Dear Mr. Supercomputer

My tinkering with a friend's song/poem that I wrote as a poem:

staring down the stairs
at a door
through which
you'll appear.
soon enough, there'll be
a return.

staring down the lie
that floats around still
but as a whisper.
soon enough, I'll
only hear what I can see.

though I wish it did
and thought it could,
this trick can't make
anything disappear.

staring down the stairway
I'm not really waiting,
the most I can expect
is a specter.

staring down the lights
that line the corridor
everything is haloed.
soon enough, I'll
be blind in the dark.

though I wanted it to
and willed it so,
though I heard it could
and knew it must,
this door can't
open or close.

Power to the People

Happy Birthday John and Sean!!!!!!!

I am now working at Barnes and Noble in the cafe, which makes me miss my old Starbucks store and my old manager. Sigh. Oh well, it's money, which I need a lot of. Speaking of making money, I received $30 this weekend to judge three rounds of debate, which was interesting. I saw some good debates, but mostly very bad ones. But, it turns out that if the UN is given one trillion dollars, it can solve all the world's problems. So that's a relief. I'm trying to manage stress and time better which means that I'm trying to not worry so much about my two papers that are due next week that I haven't started on and trying to be confident that I can write both of them fairly well and hopefully finish them before the day they are due. Here's hoping.

The Perfect Crime #2

Happy Birthday Colin and Carson!!!!!!

This will be a rather short post. All I really want to say is holy jesus The Crane Wife is so fantastic!! It's so very good that it hurts so very much. Ah. Without a doubt The Decemberists are my second favorite band, which is saying quite a bit since they are only below The Beatles. I am counting the days and nights until November 11th.

Something Of An End

At the Museum
we walk looking
at artifacts of
your love lost,
stop in front of
a canvas
spanning the wall
'Burn the Ships
in the Harbor'
your hand presses
mine and we
say innocuous things
to keep our feet moving.
Out of the room, you
tell me you misheard
a lyric and prefer it
that way.
"Don't let me fall
from heights so high,"
you whisper.
There's an exhibit
for Georges Seurat
around the corner,
but you want to
make your way
closer to ground level.
I misheard a lyric, too.
"For you I'd be myself,"
I whisper back.


With John posting all the concerts he'd been to, I thought I would as well with as much information as I can recall and in no particular order, really.
1. Chicago and The Beach Boys Summer 1987 (?) possibly in Tinley Park
2. Stevie Nicks May30, 1998 New World Music Theatre, Tinley Park
3. Styx and REO Speedwagon Summer 2000 IL State Fair
4. Oldies Show (which included Tommy Roe, Billy J. Kramer, Gary Lewis, many more) Summer 2000 IL State Fair
5. Styx and REO Speedwagon U of I campus
6. Three Dog Night Sangamon County Fair
7. The Turtles, Gary Puckett, and the Grass Roots EIU campus
8. Chicago IL State Fair
9. Gary Lewis, the Boxtops, and Blood, Sweat, and Tears St. Louis
10. Dark Star Orchestra Peoria
11. Elton John and Billy Joel April 4 2003 Savvis Center St. Louis
12. Paul McCartney April 11 2002 United Center Chicago
13. Rufus Wainwright Spring 2004 Pageant St. Louis
14. Old 97s, They Might Be Giants, Counting Crows Taste of Chicago 2003 (?)
15. The Decemberists October 18 2005 Metro Chicago
16. Colin Meloy January 23 2006 Park West Chicago
17. Belle & Sebastian March 11 2006 Riviera Theatre Chicago
18. Franz Ferdinand and Death Cab for Cutie April 19 2006 Aragon Ballroom Chicago
19. Mates of State, Spoon, and Death Cab for Cutie August 12 2006 Greek Theatre Berkeley
20. Jethro Tull, opening act Guy Davis Murat Theatre Indianapolis Summer 2004
21. Revenge of the Bookeaters August 24 2006 Park West Chicago
22. No Doubt Verizon Arena Indianapolis Summer 2004
23. Sufjan Stevens, opening act My Brightest Diamond September 23 2006 Murat Egyptian Room Indianapolis
24. Kelly Joe Phelps Illinois College campus
25. Of Montreal Fall 2005 House Cafe Dekalb

I think that's about all.

Keep Fallin'

My real complaint about grad school by Jill
For a while now, more specifically for the past year and a month or two, I've been thinking about and trying to articulate my various opinions about graduate school, specifically the Masters program in Film and Literature at Northern Illinois University. I've often bounced back and forth between feeling utterly hopeless as a grad student--that I don't belong here, that this is not what I want to do, that I'm a tourist and will be found out shortly, that I am a complete outsider in the world of academia, and feeling alright with everything and that I eventually will become a professor and will love doing it. One of the more important aspects of my inner-debate that I keep coming back to and am thinking about currently is the writing of academic papers. I am able to write very formal papers, but seldom willing to do so. I hate. Let me repeat, I really utterly depside, detest, abhor, and hate, fucking hate writing formal papers. Funny that I'm a grad student in English, you say. When I'm allowed to be somewhat informal, I feel better about writing essays. Needless to say, I have found many opportunities to write in a style that suits me throughout my academic career. I am in a course this semester that looks to be quite the opposite, so I am very much looking forward to writing a paper for that professor. Anyway, formality/informality aside, I have almost always looked at papers as simply something assigned to me. There have been some occasions where I actually wanted to write a paper, where I felt I had something to say and something to contribute to the pile of literary interpretation, but the ratio of these times to times I have had to write a paper is something like 1:10. I think my biggest (personal) issue with graduate school as a system (and I'm speaking very loosely here since all I am basing it on is my personal experience in my particular field in my particular part of the humanities in my particular university) is the writing of papers. In my ideal version of grad school that was in my head, I pictured a lot of reading and discussion. I pictured actually becoming a Master in the field in which one was studying. Devoting two to three years to really get to know your shit. To read as much as possible what's been written for and about your field of study, and to talk about it with learned people and other pupils eager to gain this knowledge. That by the time you were done, you could go to a cocktail party, and someone could ask you about post-modernism (yay for inside jokes), and you could speak knowledgably for a good amount of time without ever resorting to pulling things out of your ass. I'm alright with being tested about knowledge at the end, I'm alright with writing a thesis on something specific that you spend a lot of time on, I'm not alright with writing term papers simply because the professor can't think of a more original way to track how much you've learned and worked over the course of a semester. And let me pause here to reiterate that I'm simply writing about my opinion and experience. I'm more than willing to concede that I'm alone in my complaint here because maybe I'm just very lazy (which I am) and a slow reader (which I am) and like to complain about things (which I do) and perhaps need to always be in the position of railing against the norm around me (which is quite possible). Maybe I enjoyed my undergraduate experience because I was someone who like school in the middle of many people who were there because they were told to go there after high school, and now I'm no longer someone who is different or special and am around people who really like school. Perhaps I'm finding out that I like school because I knew my way around the system and did whatever I felt like doing within the confines of the educational system and didn't like actual jobs, and now I'm seeing that maybe I didn't really like school, I just liked doing what I wanted and the opportunity to not do work. Anyway, I want papers to be organic. I don't want to be forced and pressured to skim over various texts to find enough bullshit that supports some argument I don't really care all that much about making to fill twenty pages. And I realize that I'm papers are supposed to be organic, and that I'm supposed to read rather than skim things and really care about my argument, that I'm supposed to find something in the text I really care about arguing. But the thing is, I need more time to do that. I want to find a subject I like on my own, not because I have a deadline approaching. I then want to read everything I can find (that is not completely dull and uninteresting, in which case I will really try to read, but most likely end up skimming) on the subject, so that I actually know what I'm talking about in the paper, mull it over in my head a while until I feel confident in the matter and sincerely argue something. I want to become an expert in whatever I'm writing about so that I feel I can write about it. I'm not willing to become an expert (or even try that much) in every subject of every class I take. I admire those students who go the extra mile for every assignment and read something three times over and look up everything that they are confused about or find interesting, etc. I can't do that. Not with three classes, two sections to teach, friends to hang out with, a boyfriend to miss, TV to watch, music to listen to, movies to see, and more interesting things to read. I think I'm losing any conciseness and organization that I may have started out with here. Anyway, the point is I want to want to write papers, I want the process to be more natural, and I want to actually learn things in grad school. The whole idea of learning things just for a test or just for writing a paper has never felt more real or more appropriate than it does right now. And that just makes me sad, makes me think I'm wasting my time, and makes me want to work at a bookstore or in a videostore so that I can at least try to live up to my ideal grad school on my own. All this being said, I still think that I may feel differently about an MFA program in poetry, but I also know the odds of my being disappointed with that are pretty good. I know that I complain about grad school a lot, either in talking to people or in writing this blog, but it's something that I think about quite a bit and I can't help myself.

Riding Horses

Happy Birthday Linda!!!!

I saw a fantastic concert last night. My Brightest Diamond opened for Sufjan Stevens and his Butterfly Brigade in Indianapolis. I began looking into My Brightest Diamond after Colin Meloy recommended her (Shara Worden, it's a one-woman band) on The Decemberists' blog on Myspace. I really liked what I heard and was excited that she was opening for the very talented Mr. Stevens. She was fucking awesome live. Ms. Worden was accompanied by a string quartet, as well as a drummer and bass player for a couple of songs. She was equally adept at playing in a concert-hall style and rocking out, and has an absolutely amazing voice. I highly recommend her album Bring Me the Workhorse and seeing her live if you can. More information can be found here. Then, Sufjan Stevens took the stage with his band (including Shara Worden and her instrumentalists) all dressed in masks and wings. He played a variety of songs from Illinois, Michigan, Seven Swans, and some others. A highlight: his dedication of the eponymous song to Jacksonville (I did whoo-hoo at the mention of Nichols Park). He had a thirteen-piece band (that's what I counted anyway) including two trumpet players, one of which also brought out a piccolo trumpet. He was very gracious and gave some stories of inspiration for the songs he played. Overall, a really really fantastic night. And, we were three rows away, which was spectacular. I went up to the stage afterward when the lead trumpet player was up there putting his horns away and told him he did some awesome trumpeting and gave him thumbs-up. He said thanks and awesome and returned the thumb gesture. So yeah, everyone should go and see both My Brightest Diamond and Sufjan Stevens.

A Million Ways

I just saw a sticker on a car that read "Your girlfriend swallows." Is this really supposed to be an insult. Are we to believe that every girl who swallows is a filthy whore? Maybe the girlfriend in question simply doesn't have the presence of mind to say, maybe spit it out the car window in a toll plaza. I saw this sticker after going through a frustrating exit from the parking lot by my building on campus. They redesigned said parking lot this summer, and I'm very unhappy about it. It is now composed of mostly diagonal parking spaces, which is fine and allows for more parking spaces, but at what cost? At what cost?! There is now one more exit, but that exit is placed in such a way that I would be truly shocked if an accident didn't occur by the end of the month. And, to have an effective parking lot, there needs to be some semblance of a logical brain inside the heads of the drivers who use it. You cannot wait in the middle of an aisle for a parking space that will be available eventually. If you do not see a car with reverse lights on, you cannot sit there waiting blocking the regular flow of traffic. If you have pulled past a spot that will now be vacant, you cannot back up when there are cars behind you to pull into that spot. Once your car is far enough from a spot that you have to put it in reverse, you have forfeited all rights to that space. !!!!!! Alright, time for a shower. I have much more to write about, but I am also very dirty. And you know what that means.

Get Him Back

Adaptation
they told me I should give
it to them to publish---
sign the dotted line,
crossed t's and x's and all,
a year's worth of a blog.

"wouldn't that be uninteresting?
shouldn't there be something
added when moving media?"

they assured me everything
would be well and that I'd
even see a profit, the next
big thing, everyone will be
doing it - blogs on books

"don't you want to be successful?
can't you come live in the real
world with the rest of the adults?"

they ignored my reservations,
and I couldn't keep the appointments
I made with my reason and
better judgment, I went along
not knowing where I was going

"I suppose this could be worthwhile
the journey I mean, not the place we get to
I'll probably sleep when we get there"

they kept assuring me, even when
the newspapers hit the stands and
I wasn't even mentioned that day,
or the next, or the next, or the next,
not even a footnote in the histories

"we did what we could - you never
know when they'll bite and when they won't,
better luck next time, kid."


I liked how this turned out last night, but it could've been the influence of my sleep-deprived state and having just read a bit of Only Revolutions.

Something In You

Hmm...much to blog about. Benefit for 826 in Chicago, eccentricities of the state of Michigan, upcoming MZD reading in Chicago, birthday presents, musings on unconditional love, thoughts on grad school and Freudian psychology, going to Bloomington...I broke down and listened to "Summersong" from The Decemberists' yet-to-be-released album. I was going to wait until October 3rd and listen to the album as a whole, all at once. But, my infatuation with fantastic music and Colin Meloy got the better of me and now I can't stop listening to it. It is very spectacular and I can't wait for two days before both Colin and his girlfriend Carson Ellis' birthday (I'm really not a stalker). I did buy a version of the Crane Wife, the Japanese folk tale some of the songs on the album (also named the Crane Wife) are written from. It's a very interesting story and the particular book I have has absolutely gorgeous illustrations. Speaking of good music, I currently recommend "Something In You" by the Orange Peels. Oh, I now have my "media center" all hooked up and running on my computer, which means I can record TV on my computer now, among other things. This is excellent since once again the TV season consists of nights where two shows that I watch are on at the same time and of course on nights that I have class.

Let's see...last weekend I went to Springfield to celebrate my Dad's birthday (Sunday) and my birthday (this Saturday--drinking at Fatty's everyone!). It was a good weekend with no heated arguments (really surprisingly). I made a DVD from home movies which I've titled "Tiny Jill 1985." I received some good gifts, specifically the 8th season of the Simpsons and the 2nd season of House. I just need the 5th season of the Simpsons and the 1st season of House for my not-so-ridiclously-circuitous plan to be complete. That is, the plan of having all the DVDs that have been released for those two TV shows.

Short on the unconditional love, because I need to start being productive today. I've always been attracted to the idea of such a love, perhaps since I've always felt that I was subject to particularly conditional love. It's an interesting concept, for sure, though it puzzles me a bit. I'm reminded of the lyrics to an Alanis Morissette song about the subject (which she tends to write about quite a bit), "That I would be loved even when I'm not myself." But if you are loved for who you are, and I think we can all agree that that is a legitimate reason to love someone, doesn't that become a bit meaningless if you still love that person when they're not themselves? If everything that was them and that you loved suddenly irrevocably changed, wouldn't it do more justice to the original love if it ceased after this alteration? Or something like that. But then I'm reminded of another quotation: "How am I not myself?"

Something to ponder. More later.

The Skin of My Yellow Country Teeth

If memory serves, I opined that I wouldn't mind (and perhaps would like) to be a housewife-sort-of-person in some journal of the online variety. I stand by this assertion, though perhaps the proper categorization would be working-at-home. I'm thinking about this now since the past couple of days in my life have gone something like this: wake up late (thus avoiding a bit of a hangover in one case--beautiful), get around to showering whenever I feel like it, read, watch TV/movies/TV on DVD, write, listen to music, go out and buy stuff I need whever I feel like it, comment on student papers, etc. It's been a nice couple of days, though I can think of at least one thing missing from these last couple of days (namely sex...oh yeah, and the person's company as well). Anyway, I'm especially thinking of this now since I'm cooking (rigatoni-I found out I was out of penne with chicken, mushrooms, and cashews all in pesto) and blogging, listening to songs I've downloaded, and drinking V8 while cooking. I like the leisurely pace of this. And I like cooking (though I prefer to cook for more people than simply moi) and other more conventional kind of chores, though I prefer to do them in a less conventional way. So, I don't think that I'd mind if this was how I lived, for at least some part of my future. Or maybe I could teach a really light load. I don't know, something, I'm just rambling.

I am at the brink of making an important decision, though. Well, I look at it as important, though I'm sure I'll be in the minority. I think I'm going to start writing in my books, at least the ones I'm reading for school. I have always belonged to the school of thought that the books you read should stay in near-immaculate condition. So, I have never really marked up by books in any way. Maybe the occasional underlining of a quote (in pencil) or folding corners of pages to indicate important passages, but nothing else. But, I think I will now feel free to write all sorts of crap in the margins, underlining, etc. I'm hoping it will make me more scholarly. We'll see how it works. Anyway, time to eat.

Parliament Square

So it's been a little while since I posted, and there's much to write about, but I think I just want to accomplish two things in this particular post. First, I finally got around to finishing up a CD for my friend John, and I'm pretty proud of it. So, the track listing:

Jump Up and Down!
1. A Million Ways by Ok Go
2. The Lady from Riems by Reclinerland featuring Colin Meloy
3. Give Me Just a Little More Time by Chairman of the Board
4. Keep It Comin' Love by KC and the Sunshine Band
5. Question by Old 97's
6. (This Is) the Dream of Evan and Chan by Dntel featuring Ben Gibbard
7. Baby's On Fire by Venus in Furs
8. Retour a Vega by the Stills
9. Ugly Girl by Fleming and John
10. Children Go Where I Send You by Nina Simone
11. What Goes On by Sufjan Stevens
12. They by Jem
13. Thriller by Ben Gibbard
14. Human Behavior by the Decemberists
15. Nowhere Again by the Secret Machines
16. Dakota by Stereophonics
17. Empire State by All-Time Quarterback
18. Here It Goes Again by Ok Go
19. Juicebox by the Strokes
20. Stagger Lee by Lloyd Price
21. Song for Jedi by Dionysos
22. Once Around the Block by Badly Drawn Boy

I also made a compilation of the Decemberists for my Shakespeare and His Rivals seminar professor. This promises to be a good class, and I need to read The Taming of the Shrew at some point after I post this. The other thing: I just wrote a prosey-kind-of-poem that I'm not sure about, but I figured I'd post it in the excitement of just writing something. As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.

In the Winter
as the smoke hangs off
the end of cigarettes
and the streets are
comparable to your
sophomore-year girlfriend,
frigid and empty,
you spend the hours
in a falsely-lit cafe
reading, but not escaping,
ever-present in your current
surroundings, your eyes
only following the words,
your hands blankly
turning pages.
The book is just an excuse
to feel literary while coffee
sits at your table,
to eavesdrop on the couple
occupying the more comfortable chairs.
"Did you know that the days
are continually getting logner?"
But what do they know?
You've seen that exhibit
at the planetarium too.
And your brain wanders away,
down the pier where that
space museum sits, jumping off,
out in the freezing water,
down to the bottom of the lake.
The light disappears as you look
to the surface, people pass by
and look down, but
no one comes in,
it's too cold outside to
practice lifeguarding.
A little girl waves, and
you return the gesture,
minus four fingers.
Someday things will work
out in your daydreams, you think
and it's so sweet.
The scent of patchouli
brings you back inside to
the wooden chairs and tables
(all but the two the
lovers are presently taking
away from everyone else)
and back to the book you're not reading
and never will.
One of these days you'll actually
read books, you think
and it's so easy to lie.

Faded From the Winter

Let's picture the rest of the day going very well: I get home from work with a finished draft of my syllabus, call Dell and my phone actually works well in my apartment and the Dell person is very nice and helps me to fix my computer right away. Whatever is wrong with the big toe on my left foot fixes itself and I can go to the gym and feel better about myself. I drive to the city and use my VIP ticket, which I will pick up at will call with absolutely no problems, to go in and have a lengthy discussion with Ben Gibbard which results in us swapping phone numbers/e-mail addresses and we stay in close contact and he offers me a really cool job for after I graduate, and I meet all sorts of cool people through this friendship (including Colin Meloy!!!!). So, here's hoping.

I just wrote this poem/song and maybe I like it, but then again maybe I don't. I don't think I have a title yet.

that one time you gave me
an upside down umbrella
and I've been collecting
rain ever since.
I reach my hand in, so
I can always feel a pulse
and my hand's been a
shriveled prune for days now.
you take off my glasses
when you're in the driver's seat
and I'm left trying to
distinguish between all the distortions
coming through the window.

I'll read up on everything
you've ever done and
never feel better.
I'll ignore your presence
and not run very far
I'm pulled back by your tether.

You'll then leave me behind
the wheel, the speed always
increasing, though it's true
the airbag has never failed.
I try to be a boyscout, always
prepared and end up tying a
string of knots with hands
that won't stay idle.
all the time now I'm keeping
an eye onthe clouds, noting
any changes in color and shape
but I still venture out
whenever it starts to pour.



And then I suppose repeat the little chorus part if it's a song.

Bloody Ibiza

In talking to a guy from Britain on-line yesterday, I picked up some more British slang. Turns out, those fuckers can be mean. A new word to add to my global lexicon: chav, which means a variety of things, and inspired an interesting site. Though not as interesting as this one. And here I was thinking that Britons were all tea-slurping, semi-enlightened, non-Bush-voting people who had to deal with problems like having soccer as a national sport and eating terrible food. America was starting to look pretty good at this point. I mean we hate people, but our slang dictionaries don't advocate slaughtering a group of people. Then I read this. In unrelated news, I visited a porn site that had 110 categories! So, the world and the internet are filled with hate, but at least you can also get a bunch of porn filled with lots and lots of lovin'.

"I'm back baby!"

I've discovered that two weeks in a car with your mom is a very long time. And I never imagined saying this (or writing this), but it's good to be back in Dekalb. For a long time now, probably since I was in college, but maybe earlier than that still, there has been some part of my life, era, if you will, that I've felt distanced from. All the pieces, whether determined by my age, geographical location, friendships, etc. haven't all coalesced into one big ball of me in quite some time. I'd look back and at least one of these pieces didn't fit and didn't feel like it was truly a part of my identity, myself. I mention this because on Saturday, in the early evening, I was riding in the car, looking out the window, listening to Transatlanticism when we crossed the state line in a triumphant return to Illinois and all the pieces came together. It was the first time that everything in my life felt like my life in several years, and it was pretty spectacular. I also thought how glad I am to have been born and bred in various places in Illinois, especially after driving through a bunch of crazy states on a not-entirely-voluntary trip.

Some highlights from the voyage (in no particular order other than when I think of them):
1) I met Ben Gibbard!!!!!!!! I will write of this further when I will hopefully have prolonged conversation with him at the Revenge of the Bookeaters this Thursday.
2) I saw Death Cab for Cutie at the Greek Theatre at Berkeley, along with Mates of State and Spoon!!!!
3) I discovered that both Mountain and Pacific time zones follow Eastern time for most television programming (something I have always wondered about).
4) I can now say I've been to San Francisco and to City Lights bookstore.
5) I visited Hyde Street Pier and paid 25 cents to light a little white candle (see "Grace Cathedral Hill" by the Decemberists.
6) I saw Little Miss Sunshine.
7) I saw a horse's penis.
8) I drove by the studio in Sausalito where Fleetwood Mac recorded Rumours.
9) I visited John Steinbeck's hometown, Salinas.
10) I visited Sundance's hometown, Park City.
11) I learned many interesting things at the Ripley's Believe It Or Not Museum.
12) I wrote a poem.*

Highlights of being back inDekalb:
1) Seeing friends and my fella at the Annex.
2) Eating Portillo's.
3) Having I-haven't-done-anything-remotely-sexual-in-two-weeks sex.

It's good to be home.

*We Ride the Clouds

With handfuls each of
Montana and Washington
you're looking out to
the horizon for a mushroom cloud,
confusedly asking me
about a man called Grimes.
I reply: I can't tell you
when it's happy hour in Bangkok;
I'll always let you know the
whereverweare time.
the thought spoken aloud,
the rest jostling around
up there to be put to
paper for you:
I should be having sex right now.
I need to read more Thompson.
I have only enough money to
be a partial completist.
I think it's too early to say
certain words, but I kind of want to
and am not sure if that makes
me feel worried or wonderful.

with an unrecognized quote
and an unfinished hangman,
I had a little hope, a possible drizzle
ending two years of draught
(after three months of raindancing).
If only the gods had responded earlier,
you think; we would've had more time
and I wonder if it's a meritless concern,
if we'll have time enough.
In dreams, in night and day,
I don't stray, pass up offers
wished for so intensely and
I think that you have made
the bitter of bittersweet
retreat to the dusty corners of
the attic on my shoulders.
the thoughts not yet uttered
but repeated in this echo chamber:
I want you here.
This place would shine bright in my view
if only you were in the vicinity.

With thoughts twirling and feet stumbling,
I am attempting to fit the pieces together
even though I've lost the top of the box
with the picture. And maybe the thought
comes that I'm doing this blind
but you'll be guiding my hand
and it's put to paper, but quickly targeted
as overdone. I realize it's always been
a gut feeling and my ruminations,
spoken aloud or not, today, tomorrow, or never,
written in a vaguely cryptic manner,
will never all reach you the traffic's bad
from synapse to synapse to mouth.
Instead I'll kiss you and tell you
how you remind me of those
two that are at the top, you
know the ones I mean.

Yellow Butterfly

An album refers to a collection of songs, not a medium!!!!!! Aaarrrgghhh!! I forgot about this one when listing my pet peeves, but this is a big one for me. I absolutely hate it when people lament the death of an album (and they're actually talking about records rather than the state of music today). An album can be on a record, or an 8-track, or a cassette, or a CD, etc. Albums have been around for quite some time, are around today, and will continue to be around in the future (unless you listen to the doomsayers who predict that mp3s will effectively kill the music industry as we know it today, and c'mon those people are just bored and wishing to predict disaster). The term album is not a synonym for record or vinyl. There are very many baby boomers who cannot make this distinction, who pretend to know what they're talking about when it comes to the '60s and that era's music, and yet cannot tell the difference between common terms used to describe collections of music. I used to think that I was born in the wrong generation, I should've lived through that era, etc. Then I realized that it would basically be the same as living in this generation except with a better soundtrack. Some people like to refer to me as a hippie. I am not. Because, my god, most hippies were absolutely fucking idiots. Okay, enough ranting. And not that this has to do with anything, really, but a very good Simpsons quote that has been going around in my head while writing: "It's one of those campy '70s throwbacks that appeals to Generation Xers." "We need another Vietnam to thin out their ranks a little." So maybe W was just catching up on his Simpsons.

Country House

I went to the bookstore today to write down the books I'll need to look up online for better prices. And I checked to see if the book I ordered for my students was in. It was, and the little tag underneath had my name under the Professor space! I thought it was pretty cool. It'll cost them $52.65. Sorry students. I really need to get around to making a syllabus for my classes so that I can make that book worth the fifty bucks. As per a conversation last night, I've been thinking about the little things that make me happy (it really doesn't take much at all), and I've decided to compile a short list of the things I can think of right now that make me grin, and most likely cause me to jump up and down a bit.

Things that make Jill happy:
1. Discovering the identity of a good song
2. Great America (okay, not so little a thing, but it does make me ridiculously happy)
3. Free samples
4. Waving to people, especially when they wave back
5. Coming home at 5am, turning on the TV, and Bosom Buddies is on.
6. Leaves walking with me
7. When the count for the number of great songs featured in the preview for Little Miss Sunshine reaches 3 (!)
8. The preview for Little Miss Sunshine

Earth Angel

I drove my friend Angela's car a bit last night. It's been quite some time since I've driven an automatic, and it was quite interesting to do so. Getting out of the parking lot, I kept braking, having to remind my foot that it doesn't need to do anything. The ride was smoother after that, but I kept wanting to shift very badly. I think that when it comes time for me to buy a car, whenever I actually have money, so probably not for a good amount of time, I will purchase a car with manual transmission. Automatic is boring. A gentleman that works downstairs is celebrating his retirement today. I was told there was ice cream. I went there, signed the book, got some ice cream, and headed for the door. I'm classy like that. In all fairness, I was told by a number of people that I should go over there and that there was delicious ice cream. I found this to be true. They had pre-scooped vanilla, strawberry, chocolate, and I think the last was pralines n' cream. Vanilla, with hot fudge and caramel and a bit of whipped cream. I have to start planning/packing for the trip to California this week. I read in an interview with Ben Gibbard that there is a restaurant in San Francisco which he frequents everytime he is in the area. So I need to determine if this restaurant still exists and where it is so that I can go there and meet him and he'll immediately fall madly in love with me, but I'll say "No, I can't be with you, but we'll be great friends." And we will be and then he'll give me a job where I'll start out as just doing odd jobs for him and the members of the band, but soon I will move up and will eventually direct music videos for them and learn how to produce a record and it will be how I break into the industry. So here's hoping that I go to that restaurant and that he is there. Anyone have any other suggestions for San Francisco spots not to miss?

Everyday Is Like Sunday

Man, I wish I was photogenic. Oh well, another one of those things that would be nice, but probably isn't all that important in the grand scheme of things. I went and saw The Devil Wears Prada tonight and then went to the bar and became surprisingly drunk from relatively little alcohol. I'm well aware of the double standards that exist in our society, but I often don't think too much about them or am not really bothered by them. But, in watching this movie I was reminded of one in particular that I don't like, particularly because it has directly to do with me as of late. The whole thing with guys hitting on girls with boyfriends being seen as suave and charming and of course she should date this guy because look at how suave and charming he is. And then if a girl hits on a guy with a girlfriend, she is a compete harlot, whore, slut, every name under the sun you can think of, and should no longer be a card-carrying member of the human race. C'mon, this is such bullshit and horribly horribly unfair and fuck it. Another serious thought running through my head in the movie (which was alright, especially as a movie seen at the cheap theater, but one that I don't have any particular yen to see again) has to do with a decision I made what, about four years ago now. I'd been moving closer and closer to living in the real world among actual people, especially since getting to college, but very much especially since I started dating huge douchebag. It was during this particular time that I consciously made the decision that I would in fact join the world of everyone else and try to be with and be close to actual people rather than people I interacted with solely through pages, speakers, screens, etc. And when I fell in love with him (aww....) this became very evident. Since then I've watched films that dealth with being with someone and felt more empathetic with the characters as I now finally had some experience to back up connecting emotionally with them. I had always been able to empathize with characters, but I began doing it with a much greater understanding. When I was dumped for the final time, this was very much evident as well. Now, whenever there's a break-up scene in a movie, I'm acutely aware of the pain of the situation. I had always felt bad, but now I feel exactly as I felt when it happened to me, with all the intensity of emotion. And it makes me wonder if I made the right decision when I chose to live in the real world (though I know I did). But anyway, enough blathering on, I should probably get to sleep. That's where I'm a viking!

Times Like These

I was about to meet Dan Castellaneta in my dream last night when I awoke to my mom calling me. She then proceeded to call me about once to twice an hour for three to four hours before I began ignoring the call. Fucking Christ. Little Miss Sunshine is now in New York and L.A., but won't be in Chicago until August 4th, a day which I'm told will have me in Joliet packing and getting ready for the big road trip. So it looks like I won't be able to see it for a while and when I do see it I'm sure it will cost less money, but oh, I want to see it right away! I just watched the video for Title and Registration again. It's not at all like the video I pictured in my head when first listening to the song (I will direct music videos someday), but it's still very fantastic and features Ben Gibbard looking particularly wonderful I think. I also watched a video on a friend's former students' blog which was pretty well-done and amusing. I mention it here since one part featured a guy eating a bowl of Tic Tacs, which, when in mass and collected in a bowl look like a bunch of pills and I was reminded that the sight and/or thought of such things now make me feel nauseous. This is especially noteworthy since I've never really had a physical reaction to the thought and/or sight of anything in my life. I almost couldn't watch that part of the video and that is the first time I've ever said (or written) anything like that. Hopefully this isn't a permanent effect since I don't like feeling nauseous or not being able to watch something. Anyway, I recently listened to Sufjan Stevens' cover of What Goes On, and I must say that I kinda like it. I think it will go on my very short list of acceptable Beatles covers. Alright, more reporting on the exciting news of Jill-town later.

The Predatory Wasp Of The Palisades Is Out To Get Us!

So I'm leaving for California on August 5th and I just realized 'Holy crap, that's pretty soon!' I also just found out that I won't be allowed to drive over 70mph for the whole trip. This whole thing will be ever-so-much fun. I'll just have to keep repeating to myself "I'll be in the same room as Ben Gibbard." And I was thinking the other day that I've been in the same room as three members of my harem so far! Anyways, I've been inspired today to list three of my pet peeves.
3 Pet Peeves:

1) Drivers of vehicles yielding to me when I'm crossing the street. Listen people, it's much easier and makes so much more sense for people to navigate around cars rather than cars navigating around people. I'm planning my movements based on the fact that you and your speed will remain constant, when you do not (however good the intention may be), everything is fucked. Whoever came up with the whole pedestrians-have-the-right-of-way thing should be dug up and shot, and then run over for good measure.

2) People who keep their hand on the door as they're entering a building even though I'm holding the door for them. You don't need to touch the door, I'm holding it for you, that's the whole point. There are two levels of this though, the people who do this but say thank you are much better than the fucksticks who do this and don't acknowledge the gesture in any way whatsoever.

3) Large groups of students and their parents touring campus who take up the whole sidewalk and refuse to budge even an inch to let me by, especially when I'm going the opposite direction. I'm also irritated by small groups of people who refuse to move and stay in a cluster rather than going single file to ensure that the sidewalk can serve its purpose of being a two-way route, but I've run into two touring groups today. Why would you not move to allow someone to walk on the sidewalk?! And usually I'll give in and walk on the grass, but no more! I'm going to keep walking and keep my shoulders square, and if I'm not in a good movie, maybe throw an elbow out as well. I really don't like you people, you're fucking ignorant and inconsiderate.

On a happier note, I found some very good poems today (which always makes me happy) while searching for one that Bonnie may want to have read at her wedding. So I will share these now, along with one I wrote:

At the Office Early by Ted Kooser
Rain has beaded the panes
of my office windows,
and in each little lens
the bank at the corner
hangs upside down.
What wonderful music
the rain must have made
in the night, a thousand banks
turned over, the change
crashing out of the drawers
and bouncing upstairs
to the roof, the soft
percussion of ferns
dropping out of their pots,
the ballpoint pens
popping out of their sockets
in a fluffy snow
of deposit slips.
Now all day long,
as the sun dries the glass,
I'll hear the soft piano
of banks righting themselves,
the underpaid tellers
counting their nickels and dimes.

Corners by Stephen Dunn*
I've sought out corner bars, lived in corner houses;
like everyone else I've reserved
corner tables, thinking they'd be sufficient.
I've met at corners
perceived as crossroads, loved to find love
leaning against a lamp post
but have known the abruptness of corners too,
the pivot, the silence.
I've sat in corners at parties hoping for someone
who knew the virtue
of both distance and close quarters, someone with a
corner person's taste
for intimacy, hard won, rising out of shyness
and desire.
And I've turned corners there was no going back to,
corners
in the middle of a room that led
to Spain or solitude.
And always the thin line between corner
and cornered,
the good corners of bodies and those severe bodies
that permit no repose,
the places we retreat to, the places we can't bear
to be found.

The Heart's Location by Peter Meinke
all my plans for suicide are ridiculous
I can never remember the heart's location
too cheap to smash the car
too queasy to slash a wrist
once jumped off a bridge
almost scared myself to death
then spent two foggy weeks
waiting for new glasses

of course I really want to live
continuing my lifelong search
for the world's greatest unknown cheap restaurant
and a poem full of ordinary words
about simple things
in the inconsolable rhythms of the heart

They eat out by Margaret Atwood
In restaurants we argue
over which of us will pay for your funeral

though the real question is
whether or not I will make you immortal.

At the moment only I
can do it and so

I raise the magic fork
over the plate of beef fried rice

and plunge it into your heart.
There is a faint pop, a sizzle

and through your own split head
you rise up glowing;

the ceiling opens
a voice sings Love Is A Many

Splendoured Thing
you hang suspended above the city

in blue tights and a red cape,
your eyes flashing in unison.

The other diners regard you
some with awe, some only with boredom;

they cannot decide if you are a new weapon
or only a new advertisement.

As for me, I continue eating;
I liked you better the way you were,
but you were always ambitious.

A Day In the Sun
Laughing like a couple of kids
who just bought a well for a village,
walking into the sunset like the heroes
of a mining town, when those streets
were dangerous to walk.
Carried off like a damsel in distress
after the fire-breathing dragon is slain.
These are what we witness, gathered here
with promise of a plate and a dance.
Oh, we'll be in the presence of a love
so deep that even the most experienced
swimmer will drown, not wave
and we'll glow by the soft light
of a radiant bride, all in white.
But we won't all have our own wedding
night, pretending to be nervous,
like they used to do it.
None of us will be carried across
the threshold to start a new life,
similar to the old, except now it's official,
sealed with rings and a kiss.
We'll be only the bystanders, well-wishers
and you'll be the happy couple,
arms and everything linked
like hypertext on a website which proclaims:
'We have neither pride nor prejudice,
we have happiness.'

*Further comments on this poem and corners in a future post