Good news for New Orleans

An American court just ruled that it was the Army Corps of Engineers' fault that New Orleans got so very soggy. Damn straight! Those bastards and their shit flood management strategies. Well, when you change the course of a major river just so you don't have to wait to get your steamboats to the end, some shit is bound to hit the fan.

I am sick. I have a cold, and it isn't pleasant. And Heather is coming in 2 days. And I have to finish this poster project. And I have to work tonight. And tomorrow night. Basically, I'm not pleased with the universe and its shit idea of a joke. This is bullshit.

I did something completely retarded this morning. I always put my cellphone under my pillow (to ease my crazy need to know what time it is at any given point in the day/night). Well. I was being domestic and washing all my linens so that Heather thinks that I'm clean to the point of anal retentiveness, and then I realized that I needed to leave to get any work done today. So, I began to look for my cellphone. Not under the heap of pillows, not on the floor, under the bed, etc. etc. Shit. It's in the sheet - which has been in the washer for about 15 minutes. After finally figuring out how to open the damn door (our washer/dryer is fucking bizarre), I fished around until I saw the light - of the cellphone trying desperately not to die. I took it apart and stuck my sim card into my now defunct iPhone.

Safe.

However, there's a number or two that I'd really like to get from my (apparently) dead phone as I don't know how to contact them otherwise. Drat. I really wonder sometimes how I'm such a disaster. It's almost as if chaos follows me around, nipping at my heels - just waiting to drag me down and eat my soft, gushy innards.

Damn chaos, anyway.

Teenage angst

So, about that post last week. People keep reading into it - sometimes really interesting things, but mostly incorrect. Just to clarify, most of you know that I get dark, bitchy moods sometimes. Instead of cutting myself or making a shrine of some pop star that I one day want to marry and then ceremoniously kill, I write angsty things in my blog. I really think that's the healthiest way, overall.

But, after that day, my week picked up and I had really great speakers in both of my lectures, I started listening to NPR and reading the newspaper, and started giving a shit about things outside of my own head. It really works wonders, that.

What I'm saying, I suppose, is that my dark moods are all sound and fury signifying nothing. So don't call suicide watch quite yet.

And despite the fact that I went to yet another party this weekend, and got blissfully drunk to the point that yesterday's 10-6 breakfast shift nearly broke my spirit, I'm extremely elated today. Why? Because - HEATHER'S COMING!!! On Saturday! And we'll eat cake (not pie) and be happy and skip along the streets of Leith (strategically missing the dog poo). Plus, me and Shonagh are going to get a kitten, a Wii (fingers crossed), and hopefully, at some point, a piano - which would my life almost complete in every way.

Is feeling...

...a bit jaded. Nihilism is setting in, once more. But not the cynicism of a disgruntled youth, or the depression of someone who's unsatisfied with the current state of things, but more the sort where you realize that despite your idealist viewpoints, there may not be a silver lining, people aren't usually essentially good (just people), and the fairytale life promised to middle class American youth is nothing but a bunch of bullshit.

Ok. So, I did already know those things. High school me still remains the most cynical young person from everyone in my life - she shouted these things from rooftops. Somewhere along the way, though, I seem to have bought into this a bit. Not even the 'boy meets girl at college, they get married, have 2.5 children and a mortgage' sort of thing - it was more the indie/alternative party line that true happiness did not lie in these things, but rather in a non-conformist lifestyle where you drink fair trade coffee, talk about literature, be well versed in 'important' topics such as the foreign affairs of obscure countries, and be just generally pretentious and overbearing to everyone else. But, it doesn't seem to lie here, either.

I once thought that graduate school was going to be just about the ultimate thing I could do with my time. Why? I don't know. I'm a giant nerd, in many ways. This has been a bit of a let down, as well. I've met some cool people, but honestly - the classes don't provide anything I couldn't do just by cracking a book. Once again, towing the middle class party line of higher education.

The crazy party lifestyle doesn't really work well, though. The past few weeks haven't been all that fulfilling, either. Don't get me wrong, I'm a bit of a social whore and I love gatherings, but I've been getting 'post-party depression', as Heather calls it. It's a bit like eating candy - the idea of it, and the moment of consumption, are more satisfying than the after effects.

There's a feeling out there in the world that life is supposed to be complicated, you're only a success if you're an expert, major goals fall into a small group comprised of marriage, children, retirement, a 401k - but I can't shake the unsettling feeling that I don't want these things. Or do I, and I'm so ingrained with anti-establishment doctrine that I think I don't?

Take this graduate program. I'm doing it because a) I would like to get a decent job so I won't die alone in abject poverty somewhere in the Midwest, b) I do care about the environment, c) I'm good at both science and social science - which makes me a hell of a potential go-between. But, do I really want to do this? I'll be honest, if I could make a living off of writing, I'd do it in a heartbeat. The only things I do that I feel truly proud of and confident in involve writing. But...that whole abject poverty thing.

So, should I just soldier on, try and write on the side? It obviously hasn't been working lately. I've had several extremely interesting goings-on going on in life over the past few weeks, and this blog has been quiet. Must be all the angsty post-party depression.

But still - instead of being able to see issues in piles of research and in presenters' arguments, I notice silly things about awkward social situations (of which I am queen of, by this point), and making pithy, entertaining statements about them. By the way, these aren't always well received at the moment when expressed vocally. Just an aside.

It boils down to this: I honestly don't know what the plot is. Well, I guess the plot is less important than I think - but what's the resolution? I know that it's usually the best part, and you shouldn't ruin it by learning about it beforehand, but I've always been more excited about why what's coming, is coming, and not what - exactly - is coming. And sometimes, through this feeling of detachment, there's the concern that - just maybe - I'm not a very good person. That maybe, I'm actually a terrible person. I mean, I don't have a firm grasp on what a person essentially is, or is supposed to do, so how do I know I'm not fucking everything up?

Well, enough of my existential pity party for now.

My apologies to Shonagh, as I'm sure she was expecting a rave review of our awesome Halloween party. Well, it'll come, just not today.

Paper writing in real time: a study in non-sequiturs and stream of consciousness writing

It's a good question, Vampire Weekend. Who DOES give a fuck about an Oxford Comma? I know I just don't.

Why does a 2000 word essay need subheadings? Maybe if this broad knew how to write well, she'd know that's retarded. Maybe if she knew anything at all I wouldn't be in this position.

GAAA. Stop thinking about your personal life. It takes up brain energy and precious paper writing time!

I really need to use the facilities. But do i give up this precious spot to spare my bladder? Oh, if only I carried a catheter!

No. No, that's gross.

I wonder which facebook friend I have the most friends in common with...focus!

Why did this bitch sit at my table? This is my table. Take your Samuel Beckett and your shitty pre-algebra textbook and get out of my face!

Oh good, she did. But now I'm lonely...

Not really though, as I'm a lone wold - a renegade. A renegade of science! In that I'm not actually a scientist.

What, asian girl, leave my table! There are plenty of other tables for you elsewhere. The library is for serious work only and not reviewing your lecture notes while you file your damn nails.

I wish I hadn't had so much coffee today. I wish my leg would quit twitching.

I wonder how annoyed my table neighbor is that I keep dancing in my chair to of Montreal? How awkward can I be before she gives me a look?

1300 words! 700 more to go!

Mutter mutter mutter. Hum. Tapping foot. I wonder if anyone else can hear my stomach growl? It sounds like a lion roar!

Sigh. Everyone leaves in the end. Except for me.

1700 does not equal 7 pm. It's only 5, chill out.

Seriously. I think someone put speed in my coffee. Either that or I'm so unused to caffeine anymore that I'm going to have a heart attack.

HA! 1800 words! My back, elbows, neck and ass all hurt. What a physically demanding discipline this is!

Neat! Shingles made out of recycled tires. Dammit, Heather...getting me all sidetracked.

Hmm. I didn't know I had My Morning Jacket on my computer.

Conclusion = torture!

Oh. My. God. It's not even midnight and I've written 2000 words! Holy fucking tap dancing shit! I might not fail out of university and lose my student visa after all!

Shit. Should I include a figure or two? Probably. Hello, google images.

Fuck it. Good enough. Fuck you B. Harvie, you dirty bitch.

Pukey Pants

I haven't really written one of these in a while. Not a blog post. I wrote one of those the other day. No, this is the fun/funny kind: a post about me getting stupidly drunk. And then puking all the next day...

I spent most of the past weekend in the library. Probably not all that surprisingly, there aren't very many people in the university library at 11 pm Saturday night. They were all out in the street wearing all manner of ridiculous clothing that made me feel old and jaded. (But seriously, girls, miniskirts+no tights+October Scottish nights=silliness. And maybe a venereal disease.) Anyway. I had promised myself a steak on Sunday night if I managed to finish the papers for my Monday class by 8 pm (that's right, papers - plural, as in three of them.) I finished at 7:59, just managing my self-appointed deadline. So, off to the pub I went - with a song in my heart and a hole in my liver that was just waiting to be filled.

Rebecca went with me, as she also had to write these awful, pointless papers and needed a bit of a respite. Instead, what she got was her first introduction to Meaghan.

Ah, Meaghan. I should explain. She's Lesley's niece who now works at the KW. And, she is absolutely bat-shit crazy. Usually in a fun way, but still - one of the loudest girls in the world, with an incredibly thick Scottish accent. As it was Sunday, everyone who wasn't working had been drinking since about 4, so her accent was even more prominent than usual.

Even if you've been in this city for a while, if you're not native, you sometimes get lulled into thinking that the city center Edinburgh accent is all there is to Scottish linguistics. This is not so. I've gotten used to Meaghan, but Rebecca...well, I just wonder if she actually understood most of what the girl even said.

Anyway. Rebecca left after eating to finish her last paper, and I decided that I was going to get drunk. I hadn't been since the Withered Hand gig, which was weeks ago, and I was so elated that I had actually finished those damn papers, and had gotten a decent grade on the one that was returned on Friday, that I felt like celebrating.

However, I forgot something really important. I can't keep up with my co-workers anymore. Well, apparently I can, but I really, really shouldn't

We went from the KW to Pivo (which is always a dubious thing to do), and from there to Victoria's (the girl I work with, not the bar. I'm pretty sure that was closed at this point, anyway) While there, we ended up watching '24' dvds, and then Mairi and I had to witness a bizarre argument between Victoria, Kyle and Owen about whether or not the moon landing happened. Besides the fact that who the fuck really gives a flying fuck...I really don't have an end to that thought.

After that the group dispersed. Victoria, obviously, stayed at her place, we lost Owen somewhere on Leith Walk, Mairi went home, and Kyle and I thought it would be a good idea to finish the bottle of wine I had in our flat. According to Shonagh, we didn't so much as 'finish' it as we spilled it on the floor and then left half empty glasses on the floor. Which she cleaned up the next morning. And apparently she woke up to Kyle loudly saying something about Barack Obama. So...in other words, I just may be the terrible roommate my mother said I would be. Dammit.

I woke up like a shot the next/later that morning, got up, made coffee, chatted to Shonagh, and took a shower. And then I felt tired. So I went back to sleep for an hour, woke up, had crazy hair, felt like death, made a mad dash to school, and preceded to throw up 4 times during my 3 hour class. And it's not a small class - there are only about 10 people in it, so it was very obvious that there was something very obviously wrong with me.

I got home, felt generally very sorry for myself, and laid down for about 30 minutes until Mairi came over for dinner. Shonagh had made a steak pie, and it was delicious - the first time it passed through my upper digestive system. It was at this point in the bathroom that I decided that I couldn't actually go to Owen's gig like I had planned on. I bitched about feeling sick for about 20 minutes until Mike and Lesley showed up in a taxi - and suddenly I felt (nearly) fine, and went along.

And I'm quite glad that I did - despite being mocked mercilessly for drinking nothing but cokes and water all night. The boys' band was better than I had expected (no slam against them, it's just they broke up over a month ago and only practiced yesterday before the show), the middle band was just ok but had a hot guitarist (who, evidently, is an asshole, but that's only in keeping with the rock 'n roll image, probably), and we were blown away by the headliner, Doll and the Kicks. Well. They were good, but mostly it was Doll (or whatever her name is), with whom we were blown away. Shonagh, Mairi, Lauren and I all left with a gigantic girl crush. I think the boys just had the normal kind.

The really good news from that little excursion is that I didn't puke again, and when we got home I could actually eat the dinner Shonagh had made. Plus, today I had a disconcerting amount of fun in my GIS class - we got to talk about social implications of maps, as opposed to technical jargon I can't follow, and then use a feature in ArcScene to fly around the isle of Skye like a demented seagull, as my instructor liked to say. Ah, geeky, nerdy, good times.

Something pretty cool - or - it's cool to me, but maybe not to you

Hey, look what I did!

In the end, Daisyworld dies.

I have had a remarkably good day, despite this headache's attempts to thwart me.

For the first time in school today, I felt really smart. Not because I'm particularly more intelligent than anyone else, I'm pretty sure there are some ridiculously smart people in my program (albeit socially retarded ones, mostly), but because I'd had the fortune to have been forced to learn a complicated process by an extremely dickheaded honors biology professor in my undergrad. That process? Positive and negative feedback. Not that bad once you get a handle on it, but until then, damn. Anyway, this put me in an amused mood, and then we watched a film on the Gaia theory, which had an amusing animated planet (Daisyland) which sported the most creepy rabbits I've ever seen. Also, the most ineffectual foxes in the world.

After class, we had our now weekly Friday lunch, but this time we went to Earthy's, a local and organic grocery store/restaurant and had the best meal I've had in a while (that's only sort of true. It's definitely the best meal I've had today, though.) Veggie pad thai and a butternut squash, walnut, and cinnamon salad - which was one of the most delicious things I've ever tasted. Sooooooooo good, it was like a desert - only healthy!

On my way out of the shop I was accosted by a chocolatier, which wasn't really that much of an accostment because he gave me free chocolate. Turns out that he makes my favorite new chocolate bar - bramble, cardamom and dark chocolate. It's absolutely to die for and I'm usually against fruit and chocolate combinations. So that was nice - putting a face to my chocolate. He has a shop under the grocery store. That's why he was in a position for accostation.

I wonder what other words I can make out of the verb 'accost'...Hmm...

Anyway. Not only did we have a tasty lunch, but we made a new school friend. Well, I did. Jill already knew him from her economics class. His name is Stymie, or something similar, and he's from Iceland. It turns out that a few weeks ago I wasn't hallucinating at the Withered Hand gig, because he totally was there. I tried to convince Shonagh I knew him, but I don't think she believed that I knew someone outside of the pub at that point. Funnily enough, he knows the Song, By Toad crew without actually knowing anything about SBT as he's friends with some fellow named Ben, or Benji or something Icelandic that's close to that, who's in a band and knows Neil...maybe? But still. Teeny tiny world I live in sometimes.

Speaking of all that, I've managed to do something that's slightly interesting. I went to a gig at the Toad House (Toad of Song, By Toad obviously) last Friday with Rebecca, and long story short, I wrote a review of it for the SBT blog to accompany Dylan's Blueback Hotrod pictures of the occasion. Which I will link to when it's Sunday, otherwise it's cheating. Or something.

Well, it's time for my prework nap. Just a side note, I did not proof this because I don't really just can't be bothered to.