I'm a murderer.

I killed a mouse with my bare hands Thursday night, put it in a Shakespeare's cup and threw its seizing body out the front door. I didn't feel the least bit guilty--at the time--because:

1) It was loud and slow. Being Darwin's handmaiden is an ugly job, but someone has to do it. I am just Jules striking "down upon thee great vengeance and furious anger".

2) While I am far from being a neat housekeeper (all those threats of cleanliness imbuing godliness), a mouse crapping in my house was too much of an affront to my pride.

I had initially toyed with the idea of buying a live trap, but I guess this is the last nail in the coffin of my compassionate conservatism.

Where does this bloodlust originate? I may have inherited it:

When I was home one weekend, my father beat an armadillo (that had been eating the salad greens from the garden) to death with a baseball bat in our backyard while my horrified sisters and I watched. It bounced at least 2 feet off the ground.

Man of action indeed!

The Immolation scene from Götterdämmerung is lofty background music for my midnight biscotti making, but who can resist a good multi-tasking opportunity?

Don't you love how letting your mind wander at 2AM can resolve hitherto unarticulated aversions?

Crewcut sporting lesbians, invariably standing on courthouse steps dressed in pantsuits, have been a fixture of gay-marriage debate for as long as I can remember. I concede that they have a vested interest in the struggle, as a biological clock (the main impetus for seeking "equality") seems to not discriminate on the basis of sexual orientation. To each her own.

My repulsion by the side-show comedy that is the same-sex-marriage debate was caused by something more sinister than the "morally-bankrupt heterosexual institution" tripe. And thanks to Florence King, I finally have figured out how I feel.

I might as well have said, "I don't want to get married, I'd rather live in Paris and have affairs like George Sand."

I CAN'T WAIT TO GRADUATE.

I'm so close. Seriously, so close.

Continuing in our long line of costumes in *poor* taste, here's a Halloween recap y'all.
05: Batman and Robin
06: Pitcher and catcher
07: Priest and altar boy

Last weekend was spent at NATS and associated activities. Besides staying at a hotel that was hosting a blind person convention, I spent time with the real crazies: singers.

I am also wrapping up a NSF GRFP application, studying for the GRE, and gearing up for the fun that is filling out grad applications.

Time will tell what becomes of all this crap.

I also realized what is up with my tomatoes. Apparently, I didn't really follow my carefully drawn map, because what I thought were brandywines were actually yellow boy hybrids. So that's why they started rotting after turning a light orangish. Hmm. So today I picked a basket of tomatoes (in November!) and made what might be the last feta, EVOO, tomato, kalamati olive, and lemon basil salad of the fall. Sigh.

My garden was a productive and therapeutic experience, and I plan to increase the plots next spring. In addition to a cutting garden with more herbs, I want to put in some cucurbits and other fruit (blackberries, strawberries?). Ack! How will I make it through winter?

In other horizons, Craiger and I are excited about the live (in HD!) Met broadcasts that will finally come to Columbia. Going to Met on a regular basis would be a luxury that I will probably never be able to afford, but this is almost as good right?

What does one wear to an opera broadcast? Are the exotic-bird plumages still required?

Living life as one big resume-building experience gets old. I have begun seeing people as commodities/tools to be optimized and exploited. Is this normal?

I'm currently knee-deep in the NSF GRFP application...I'm proposing a rather ambitious project to elucidate paramutation mechanisms (Lit reviews are more fun than homework). I guess it's a good sign that I really enjoy this part, being as it's what I am going to do for a living, haha.

A portrait of my mind at the end of its tether: every time I think about how many things are on my to-do list, I envision Ursula singing "I'm a very busy person and I haven't got all day!"

Disney allusions: the ultimate litmus test for insanity. Or as Michael J Budds would say, (referring to Joan Sutherland as Lucia) "she's nuttier than a fruitcake!"

A more mundane tid-bit: I made salmon cakes with some grated zucchini, yellow squash, lemon juice, pepper, and fresh tarragon from my garden. Yum!

Happenstance:

Right now, there are three (3) construction worker-types (with chain saws and toolbelts, oh my!) in my backyard cutting down branches from around the telephone lines.

The kicker: none of them are as beefy as my boyfriend.

And I would really rather just take a nap.

Ok. I'll just say it.

I am obsessed with Strauss' Elektra. Craig and I checked out the DVD and watched it a couple of weeks ago (The 1989 Eva Marton Vienna Staatsoper). Most of the scenes can also be found on youtube.

It can be angular yet voluptuous--and Eva Marton is a beast...basically it requires shouting for two hours over a full orchestra with constant brass.

The opening line "Allein! Weh, ganz allein" gets me every time.

Things that make Ed happy:

1) Only having one class tomorrow (at 8AM though, boo)
2) Finishing some fine mapping tomorrow at work
3) No opera rehearsal
4) Going to the batting cages with Craig tonight

Hello, gentle reader. I emerge from my chrysalis of blogging seclusion to bring you this tid-bit:

Every once in a while I have a striking epiphany (usually completely inconsequential to anyone but me).

I just finished reading an editorial by Ann Coulter (that vituperative vagina--or as I prefer: "the venomous cunt") about Senator Craig's Bathroomgate.

Coulter is a gay camp figure on par with Bette Davis or Divine.

There you have it, my words of wisdom, brought down like biblical fire from a mountaintop.

After having a 30 minute (predictably) frustrating phone conversation with Mediacom (the unholy bastards!) I took out some frustration on my new dumpster dive find: a fabulous solid wood dresser in need of total refinishing. Which, by the way someone had not single, but double veneered.

Men have been hung for less.

Dividing my time between:
1) Work--I'm almost done genotyping (30,000+ data points, lol)! It's almost time to run mapmaker...
2) Gardening--I'll post pictures when it starts to look good. Let me just say that just looking at my opal basil makes me happy. Sigh.
3) Finding time to practice. Taking a break from the pretentious seriousness of Chausson's symbolist serres chaudes (how fitting, I know), the disturbing Wolf ala the Spanisches Liederbuch, and focusing on the Charles Ives. Old Charlie and Poulenc are probably my two favorite composers. I just get what they wrote--I often imagine myself taking walks by the Houstatonic with Ives or lunching with Francis at Maxim's.
4) Having a social life. I feel surrounded by friends more now than ever. What is it with summer?
5) Finding time for some strenuous exercise. Lane and I have been going mountain biking occasionally, and I am forcing myself to go the gym tomorrow. To continue with my Norman Rockwell fixation, here's a representation of my body image (Lord knows how many times I perused our coffee table book and wound up crying over this one).

Learn something new every day

So I just spent the last two hours trying to figure out how to add a column of text to a column of numerical values (so I can print out some plate arrays).

Turns out that Excel has an operation called "concatenate", which comes from a Latin word meaning "to link together in a series or chain". Who know, right?

Yes, I'm proud. I feel as if I've defeated Microsoft.

1) Is there another Shakespeare waiting to be discovered? Some Emily Dickinson-style bard with a hence-to unrecognized bureau drawer full of genius?

2) I now find Eluard decadently introspective, brooding, and pretentious. The emperor has no clothes.

3) I'm having a hard time striking a balance between taking myself too seriously and sinking into flippant silliness. The age old Mahler vs. Poulenc?

Free booze is a dangerous thing.

The jury is finished

And now I can concentrate on:
1) Making a Greek salad with the works: artichoke hearts, feta, red onions, kalamati olives, and salad greens so I can enjoy lunch tomorrow while I:
2) Study all day (seriously all day) for the evolution final, after I have:
3) Done some annual planting in the north garden after I have:
4) Gone for a bike ride in the morning, and in the evening:
5) Fall asleep by myself curled up with a rather large bottle of amaretto (whom I am cheating on with midori) while:
6) Listening to "Mira o Norma", the fabulous Serafin recording with Callas from 1952ish

In other news I am feeling overwhelming Protestant guilt about leaving the science to enjoy the world (NYC and FL). Suggestions?

Who would have known that this week would be so busy? Jesus! Probably my jury is the most stressful part of the schedule because it also reflects on my teacher.

Been reading, writing, and such all day since Sunday night. No end in sight.

I did find time to make it out to the 'last' "Monday night"--a group of friends that take their Monday night debauchery seriously. Nostalgic? Perhaps.

Everyone was dressed up in some sembalence of a costume, Nick was 'white trash' (surprise?), Rebecca was 'from the future', Natalie was classy Natalie. After trying on a tux and then a lesbian outfit, I decided to go as someone who got lost on the way to the beach (I'm in desperate need of some sun) and happened to be holding a mug full of peach schnapps and ice. Wow, I know.

Oh shit here we go!

(last week before I leave for NYC and then FL to visit Alan/rents-sises respectively)

And nature sympathized.

The last week was busy. The next week will be even more busy.

Here's a list of what's a-goin' on:
1) 2 projects due for molecular lab (a grant proposal and 15 min oral presentation--I'll do the talking not my GOTBY Asian lab partner)
2) Memorize some Wolf for my jury--it's going to be a total joke, but who cares.
3) Vocal lit final
4) Evolution test #3 and final
5) 2 evolution homeworks (one is: "find a fossil")
6) Poster presentation on Monday (stand in front of 9-month old data)
7)10 hours of tutoring.

Now that I've made a list, it doesn't seem so bad.

Some highlights of this last week:
1)Going to a "politically subversive burlesque" show that benefited the Center. It basically consisted of chubby lesbians dancing around with electrical tape on their nipples. Pretty routine Wednesday night.
2)Going to the Vu for comedy night and running into the smart sorority girl I tutor and her mother who was SCHWASTED. Mother's weekend. Classic.
3) Going to the batting cages with my BF and catching bugs. Yep.
4) At long last watching Shortbus.
5) Getting this picture (yes, I am wearing a SS shirt) from when Dennis and Mike and I hung out over spring break. Mike is one of my most favoritest people I've met at Mizzou and I'll miss him--although he is going to UCSF and if I go to UC-Berkeley or Stanford I might see him often.

Other than that...
I'm going through a Paul Eluard kick?

The commedia is over!

While walking to work today I was accosted by a wastafarian (or a trustafarian as Alan says) handing out “subversive” literature. He said with a wink, “We need a drastic change.”

The pamphlet basically consisted of an advertisement for some sketchy cult “12 acres” (or something to that effect)—promoting some commune lifestyle and showing pictures of people who were wearing happy drug-smiles.

Needless to say I didn’t quite get the gist of it, but it was one of those vague “let’s all live in harmony” things.

I want to set the record straight: I have nothing against cults. If I did, I would have a problem with the majority of the Bible belt. What I take issue with are communes. Maybe it is my (not so carefully) camouflaged misanthrope attitude, but I don’t trust anyone who can live in close proximity with other stinky hippies. Thoreau-ing is okay with me, but communes…ugh.

As I was thinking over said event, I realized what actually shocked me most is that there are still people in the world that are idealistic. Believe they can make a “drastic change”—whatever that may be.

Maybe I have been inculcated by too many petulant, government-hating conservatives, but people who think they can save this country from its democratic-socialist destiny make me uneasy.

Besides, it’s not my style to stand abreast history waving my arms and yelling, “Stop”.

After we are left a crumbling nanny-state I would rather raise my glass of absinthe as the curtain closes and cynically proclaim "La Commedia e finite."

My boyfriend brought me chai. Yay!

Here are things that I’ve noticed lately that would probably strike anyone (who is not a total spaz like me) as unremarkable:

1) A guy being pulled over in a parking lot on campus, discussing with the faux-po *in detail* the Mizzou basketball team, scores, etc. I’m feeling like I would have a distinct disadvantage in “straight” talking my way out of traffic violations.

2) Two Asian students (apparently from different countries, i.e., “Are you Chinese or Japanese?” “No, I’m from Laos, it’s a land-locked country in south of Asia…”) who were trying to communicate a sandwich order at the union.

Asian♀-sandwich-maker: Would you rike pickers?

Asian♂-sandwich-orderer: Pickers?

Asian♀- sandwich-maker: Yes, loast beef sandwich?

All in all, a cute exchange. They were trying so hard, I suppose some soft Copland music should be played in the background.

3)I almost slept through evolution the morning after Craiger’s B-day party (Ed=2 Bermuda triangles), so I grabbed some stuff to take notes on at his house. After taking notes about vertebrate eye homology I got curious and began flipping through the notebook to see what else was in there. I took Craig’s crazy-cult/brainwashing Mormon religion class notes from BYU.

Previous page, and I quote: “Ch10 v17, spiritual gifts come by Light of Christ”. I suppose Christ’s Light should be capitalized, in the vein of THE Holy Spirit’s Left Sandal…

Ch9 “don’t give up”

v.16: “Sprit of Christ~ conscience (D+C 88)”

“characteristics”

1) “truth shineth”

2) “light in all things”

3) “life to all things”

4) “power of God”

Oh, Jesus. The irony was not lost on me…it was a nice diversion from a class I hate so much.

It was about a million degrees in Jake Shear's pants tonight.

Fleeting moment of self-awareness today:

We accept living in relative poverty and chic-bleak surroundings because we have something that no Escalade-driving middle aged real-estate agent has: youth. It is a constant source of strength, smugness, and justification for our bohemian existence. It is our priceless and fragile commodity.

The eternal darkness and cold is wearing on me. Today I started planning my garden—it is one of the few things that can make me forget that I live in a place I hate for 1/3 of the year.

I plan on having a splendiferous garden, full of heirloom vegetables and herbs and flowers and magic! Well, maybe not magic. But I certainly plan on buying the plastic molds in the shape of president’s heads so I can grow some Nixon and Carter tomatoes. Que indígena?

I have spent the last couple of days at work (ugh) and translating and IPA-ing some Swedish texts for my Sibelius set. PS, the Swedish chef on the muppets was not an exaggeration.

Also I am highly anticipating the arrival of my Jacques LeGuerney CD, and a tape of songs called “Reality Sandwiches” (text by Ginsberg).

Tomorrow portends my doom: 2.5 hours of class, a voice lesson, 5 hours of work, 2 hours of tutoring. Although judging by the (seemingly representative) mouth-breathing, intellectual tundra girl who is incapable of fathoming analogies that sits in front of us in class; i.e, “how can you make that comparison, a mousetrap isn’t even alive”—my evolution test tomorrow morning should be a breeze.

There's a boy I know

Craiger brought me some Häagen-Das black raspberry chip after a shitty Monday.

I love him.

(I know you are going to comment: "Um, I vomited in my mouth a little." Robyn)

And yes, the title is an allusion to a Whitney song.

Insomnia inspired Harvard dictionary of music perusing motivated me to formulate a sketch for an underwater opera.

I suppose Scriabin has the choke-hold on outer space performances, and Stockhausen has a monopoly on helicopter string ensembles.

But underwater opera—that’s where it’s at baby.

Can you imagine Aida with fanned-out hair that hangs listless in the water, or Billy Budd with sea-soaked clingy overalls?

Ok I’m done. I’m just sayin’…