Tuesday, February 20, 2007

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.

Monday, February 12, 2007

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.