new beginnings, yet again

Again and again and again I begin things. This time, however, hopefully the cycle at least repeats itself a few times. A colleague passed away, far too young, the other day. One of my dearest friends was diagnosed with a tumor (benign, thank god) on his pituitary gland that he's been carrying around for years, which explains many and sundry ailments. Surgery, through the forehead, scheduled for November. And in an hour and a half I teach my first class here at West Coast U. Over-prepared and under-prepared, not sure of what 2 hours quite feels like in terms of material. Playing from the hip, as always, but not wholly confident in my ability (once vaunted) to go on and on, anon. Dunno. Procrastinating. Panicking. Panting. Dying for a cigarette. Back to work...

stress

Long time, no audience, a blog that resembles my intermittent friendship. We start late here at West Coast U, so classes haven't quite begun. And I'm in that space today, panic mixed with intense resolve, a sense of failure rubbing up against hardened ambition, FUD (fear, uncertainty, and doubt) tempered by The Knowledge of What Has To Be Done. Contradictory day, then, spurred by waking up sober for the first time in far too long. Dying for a cigarette, dying to see my office (beloved, cherished, shiny, new, undecorated for a while yet) become a place where I accomplish staggering and startling amounts of work, yet watching myself write this instead. Going gray, again, at the temples. 2 hours to fill, on a subject within my field, though not formally within my expertise. If I managed to teach high school kids at a posh private high school literature waaaaay out of my field, why can't I manage this? Expectations invisible, unknown, yet transparently obvious: the mirror and the rope, as it were. Graduate students who want hand holding - I didn't get any, why should they? Not so much in a hazing sense as knowing their work, and their ability to judge their own work, will be better for it. Also known as fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. To work...

Welcome

Ah, the welcome chorus. The email containing an offer to rent soon-to-be-colleague's house in Really Dreadful Neighborhood whilst colleague is on sabbatical for the year. The parcel from Other Colleague containing an inscribed and nicely dedicated copy of Other Colleague's hip hop happening oh-so-slick hipster Non Fiction Paperback. A rousing chorus of "Welcome, oh Junior Colleague. What shit in the name of collegiality can we tip your way"? Or, perhaps, a case of "You've been outside of academia for a while. We really are this poorly adjusted."? The one person I'd like to hear back from has not replied - snowed under, I'm assuming, but slowly, steadily, I'm returning to Every Little Tiny Fucking Detail Has Meaning And Can Nay Must Be Interpreted Now Within An Inch Of Its Life. Ifyouknowwhatimeanandithinkyoudo...

howl

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by credit card debt and student loans, starving hysterical urban outfitted, dragging themselves through hipster 'hoods at dawn looking for a pinot...

late to the game

Yes, it's been linked everywhere, but Geoffrey Chaucer Hath A Blog is hysterically funny. A grad student, likely, given the fact it's on Friendster, and has such tidbits as "reading #%$#%^%ing secretary hand" - someone well up on her Chauceriana. But the truly priceless line, and I do wish I could take credit for this, but alas, it's me, but not by me: "And thus, take two pintes of hagen dasz dulce de leche, a ful seson of buffie the vampyre slayre, and calle me in the morninge."

you're too twisted by half

Perhaps one of the most genius song lyrics, ever? Up there with the Pixies' "You're so pretty when you're faithful to me." So much to say, no forum in which to say it. Suffice it to say my inner Polish teenage drama queen has temporarily assumed control of my life. Suggesting, yet again, it will be exit, pursued by [a bear of a past].

Call me Auerbach

Or not. Mimesis, good, my first meme, well, it had to happen eventually. Radio Oracle, I used to call it, and it was excellent for predicting the present. Thank Crazy as the source here. Ask the question, put the music player on shuffle, see what happens. And, remarkably, I didn't cheat. Most unlike me.

1. How does the world see you? :Wumpscut: Embryodead. Oh jesus. that's what I get for this particular album, mentioned one late night on KALX, bought from the bargain bin at Amoeba Records too many years ago, and showing up as a darkhorse in the bands-with-punctuation-in-their-names game.

2. Will I live a happy life? Leaving Las Vegas, Sheryl Crow. I'll take that as a no, then.

3. What do my friends really think of me? Yesterday Yes A Day, Jane Birkin. Pretentious, I think, or obscure.

4. Do people secretly lust after me? Oh! Darling, The Beatles. Bring it, world, and welcome to my tale of lust and leaving you under the guise of not doing you any harm.

5. How can I make myself happy? Yes, Anastasia, Tori Amos. Could we be any more mixed on that answer, oh iTunes oracle? "Show me the things I've been missing..."

6. What should I do with my life? Panic, The Smiths. Gee, thanks.

7. Will I ever have children? Original of the Species, U2. Commenting on that seems hazardous.

8. What is some good advice for me? Rock Steady, Sting. Hmm. What about the panic?

9. How will I be remembered? heroin, Velvet Underground. OK, iTunes, now you're out and out messing with me. Lou Reed's TWO gallery exhibits of his photographs are lame, lame, lame. But he's Lou fucking Reed.

10. What is my signature dancing song? Bad Girl, Madonna. Not terribly dance friendly, and it just makes me want to smoke.

11. What do I think my current theme song is? Patience, Pat Metheny. iTunes is talking to my friends, now, which I personally think is cheating.

12. What does everyone else think my current theme song is? Overlap, Ani Di Franco. Now things are being swapped out of sheer cussedness.

13. What song will play at my funeral? Devotion, Smog. Why not "Dress Sexy at My Funeral?" No, I have to get "There are some terrible gossips / in this town / With jaws like vices / And eyes like drains / There are some little weasels / In this town. " Everyone will be offing themselves at my funeral. Perhaps I should be flattered in advance.

14. What type of men/women do you like? Men: Gold Sounds, Pavement. Women: The Future With Hope (Sample and Hold Mix), Nobukazu Takemura. I'm feeling transparent.

15. What is my day going to be like? little one, Elliot Smith. Sheeeit. I'm staying in, tonight, before I end up stabbing myself in the heart.