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I yodel, therefore I am


yodelingwerty
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Apr 22nd, 2003 9:25 pm - Pacific Time Journal
No tv and no coffee make Yodelingwerty something, something.

I am completely drained and freaked out.  My thesis is due in under three weeks, and I barely have one chapter.  That means I still have three chapters to write and fast because I need time to revise and edit the thing after I show the first draft to my advisor.  Having a draft by this weekend would be ideal, but that means writing at least thirty pages this week.  

Of course, at the end of the last term, I did write fifteen pages in one day for a paper that I got an A on.  It nearly killed me, but I did it.  Now, I just need two days like that, and I'm in the clear.  I'm not sure if I can physically stand two days like that in one week, but I suppose I'll have to try.  Thirty pages by Friday morning (two days for writing, one for resting) would put me over the minimum if you add it to the ten that I have now.  

Part of the problem is though that I don't want to just write to the minimum.  This project represents one year's worth of research. I want it to be good, academic, and as long as possible so as to represent a true acheivement in my field.  

I don't think any of the professors in the department know anything about my topic though, so I really just have to make the work sound authoritative.  I do have some room to manouver if there are any inaccuracies in the project or any wrongly cited works.  Not that I'm planning on having either of those in my paper, but it's good to know.  

Updated April 22nd, '03 8:53am ( 0 ) Comments

Apr 18th, 2003 10:22 am - Eastern Time Journal
I'm This Many

Whenever I see my professors outside of class or regularly scheduled office hours, I always have one of two strong reactions.  Either I feel like a big, grown-up girl-woman, who associates with real grown-ups and has actual intellectual standing, or I feel like the World's Biggest Moron.  And by World's Biggest Moron, I don't just mean, a bit young and therefore on the socially ackward side, I mean, give that girl a cape and a mask, for she is Super Moron here to geek up the day!

The first time I ever saw a professor off of campus, I was actually wearing a cape, so you know the encounter was ill-fated.  It was two years ago, Halloween.  One of my friends and I decided to go trick-or-treating at the fancy tract of homes a block away from my appartment before departing for the big West Hollywood Halloween parade.  We put on our costumes, she a prison inmate, I a pirate, complete with that cape I mentioned and a hat with skull and crossbones on it, and we set forth to collect as much sugar as possible in a one hour period.  We walked up one side of the block, feeling old when the homeowners asked us what our majors were instead of what grade we were in, but welcome when they gave us candy despite our obvious seniority to the other revelers.  We then crossed the street to hit up the other side during our return.  

At one of these houses, a typical old man opened the door, made a typical joke about how children were getting bigger these days, and then asked us the now typical question, "So, what's your major."  I answered history.  The man's face suddently lit up, as he declared, "Ah, I'm a history professor!  You may have heard of me."  

And I had heard of him.  In fact, I had been trying unsuccessfully to track this man down for a month via email to give a talk for the undergraduate history club on campus.  After I had informed him of this, he seemed even more pleased, perhaps because it meant that I was not just a history student but an active history student.

He invited us into his home.  My friend and I looked at each other skeptically, stepping into the foyer lightly, but not daring to enter too far into his house.  He was, after all, still a stranger, and not just that, a stranger to be respected, a professor.  Neither one of us had ever been inside a professor's home before.  

Still smiling, he walked over to the stairs at one end of the foyer and started screaming, "Johnny, come down here! There are some nice girls here I want you to meet!"  He explained that Johnny was his son before repeating the process two more times.  A weak, small voice answered back no each time, he could not meet the nice, increasingly uncomfortable girls in the foyer.  After much goading from his father, the boy finally called back, "No, I can't.  I just got out of the shower."  The venerated professor rolled his eyes and walked up the stairs.  

He returned with a dripping, shivering boy, six or seven years old, just barely managing to keep the towel around his modesty.  My friend and I looked at each other.  We were both thinking the same thing.  It's probably the same thing you're thinking right now.  

The professor, losing esteem each minute that our feet still touched the tiled foyer, then asked for our phone numbers.  

Stuttering followed, before we were interrupted by the professor's explination that he needed a baby-sitter for poor Johnny and that we looked like nice girls.  Now remember, that at this point he had known us for a total of five minutes.  He did not at this point know even my first name, yet he was quite willing to put his child in my care.  

After much goading, I gave him my number thinking that at the very least it would convince him to give the aforementioned talk.  For several months afterwards, he would call every week, several times to beg me to watch his unfortunate offspring.  He never did learn my name, and he never did give the talk.

I mention this because today I had coffee off-campus, outside of regularly scheduled office hours with a professor.  Yes, this morning I had a big grown-up woman meeting.

I wasn't wearing a cape, and I didn't have any mask-burn, yet I can't shake the feeling that I said something cape/mask-worthy.  Although it would drive me insane, I almost wish I had a tape of the talk so that I could pick out any stupid things that I said, and make sure to never say them in public again.    

Since I have neither a time machine nor a blank tape at my disposal, I think instead I will simply take comfort in the lesson illustrated by the above story: Yes, I'm a dork, but as crazy as I am, there is always a professor out there, a Phd, who is more insane than I will ever be.

     


Updated April 18th, '03 10:41am ( 0 ) Comments

Apr 17th, 2003 11:01 am - Eastern Time Journal
Cobwebs Aplenty

Geez, I haven't written in this thing for a long, long time.  

For those of you who don't know me, let me catch you up to speed between August and now.  Internship ended with summer, started school again (UCLA), began research for an honors thesis in history, and lost a great deal of sleep.  

That's all of the important stuff, but I did several other things too.

For example, a few weeks ago I bought half of a samon at Trader Joe's for 6 bucks.  Not bad, eh?

Yes, this has just been a sample of future happenings that I plan to talk about in my entries of the future.  

Stay tunned.

Updated April 17th, '03 10:04am ( 0 ) Comments

Aug 6th, 2002 9:00 pm - Eastern Time Journal
Yee Haw

I would just like to point out how amused I am that eventhough Niki and I are separated by an ocean, we have managed to get sick at the exact same time (during summer and everything).  

Creepy.

Updated August 07th, '02 5:01am ( 1 ) Comments

Aug 5th, 2002 3:05 am - Eastern Time Journal
Yicky.

So since my last entry, I have been battling a cold.  I didn't even get to describe the wonderful day I spent at an intern event last tuesday.  We took a bus tour of downtown LA and saw all of the old and new theatres there.  We heard poetry readings, saw a dance program, ate dim sum etc.  Oh, the things I get paid to do for my work occasionaly.  

And it's strange, but I really do like the other interns and look foreward to seeing them.  That is, all of the interns in my discussion group (randomly assigned group of 10 or so, who share a mentor).  If only I liked the interns who actually work with me that much.  All of the interns at the Ford suck.  Two of them make me want to vommit whenever I see them.  They're too fasionable, and they always look and act like they're about to go clubbing.  The third intern is nice, but unfortunately is all sugar and no spice.  I just don't feel comfortable in front of people around whom I must be unnaturaly sugary just so that they won't be offended.  Fourth intern is nice, but again, I just don't feel any sort of comfort level around him.  It's a shame, because once again, I like all of the other interns I've met.

The day off was not only fun, but it allowed me a much needed cooling off period from work.  I was so frustrated with the job, everyday I was fanticizing about quiting, money be damned.  Since the break, though, I've been much more content.  I think comiserating with all of the other interns helped.  It's good to know that I'm not alone when I have nothing to do in my job for days on end and then have far too much tedious work to do in a short period of time.  Apparently it's a more common experience than the people running the intern program probably even know.

Alright, I'm going to catch up on my rest soon.  I hate the fact that just when you are ill and need the most sleep, it suddenly becomes impossible to sleep a whole night through without having weird dreams or waking up at odd hours.  

Updated August 05th, '02 11:23am ( 0 ) Comments

Jul 31st, 2002 11:17 pm - Eastern Time Journal
The Queen of the Ball

So after my disgustingly long entry from yesterday, I'll make the description of the my recent activities as short as possible.

Sunday night I visited a drag queen bar appropriately named "The Queen Mary."  Geddit, it's the name of a ship, *and they're queens*?!  Yeah, I know, there are some clever, clever drag queens out there.

It started out rather casualy.  Since it was a Sunday night, there wasn't a huge crowd.  As a result they started the drag show rather late.  It was introduced by a strange old man who looked like he had put on only half of his geddup.  And I'm sure he was charming and witty, but he mummbled, making it impossible for me to enjoy his assuredly florid witticisms.

Ah, but then the drag queens appeared.  Such lovely, and yet still manly looking ladies, I'm sure, have never before presented such a stunning showcase.  The lip-syncing set my heart aflutter!  Fortunately that was not all.  In addition to the fabulous ladies on stage, there were a number of drag queens in the audience.

I saw several in the women's restroom (in fact it was an even split between ladies and "ladies" while I was there).  I must say though, I was a bit disapointed by the low level of professionalism that the drag queens in the audience exhibited.  Sure they were wearing bras, but did they put the toilet seat down?  No, they did not.

The clear highlight of the night, however, was the dancing boy who performed in between numbers by the divas with dongs.  He was wearing a choice red vinal cowboy suit fringed with white tassles.  

Oh yeah, did I mention the outfit was butt-less?

No. I don't think that I did.

I have never seen a more tacky, er, original suit of clothes in my entire life.  If I live to be one hundred years old, I will probably never find a more ridiculous, er, interesting outfit.  Oh yeah, and I touched the dancing boy's butt.  He pulled me out on stage, saw that I was embarrassed, and descided to embarrass me more by taking my hand and placing it on his butt.  

Well, if you've gotta make a living by having strangers look at your backside, the least you can do is keep your sense of humor about it.

Then a drag queen attacked my head.  She was imitating Mary Cathrine Gallager from SNL, and she was pretending to randomly make out with me.  Fortunately, no actual lip contact was involved.  I did, however, get smashed into her man-bosoms.  After the whole butt incident though it didn't seem so strange.




Updated July 31st, '02 10:04am ( 0 ) Comments

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