P^3. S.

Jake is on top of the refrigerator, and I am really enjoying playing house. In a moment, I will actually start reading, and I've already knocked 10 pages off by discovering that it's poetry, which I understand a lot easier than theory (wonder why that is...;) ) but I just washed the dishes and the stove, dancing around to my favorite early-90s hits (though not the aforementioned albums or groups) and thinking, you know, when I get a place of my own, I could do this all the time. The cleaning, the prancing, the sliding across linoleum floors. At all hours, if I so desired. And I'm not going to lie: I will probably so desire.

Ah, something to look forward to. :)

Song of the moment: "Cream"~Prince

CW: My Favorite Initials!

On the To Do list for this evening:

~Clean the house, because we (Jake and I) don’t have a clue when Ev and Juan are coming back…we think it’s Weds, but of course we don’t want to have the house in disarray when they get back. In this case, disarray must be though of in terms, not of my usual standards, but the standards for the exceptionally clean and organized people with whom I live. Come on, now—I wouldn’t toxify their house.

~Errands. I need food. Jake, of course, has plenty, but I need to stop eating at the dining hall. Or go all in for a meal plan and stop eating at home. Either way, a decision must be made.

~Make earrings for Jacqui. She’s had an order in for earrings to match three necklaces that I made for her, but I haven’t been feeling well enough to make them. They also require smashing, which is problematic in a nice little neighborhood unaccustomed to the sound of metal on metal on metal.

~Read approximately 200 pages of literary theory for class tomorrow. I’m actually feeling buoyed by the fact that I managed to accurately wade myself through 80 pages of Martin Heidegger. Myself. Alone.

~Revise my poems. All of them. No, don’t be frightened, this is not going to be another scary get-the-hell-out-of-here entry. I’m in a much better mood since talking to my parents. Funny how the same things that your friends tell you—that not everything should be personal, that sometimes when what you love is what you do, doing what you love is work, and hard work at that—actually sink in when your parents say them. So, when I say I need to revise all my poems, I mean I need to really read them and see if maybe Orlando has a point. I need to work on it.

~Finish my laundry. I may have left the last load in the dryer on Saturday, and it now needs to be fluffed because it has become a sad, wrinkly mess.

Instead of doing any of these things, I am watching 7th Heaven on the CW, which I have found on my cable. It’s channel 5. You need to know this because it is on the CW that the season premier of Veronica Mars will show next Tuesday.

I should actually revise that. I am not watching 7th Heaven. I am now watching a new show, Runaway. Starring Donnie Wahlberg, brother of Mark “Look at my Calvin Klein package” Walhberg. But this brother is the “Katie-as-a-shrieking-pre-pre-teen” Donnie, of TNKotB. That’s right: The New Kids. Covergirl. The Right Stuff. (Please) Don’t Go Girl. My 3rd grade heartthrob (I still have that CD, by the way. That and Paula Abdul’s Shut Up and Dance: The Remix. They were the first CDs in our house, back in what—1990?) is now a 40-something actor with his brother’s receding hairline but without the hip dip. At least not that we’ve seen. So strange. I may end up watching this show, now, because there appears to be a hot-the-way-your-best-friend’s-dad-is-hot neighbor and they’ve already had one car/penis joke. These are the hallmarks of quality television.

But back to 7th Heaven. No, actually. Now that I have a new show, I think it will suffice to say that I am being distracted, and need to wrest myself from the evil clutches of the Satan Box, and the slightly more insidious mitts of the blogosphere.

But before I go: Am I the only person who is sick of these winking woman, diet-food-as-indulgence advertisements? Yoplait mousse that’s “shoe-shopping good.” “All day massage good.” “Do the masseuse in the sauna while two or three more fight outside for dibs.” (PS, Yoplait…a masseuse is female. Yeah. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.) Lean Cuisine that tastes like sin itself. Well, at least compared to munching rulers and accidentally licking self-adhesive stamps. I’ve had diet food, and there’s a reason that people go off their diets. Hint: it’s not because they’ve suddenly lost their appreciation of haute cuisine a la box. And women have enough self image problems without being told that their taste is also flawed because they’re panting for the masseur, not the yogurt.

P.S. Anyone else think that I just set a record for the number of hyphenated descriptions in one blog entry? I think I did.

P.P.S. The football star of this show's name is Brady. Coincidence? Yeah, a coincidence the way CW also being Charlie Weiss's inititals is a coincidence. Hah!

ND at Michigan State

8:22 PM
Great. Just great. Zibby gets plowed over because he runs into his guy instead of wrapping his guy, and then they score on their first drive. Just effing great. And would Bob Davie shut up about his days at the reins? Cripes.

8:32
"Of course, I never won against Michigan State--I didn't even know there was a trophy."
Okay, that was kind of funny. Perhaps we'll let Bob continue to speak.

8:38
Fumble by Zibby...another gimme for another Michigan. And I can't even really be pissed off about this last TD, because it was beautifully done, at least from the POV of someone whose only knowledge of football was gleaned inside Notre Dame Stadium.

And why get rid of the iPod Mini when you're just going to make the nano its petite twin? same colors and everything. Huh. I may not be in the best mood for product critique. And Zibby needs to cut his damn hair because he has not proven himself badass enough this season to merit a badass haircut.

8:56
Holy crap, that was the longest quarter ever. I'd forgotten how much longer a football game was when a) you're not there physically and b) when your team has so obviously already given up.

As anyone who reads this particular entry will understand in the first two sentences, I am not reacting with any degree of actual knowledge about the game of football. I couldn't tell you what a shotgun pass or zone defense were if you paid me. But holy crap. 20 yards of total offense in the first quarter, as opposed to State's 188 yards. Even I know how freaking miserable that is. I almost want to tell the band to hush, because the team they're trying to support forgot to come to the game. Even when we manage to trip up the runner he stumbles forward for another three yards.

The good thing is that Zbikowski was showing some increased energy in the last couple of plays in the first quarter. That's another thing--when I, of all people, can see that Brady is just wildly out of his groove and that the D looks like the last place it wants to be is on the field, you know it's bad. They need to forget what's at stake, because if they don't step up we've lost anyway.

9:04
Thank goodness, 9 yards from Darius. Let it be a sign or things to come FIRST DOWN! YES! It is sad that I am so excited about a first down.

9:06
Yes! YESYESYESYESYES! I love the no huddle approach, because all this stuff is in Quinn's muscle memory, and he just needs to shut his brain down to get it back. And yes, I terrified the cat when I started shrieking. I'm okay with that. Really. Now I'm going to go apologize.

9:18
I go to the bathroom for two minutes only to return after an apparent scuffle and an interception-->TD. WTF, mate?

9:27
Does anyone else think The Shark should have spent a little less time playing baseball and a little more time on his receiving this summer? He just doesn't have even a semblance of last year's consitency. (Makes him sound like pudding, huh?)

9:29
Beautiful, beautiful play fake (that's what Bob called it). Carlson...this is a name that I have heard a lot lately. I like it. I also like how Darius always freaks the crap out of me by runninig horizontally for ages before turning for the vertical run. He always makes the turn, and I always panic anyway. It must be hell on earth, being in the seats anywhere TD!!!!! near me at the games.

And we back in the game, 14-24 with 6:45 left in the half. Oh, and I love it when they explain things with the yellow pen. I may need to make flashcards. I may also take back what I said about Jeff. Maybe.

9:36
Question: what is a "draw play?" I'm assuming it has something to do with drawing the defense into thinking it's another play, but they forgot to explain that one to me.

And the creepy little SkyCam thing is floating along in the back field.

9:40
And dammit, they just used our own play against us. Poo.

9:51
Half time. Dinner time. Also drug time--I think the cold meds have been wearing off.

10:18
Mmmm. Hot dogs and beans. Classic cold food, because it doesn't taste like much to begin with, so you're not missing anything, what with the whole tastebud atrophy that always accompanies one of my colds. And Carlson is my new hero.
21-31; ten points is definitely doable.

10:23
Nice sack by Trevor Laws. This State crowd is looking downright morose, though, which is odd since they're still ten points up. I hope we don't look like that--oh, wait! We haven't been ten points up in, well...ages.

Oh, and a nice short punt. Come on, offense. time to live up to the D's expectation.

10:29
Well, our 4th and 8 attempt didn't quite work out the way we had planned. And Charlie may or may look like he's going to eat Brady Quinn. New question: would the Irish be, at this point, much worse off if he did? I don't mean that. But it's something to think about. I think we should just play mudball now. Have fun and play loose, but not in the bad way.

Dude, my head is going to freakin' explode. I want to know why the drugs haven't kicked in yet.

10:34
Aaaand another TD for the Spartans.
21-37 Michigan State

10:38
Darius freaks me out again. I hate it when he does that! And bad bad bad with the rain and the slippery ball. And we have some serious biflowing frustration happenening between Brady and Charlie.

I hate Ringer.

10:46
Shit. Shit shit shit. Who held? Shit. But it looks like Zibby's mentally back. Shit. Who is number 8? We CANNOT CANNOT CANNOT CANNOT afford this many penalties. And now Brady's all over the place.

10:55
If you've read this far, and honestly I don't understand why you would have, you have come to the same conclusion that I have: it is dangerous for Katie to watch the game at home alone with the cat. At least when there are other people in the house I pretend to be productive, and am less likely to yammer on like I have been.

That said, tomorrow at 7 Extreme Makeoever is going to be at North Pole, AK. I've been there. That's where the Christmas shop is. Mostly overflow people who work at/near Eilsen AFB. Think I'm going to watch. Sleepy. Flag.

11:05
How the hell was that holding called on the offense? One of our guys practivcally jocked the ball carrier by way of his collar...I thought that was illegal. Maybe? Something called a "horse collar"? *Editorial note: the author has since learned that there is no horse collar penalty in NCAA football, and that it was only declared a penalty, as opposed to a fine, in the 2005 season, much to the dismay of Jerry Jones, all time class act.

11:09
HEADS UP CARLSON! Yes! So lucky.

And Brady, way to neutralize that gain.

11:11
Jeff, way to get cheesed about the no-call! 37-27 Michigan, going for 2.

Shit. Why did we go for the run? They've had Darius's number almost the whole game, so why wouldn't we go with a short pass? (I am actually asking these questions, not being shitty about the call, so if you have answers feel free to respond...)

The TV peoples seem to agree with me, which makes me feel pretty good about my novice assessment of the situation. This is getting to be one ass long entry.

11:18
YEEEEEEEEAH! Ndukwe is awesome! Way to cause the fumble and recover it.

No no no. Too many penalties, boys! Too many penalties.

11:22
Don't even argue with that call, it bounced off your freaking back! How on earth can you think that isn't interference?

11:25
YES! But wtf with the missed FG?! It's okay, it's okay. 5 minutes is enough. We can do this. I don't care if it's ass ugly, as long as it's an ass ugly W.

11:27
Hey, I just saw Shaneyfelt! Oh, but weird take on the band. Strange echo thing.

11:29
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
40-37 NOTRE DAME!!!!! And it was a defensive touchdown. Woooooooooooo!

11:35
Please no OT. I need to sleep.

11:38
This is what my defense should look like every time they're on the field. Wired, in the O's face every single play. Every single game. This is my Notre Dame football team!

11:41
And Lambert is a pinball wizard! How the hell did he get that?!

Thank you, thank you, thank you. Ugly as all get out, but I'll take it.
11:43
40-37 Notre Dame

And holy crap, is our team tone deaf! :)

Refuge, Thy Name is Cartoons!

So, yesterday I was describing my life (psuedo-professional, at least) as a continual process of flinging shit against a Teflon wall. You have a lifetime supply at hand, but nothing sticks. By that I mean that I had another meeting with my thesis director, who told me that I was thinking up a lot of lines, but that none of them were working as poetry.

At this point, I'm walking a fine line between anger and despair. The anger part is typical me: as I've told many of my friends, I like to believe that all of my work is divinely inspired, and therefore beyond reproach or revision. Honestly, though, I know that I have a lot to work on, but I like to think that some of the things I'm doing work. After yesterday, though, not so much. I wrote a poem about Hilary Clinton which is now supposed to cut that part out completely (yes, that would be the whole thing) and rewrite it as a poem from the POV of the whale that swallowed Jonah. A poem that was supposed to be nothing but a scene adn reaction to an Octavio Paz poem is now supposed to be about the children who appear in only one line as scenery but are now going to be some sort of protagonists.

I actually dread writing these days. I hate the idea of sitting down and composing anything, because I know that it's not going to work. What used to be my escape and a place of repose has become dirge work. And that's where the despair works its way in. I used to love doing this. I have 196 poems that I wrote when I was just writing for me, because I loved doing it. Now I have to come up with 60 pages and I hate the idea of it, because I hate the idea of having someone disecting it and reworking it to become a better reflection of him. Every workshop feels like poetry by committee, where everyone looks for what's best about his own work in mine. And I need to clarify: when I say "doing it for me" I don't mean using it as therapy or anything; I just mean doing it as something that's fun for me to do and cool to share with close friends, without worrying if it's too whacked out for traditionalists or too traditional for experimentalist or too may words for language poets.

Really, I might be overreacting, but it certainly doesn't feel like it. It feels like I'm just going to wade through the next six months; serve my time, try to get the thesis done and get my degree, then get the hell out of here. To only God knows where, doing God knows what.

At this point, I'm okay with being a mediocre poet. I'm okay. I just need to get this done, and move on. And until then, I am watching Volume 5 of "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles," the original series. It is keeping me sane.

Song of the moment: "Life"~Shooter

The Times, They Are A'Changin'

Ron Burgundy had never heard that song, so when he fell, he fell hard.

I'm not handling it too well, either. I guess that's the problem with living the good life--change is almost never for the better. I'm not saying it's worse, either. Just different, and taking some getting used to...yeah. Just taking some getting used to, dangling preps and all.

Must be the plague...this is just an out-of-sorts week. And it's only three days in. Wahoo.

Song of the moment: "Anything Goes"...see following poem for example


Junque Jewelry

I've lost my edge pieces and have only interiors
one more rhinestone turtle
corner of a marcasite pill box distinct enough
a single emerald brooch fitted tightly in the center
but I have twenty more strands of grey pearls
not a clasp among them

where is the wizened Asian man who should have knotted me
the silk and cotton between each Tahitian potato

all I can see are little eyes in curving corners
I don't even know if they had lids or lashes once upon a time
I know only their ruby truths
of sex and love as antonyms
or homophones when the night
is cold enough
dark enough
long enough

wicked vermeil is winking across
twelve pieces, each looking like conjoined
toads--all lumps and gaping mouths
pewter newts crawling along gold
box chains with no pendants
earrings with no backs
only French hooks
and clip ons

somewhere the edges are hiding
under the coffee mug
the couch
the sleeping cat
somewhere the box is overturned
its nest of treasures and picture map
waiting for me

waiting

Um, Disturbing...

Is anyone else bothered by the fact that, for some reason, one of the Google ad links on my blog today was for Satan Worship? Right next to "Worship Songs"? Definitely threw me for a moment or more.

So, yesterday I was talking to a friend of mine who demanded that I tell the world what it's like to live my life for a day. I can do nothing but comply.

Now, he wasn't talking about what it's like to be a graduate student at Notre Dame, or adjunct faculty at an underfunded community college. He wasn't even really wondering about what it's like to have stolen the affections of someone else's house cat to the point that he jumps off his owner's lap to see me when I walk in the house. No, he (friend, not house cat) was talking about what it's like to experience my life.

It is, in one word, bewildering. I think, perhaps, examples are the best way to illustrate this point.

Classic Example No.1: The Prosthetic Leg
Imagine that you're teaching, trying to help your class learn to write persuasive essays. You think the best way to do this is to use a very ridiculous example, to show that ANYTHING can be turned into a persuasive essay. So you come up with a topic: prosthetic legs. So farfetched, it's gotta work. Your argument: that somehow peg legs are better than the current trend of realistic prosthetics. You are quite proud of yourself, and turn to the whiteboard to start outlining your supports: the continued popularity of Captain Ahab, the fiduciary benefits of single shoe purchasing, and the fact that you'd be everyready for Pirate Day. It is then that you hear the first of the snickering. Suddenly you are outside your body, peering around the room at the same time you're writing these things. A nanosecond later, your out-of-body eyes land on a student who until this moment was residing only in your peripheral vision. And you realize that this student has a prosthetic leg. Both your body and out-of-body self suddenly freeze, including pulse and breathing. You whip yourself around and watch yourself hurry to apologize, at the same time realizing that you have just lost any and all authority previously gained.

At this most inoportune of moments, your cell phone, which you have set to buzz when it's time for the class to break, starts dancing around on the desk. It is not time to break. It is not even close to breaktime. No, you are receiving a call from your brother, who you find out later via voicemail was only calling to ask about the Michigan game. Strike two. Try to regain ground. Die a little on the inside.

Classic Example No.2: Nicholas Says Hello
You are sitting in choir at the end of rehearsal, listening to a wide array of announcements, and something--we no longer know what--pops into your head as a good thing to say. You raise your hand, but in the half second between the time that Steve says your name and the time that it's time to speak, you forget completely what you were going to say. (You think now that maybe it was about listening to Karen; you're not entirely sure.) But you have the floor--you have asked for it, and must say something. So you say the first thing that comes to mind, since the last announcement had something to do with tenors: "Our favorite tenor, Nicholas, is moved into Evanston and says hi." Moments later you relize that you will have to call Nicholas now and tell him you've told the choir he said hi, just in case someone calls to say hi back; if you don't warn him, and the someone does call, he will have no idea what's going on and your idiot lie will be discovered. Nicholas laughs at you when you call.

Now imagine that things like this, in varying degrees of duh happen to you multiple times daily. You just stand there, watching yourself trip off the edge of the sidewalk and grin like an idiot because we all know how stupid you looked trying to make it look nonaccidental. Like someone would purposefully trip off the sidewalk. You hear yourself saying bizarro things, the whole time mentally chanting shutup! shutupshutupshutup! just stop talking now. or now. or now. Knowing the entire time that the only way you're going to stop talking is if you suddenly drop dead, burst into flame, or are delivered an open-hand slap to the face. At the end of every day I am exhausted by the simple act of existing within myself, and need those six hours of Animal Planet to recuperate.

The bonus to the whole thing is, of course, that much of the time this existence is ridiculously funny to the outside world. You tell your friends about it, and they laugh. A lot. So it's not so bad, after all. In fact, it's a pretty sweet life. Certainly wouldn't trade it for a peg leg, no matter how much money I could save on shoes.

So...now you know. You should also know that I have somehow lost one of the batteries in the remote, so the TV, until I stop blogging, is stuck on BET After Dark...does anyone else think it's a little funky that Nicole Richie is featured as the love interest in her father's new music video, "I Call It Love"? I mean, they separate him very clearly from the male who is her love interest, but it's still kind of sketch. Oh well. Lionel still has the sweet pipes that taught us about "Dancing on the Ceiling," so I may just go out and get the new CD. By that I of course mean download it from iTunes. Whatever.

For now, just remember that I am once, twice, three times a lady. And that, for me, we're talking about three different people.

Song of the Moment: "Night Train"~Lionel Richie

Bourbon Chicken Is Not Worth The Pain

Notre Dame 41, Penn St. 17
ND 2-0


I was so mad earlier this evening I could have smacked someone upside the head and not felt guilty about it later. Yes. I could have.

The football game was great and, due to Sherene’s incredible generosity with her apartment, I was able to bypass all the worry about parking (because I spent the night at Sherene’s). So we’re in a very good mood on the way to Carolyn’s house and, once there, the rest of the crew defer to me and we order Chinese food from Golden Dragon. Life is rosy.

An hour later, however, life has started to lose a wee bit of its sparkly pink sheen. I call the Golden Dragon for an update on our food. I am told that they are very busy and that my food would be ready in 25 minutes; no, it would not be easier for me to pick it up than have it delivered.

So fine, we keep watching the Texas/OSU game. An hour later, and my outlook on life has paled considerably. And then gotten really dark. Homicidal, even, because I am still waiting for my food. I call Golden Dragon again, and am told to be patient, that my food is almost done, 10 minutes. I respond that I am going to pick it up.

I head down to the restaurant, where there are four disgruntled students who have been waiting for their food for an hour. Phones are ringing off the hook, and there are three people—only three—working behind the line. The woman answering phones took three minutes to find my order, then told me it was almost done. Ten minutes after that, I see them start my food. We’re now at 2 hours and ten minutes after the original order. Twenty minutes after that, I’m finally ready to go. The proprietor did not offer me a discount for my supreme inconvenience, nor for my patience. And while I was there, he had the gall to instruct the poor girl answering phones to tell people that, by calling to check on their very late food, they were just delaying everyone’s orders. Then he got pissed that people were cancelling said orders.

Suffice it to say, I will not be ordering from Golden Dragon again, and intend to advise others against it. I mean, it’s just bad business to take more orders than you can make, and worse not to tell people that it’s going to be a two hour wait, and even worse to make the customer feel that it’s somehow her fault. I mean, holy crap, the gall of it all.

Then, the piece de resistance, Robyn’s fortune: “do not let your goals fall to the trolls,” or something really similar. Definitely involved both goals and trolls. It was spectacular.

Song of the moment: “For the Glory of Love”~classic Richard Marx

Much Too Young

to feel this damned old. Yeah, I know--not the best of starts, quoting a Garth Brooks song. But it's almost 5AM, and I could, at this point, really care less. (Stupid saying, that one...shouldn't it be I couldn't care less? Whatever.)

I'm having one of those nights where it seems that my body has been possessed by something else...a pod moment, if you will: like the bod's the pod and my mind is operating completely independently of it, strangely amused but bewildered by the whole thing. I mean, I have never had allergies in my life. In my life. To anything. And yet now I have reached a level of congestion that is keeping me up at night, making me ill in the morning, but magically disappears with the periodic application of allergy meds. The strange aural hypersensitivity? Where I can hear pitches from, say, a television that's on when the cable box isn't? And the noise doesn't just annoy--it makes me sick to my stomach? Also gone with the decongestants, which makes me think that it, too, is sinus related. Have I mentioned that I have never been allergic to anything in my life?

That said, I blame Indiana. Whatever is contaminating the air around here, natural or not, is quite literally ruining my life. MY LIFE, PEOPLE! Forget to take one round of pills, and you're up until all hours waiting for the make-up round to kick in, blogging about congestion. A new low, even for me.

But at least Jake is comfortable. Woke up this morning and he was perched right on my hip. I was sleeping on my left side, and he was playing Dominique Dawes on my hip. Granted, not as big a challenge as the balance beam, to be sure, but still. I iwas imipressed. And now he's rubbing his face all over the computer. I love living in a cat house. Particularly one in which the cat in question doesn't drool all over me.

T-34 hours and counting until football returns to ND. The Lions, hopefully, are preparing for the pasting they are about to receive.


Song of the moment: "God Beyond All Praising" to the tune of Thaxted, better known from Holst's Jupiter

Then hear, O Gracious Saviour, accept the love we bring;

that we, who know Your favour may serve You as our King.

And whether our tomorrows be filled with good or ill,

we'll triumph through our sorrows and rise to bless You still;

to marvel at Your beauty and glory in Your ways,

and make a joyful duty our sacrifice of praise.

The End of an Era

The Crocodile Hunter, Steve Irwin, is dead at 44 of a stingray wound.

Wildlife conservation and filming will never be the same.

The Debate Rages

First off, between the camps who think that Jake's owners don't know how much he likes to fetch and the ones who think this is something new that he discovered with me.

But far mor importantly, the debate rages about whether or not I go on FC tour to the Southeast this winter break. Here are the facts:

I can legitimately escape campus on the 5th of Dec., right after my last workshop.
Jake just got trapped by a vicious newspaper and is now tearing around the room trying to escape.
Folk Choir Tour begins on the 4th of January, which means arriving back at ND on the 3rd.
The spring semester begins on the 16th.

And now, the pros of going on FC Tour:

• There are many people who won't be going, due to things like orchestra tours and bowl games and an overall lack of desire to take time away from le family to hang out with Folkheads for 11 days. The pro part of this is that a) there's the potential for solos ;) and b) I think I'll be legitimately needed as a strong alto, now that I don't have throat cancer.
• Since I want to participate in ACE after graduation, this would be an ideal time for me to get the lay of the land, as it were, to see if these were the kinds of places I'd be willing to go.
• Steve wants me to go. A lot.
• I genuinely like the people in Folk Choir, and this would allow more bonding with the newbies, should they decide to come.
• I would still get to spend about a month home, from Dec. 6 to Jan. 3.

And now the cons:

• I can leave on the 6th regardless, which gives me about 6 weeks of vacation that I could potentially spend with my parents and brothers and choir after only two weeks at home this summer. I also don't know how long I'll get to be home this summer, depending upon what next year's plans turn out to be, so this could be it until Christmas 2007.
• Do I really want to be on a bus with 50 other people for 11 days? To somewhere where it's not snowy or cold? In January? Particularly if Jen is off somewhere doing football things and not being my grad school buddy...
• Hypthetically: we go to the National Championship. Do I want to be watching it in Busch Gardens with a bunch of ND people, or at the crazy party that my parents will throw at the house with all of my loved ones?
• Costs: how many meals are we going to be paying for? Flying back to school on the 3rd, two days after New Years when everyone and their monkey will be recovered and flying home, costs almost $200 more than waiting until the 13th. It won't be a hardship then, because I'll have my PFD money, but it's going to make things a little tight right now.

So that's where we are right now. Feel free to weigh in, because it's causing me no end of headaches.

Song of the moment: "Here Come the Irish!"~Unknown woman who sounds like the lead singer of the Corrs

Short and Sweet

Just a heads up that I have neither throat cancer nor vocal nodes. I would also like to say that WebMD is probably the worst website in the history of the world; at least, it is for hypochondriacs like I was last week. You start looking at symptoms like ear issues and voice problems, and suddenly you're freaking out that you have throat cancer and your mom's telling you you're on crack.

I would like to point out, though, that I had a plan of action ready in case it was throat cancer. Being a grad student, it would have been no problem at all to let my profs know and do everything from home. That way I would still be a full time student, so I wouldn't have to give the loan money back, and I would have been able finish the semester. By spring semester, after an aggressive course of chemo and/or radiation, I would have been bald and weak but returning to school to finish my thesis and graduate with my class. Hard, but with the kind of family support that I have, I am probably one of the best-equipped people to get cancer ever.

I would like to reiterate, after that whole schpiel, that I do not have cancer, and am incredibly grateful for that. I would also like to apologize to all of you who, like Greg, are by this point thinking "For the love of God, Kathryn, shut up about the cancer!"

As it turns out, I have a combination of reflux and allergies that are being cared for by a little antihistamine/decongestant/acidblocker cocktail, and my vocal chords are functioning beautifully. YAY me! (And BOOOOOOOOOO particulate content of Indiana air!)

Now that's taken care of, I'm going to watch another season of Veronica Mars, since I just purchased season 1 for $20 at Wal~Mart. (See that thing in the middle? To the rest of the world that's a tilde. To Wal~Mart, it's called a "squiggly." As in "Gimme a W! Gimme an A! Gimme an L! Gimme a squiggly!*gratuitous hip shaking, much like in the chicken dance, right before the claps*" That, ladies and gentlemen, is how Wal~Mart is taking over the minds of our youth, one squiggly at a time.)

Song of the Moment: stupid "Are You Ready for Some Football?!" ~ Hank Williams, Jr.