love a face like that? I truly think I'll get one in the next couple months. I've even picked a name for it, but I'm not going to tell you until I actually buy one. withholding information is one of the best and simplest ways to increase your audience's suspense, so ha!

Recuperation

2005-12-19T16:11:00.000-07:00

Ah...

I have returned to my beloved Idaho. Here, I will be surrounded by my best friends, I will be spoiled and loved by my darling parents, and I will be mocked and hugged by my beloved brother. Can life get any better? If it can, don't tell me how.

And now, all I have to do is knock myself out of school mode. I still wake up wondering what I should study first, what's due in class tonight, etc. I've decided that reading for pleasure is the best way to purge those academic tendancies from my system, so I've settled down with some Shakespeare plays that I have neglected to read thoroughly over the years. Today's play: The Tempest, which wrung tears from me at the end. Can you imagine Will Shakespeare himself, giving the last performance of his career as Prospero, after a life filled with blooming genius and the development of the written human character? He stood center stage, all actors melting away behind him, and asked a final mercy of the masses he devoted his talents to:

Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
And what strength I have's mine own, -
Which is most faint: now, 'tis true,
I must be here confined by you,
Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
Since I have my dukedom got,
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island by your spell;
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands:
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please: now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant;
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so, that it assaults
Mercy itself, and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
Let your indulgence set me free.

And the crowd went wild. And I, too, go wild.