Springtime Approaches, and I Want to Buy Clothes

I haven't shopped for clothes in months, with the exception of the blazer I bought in Madison.

Here are a few things I wish I could spend the money to buy online:


"Sugar Work Skirt" from Anthropologie



"Kick Back and Relax Dress" from Mod-Cloth



"Chelsea Crew 'Malibu' Heels" from Ruche

Of course, there is much more. Ruche has a good 20 or so dresses that would be on this list if they hadn't gone out of stock. Urban Outfitters has shoe and skirts that I want, but somewhere in the world is a $100 giftcard from my mother to there that I need to find, and until I do I won't be shopping there.

And now onwards to Hemingway-as-literary-celebrity...

A Writer of "Fictions"

I've been working more and more on a short story that I started last month. I'd like to finally finish one, and revise it, and do something with it. Even if that "do something" is make a zine with some of my poetry or nonfiction memoir essays. I just want that sense of accomplishment, that I did completed something for myself and of my own volition and not for a grade or because it was assigned to me by someone else.

As some of you may know, I used to write a shit-ton of poetry. I had entire composition books full of it. Since I went to London two and a half years ago, I have written progressively less of the stuff. But every now and then when I am reading Adrienne Rich or Muriel Ruckeyser, I get inspired to start again.

This post is just to say, don't be surprised if Pass the Hat starts getting updated again.

I have many talents:

I have many talents:

For instance, I can read very quickly whilst multi-tasking. I can put together creative outfits. I tell good stories. I write long letters. I could probably win a breakfast taco eating contest. I make delicious pancakes. I suspect that I might be a pretty good kisser. I look good in hats.

But there are also some negative talents to my name. And let's be honest--we all have these, the tendencies about ourselves for which we are not proud. A particular one of mine is that when I have to speak in front of a great number of people I get very nervous (in case you didn't know, I am actually quite shy), and consequently I talk incessantly and somewhat over-lightly (if that's a word). This past weekend I co-chaired a conference and at its conclusion I had to speak at the awards ceremony and thank the many sponsors. In my nervousness I managed to say, when thanking the bagel supplier: "Incidentally, did anyone manage to have one of the rosemary bagels? Because I had one and it was just about divine. In fact, I had three." And I went on a mini-spiel about these rosemary bagels. Just like that, my face burning with embarrassment.

But there's a darker talent of mine, I'm afraid, of which I feel compelled to confess. I was reminded of this specific "talent" of mine on Saturday night when several of the Jackobsen committee members, their significant others, and myself and my significant other went to George's, a small bar up the street from the IMU where the conference had taken place. In a nutshell? I drank too much, one of my co-chairs drank too much, and he thought it would be permissible to kiss me when were smoking a drunk cigarette outside. Instead of slapping him across the face, I made the mistake of feeling sorry for him, and when we went inside I continued to be nice--and by nice, I mean drunk-Lauren nice--to him. Instead of standing up for myself, I called Zach drunkenly and asked him what it was about me that makes it seem okay for men to take advantage of me in such a manner. I cried, and I drank more.

What's the "talent" here? I simply do not stand up for myself. I convince myself that these things are my fault and that I deserve them. Well, that's just absurd. And, it ends now. This type of self-loathing, this compete lack of self-worth, I can do without. I deserve better from my self.

Duncan Sheik and a Serious Case of the Wednesdays

Duncan Sheik and a Serious Case of the Wednesdays

and there are so many reasons I could give you why I should be down
there's not enough money or time
and my love you're not around

but its a lie it's a lie - don't you believe it
if you're fine then you're fine - it's all how you see it
oh, there never will be no conspiracy of happiness

--from the song 'On a High' by Duncan Sheik

That previous post was so optimistic! But... it's dwindling. This song by Duncan Sheik is just all up in my brain today. I'm feeling that first stanza I've got up there, and trying to convince myself of the second.

This Levinas response paper is not coming along as well as I had initially thought that it might. I'm not sure what my mental block is. I understand the ethics. I understand how I want to show that they are illustrated in Rich's poetry. I like the ethics. I love Rich's poetry. So, what's the problem?

I've been getting up at 6am all week in order to squeeze in an extra 2-3 hours of productivity. Yesterday I managed to type out a page. This morning I went to the gym instead, then returned home and proceeded to spend an hour and a half trying to figure out what to wear whilst eating my morning bagel and peanut butter.

For those of you who are not aware--and that ought to be the majority of you--I sometimes will take an unearthly amount of time to get dressed in the morning. I will just hit these moods where I am convinced I do not look good in anything. This morning I had intended to wear a pair of maroon skinny pants from the H&M in Oxford Street that I got in London 2.5 years ago--but they were pretty tight, and not exactly flattering with the top and the shoes I had planned on pairing with them.

FOILED.

After this my bed became a mess of hopeful tops, skeptical pants, and even wistful cardigans. I tried just about every pair of pants in my closet. Then I tried pairing a top with one of about three skirts. When I finally decided on a dress, it took my 25 minutes to choose which cardigan to wear over it, and whether I wanted the belt on top of it or not.

I suppose I ought to have known then that today was just going to be one of those days. After all, it is a Wednesday. Wednesdays are notoriously difficult, aren't they? Agonizingly close-but-not-close-enough to the weekend for those of us with five-day work weeks. But I have a conference on Saturday to co-chair, and am not even looking particularly forward to my weekend. Usually I like Wednesdays myself, because I don't have class on Fridays, and because I get done with class around noon, and so have a very leisiurely 36 hours to do my reading for the next day.

But it's this bloody response paper that's throwing me off!

Seriously, I can't stand these mini-assignments in the middle of the semester. I much prefer the giant term paper at the end, because at the end I can simply stop doing the reading in my other classes. But not in the middle. Not when I still need to get some participation points.

And besides, the weather was so nice--50s, 60s--for almost a whole week until today. I just about froze walking from the bus stop to class because of the icy wind blowing at all of the layers I thought I was going to be able to put away into my trunk. Not yet. It might snow this weekend. If it snows I will fucking cry.

-It's cold.
-I have run out of money and gone through $450 of my savings. I am broke.
-I haven't had time to work out.
-I want new clothes.
-This conference is a pain in the ass.
-My apartment is a mess. I do not have the time to clean it.
-I am sleepy.

So I'm listening to Antony and the Johnsons and drinking Earl Grey out of my Eeyore mug and wearing wool tights beneath baggy yet too short pj pants with the super-frumpy wool zip-up sweater that Robert loaned me yesterday after he deemed me not layered well enough to walk home from Fair Grounds after the cold front hit. My living room is like one giant self-pity-party at the moment.

Sorry to complain, all, but today I am in one serious funk.

On Overcoming Stress and Mental Road Blocks

On Overcoming Stress and Mental Road Blocks

Yesterday I wasn't getting any work done at Fair Grounds, even after disabling the wireless on my laptop. So I walked home in the brisk and breezy mid-50s in my knee-length skirt (no tights--possible mistake) and listened to a playlist I had made several days ago to reflect the feelings of slow change and windy days.

I opened the screen on my door and played my music loudly enough for me to hear out on my mini-porch and changed into some rolled-up jeans and a black spaghetti strap top (which I had to fish around in my boxes of summer clothing for). Then I sat out on the top of my steps and smoked a cigarette with one hand and typed up my paper's introduction with the other. It was incredibly relaxing.

I've generally been fairly suspicious when friends or acquaintances of mine say that they smoke cigarettes to relieve stress. I've also generally been a non-smoker except for the occasional cigarette when drinking with friends; I avoided buying cigarettes of my own until I was spending so much time with J that I felt like I should contribute to his supply of them. So I ended up with half a pack of cigarettes to my name even after we parted ways, and as it turns out, I did feel pretty de-stressed yesterday afternoon as I was smoking one.

When it got too chilly to sit on the porch I retreated indoors to my living room floor and poured myself a glass of leftover red wine from some evening a couple of weeks ago when Robert and I made dinner. I was actually quite productive.



The moral of this story is... well, here I am amidst a very stressful week. I am co-chairing a conference on Saturday and have meeting after meeting this week to get ready for it. I have the regular reading for my classes, as well as this 7 page response paper on Levinas due. I must begin to flesh out term paper ideas in the next two weeks and have a gigantic pile of books from the library to peruse. I also need to make time for the gym and for doing my laundry and cleaning my kitchen floor. I have been dreading this week since last Wednesday when I looked into my Snoopy planner and started to try to plan gym times.

But, you know what? So I wasted almost 4 hours at Fair Grounds. I was weighed down by god-only-knows-what mental blocks. But when I stopped thinking about how much I needed to do and stopped berating myself for my lack of productivity, when I calmed down and drank my wine at a leisurely pace as I went back and forth from the book in my hand to the Word document in front of me, I was able to actually get into a rhythm with the work. By the time Robert came over to help me start making dinner I was in a great mood and ready to enjoy the evening guilt-free. Which, believe me, I did.

And now I have gotten up at six o'clock in the morning, because I feel like it is the responsible thing to do. And I want to be the girl who does that responsible thing. Here's to a productive day of positive thoughts.

Tis the Season for Bicycles and Politics

Tis the Season for Bicycles and Politics

Oh, spring! Dost thou truly approach? Today, for the first time since early November,
I brought my bicycle out of my apartment, climbed atop its black saddle, and rode it. I rode a zig-zag route to the library with my father's old, retro mustard shoulder bag draped over my back; I cared not for the traffic on the main street, and in my boots, tights, dress, and cardigan, I listened to an apt playlist with my chartreuse headphones and then cursed the heavens when I found that the library did not in fact open for another hour, at noon. Spring break hours, you know. I then rode up a tremendous hill--huffing and puffing all the way--and arrived at Fair Grounds, the fair-trade and about 85% vegan coffeehouse that I've begun to frequent due to its distinct lack of both undergrads and shoddy wifi.

Here I am reading Adrienne Rich's poetry and inventing ways to dissect it with Levinasian ethics for a 7-page paper due next week.



But it's not really thinking about ethics. I'm thinking instead about politics, and about relationships, and about how I am going to need to become acquainted with the previous in order to maintain the latter.

Yesterday R and I had a very serious conversation about politics and how I don't have any. And I wonder if I actually don't have any, or if it was just always easier to act as if that were the case. After my brief stint as a libertarian in high school, I decided that political discussion just made everybody into complete dicks and that it was against my nature to risk offending anyone anyway. When I dated Austin and he told me that he wouldn't allow me to get an abortion if I ended up pregnant, I realized that there are things that are worth offending people over and battled him over the phone for hours.

Since then, though, politics have only ever come up in obnoxious, self-righteous ways in literary discussions and I had mostly been annoyed by them.

But I'm not an idiot. I know that they're germane to just about everything. Being in Madison really highlighted that for me. I've been telling myself for a little while now that I need to start reading the New York Times again, as we get it for free in both the library and EPB. But after talking with Robert about it, I guess I've decided to finally stop thinking about doing it and just actually doing it. It's true that I call myself a feminist and that I will probably work in public education someday. It's true that I believe in access to efficient public transportation,and the ability to safely walk or ride a bike through a town or city. Having lived in Arkansas and meeting people who were actually taught that condoms don't protect one frome STDs so one just shouldn't have sex at all, I am fiercely set against abstinence-only sex education. Things like this. It turns out that I don't not have politics, I just didn't advertise them.

I even meant to pick up a NYT today, but, as I've already mentioned, the library was closed when I biked there earlier. Now, I leave you with a poem by Adrienne Rich:

Peeling Onions

Only to have a grief
equal to all these tears!

There's not a sob in my chest.
Dry-hearted as Peer Gynt
I pare away, no hero,
merely a cook.

Crying was labor, once
when I'd good cause.
Walking, I felt my eyes like wounds
raw in my head,
so postal-clerks, I thought, must stare.
A dog's look, a cat's, burnt to my brain--
yet all that stayed
stuffed in my lungs like smog.

These old tears in the chopping bowl.

Post-Birthday... Not Quite "Blues"

Super-quick life update:

At the tail-end of January I left a note on the table of a man I had been eyeing for months, off and on, at Java House; it read "I admire your argyle". I was quite pleased with myself, feeling like the heroine in an indie romantic comedy. I'm not sure if I expected it to work or not, honestly. I mean, men that beautiful inevitably already have thin, gorgeous girlfriends who know how to walk in heels and wear eye shadow, right? Men that beautiful are not interested in young-looking curvy girls in cowboy boots... But a couple of days later, he approached me at Java and introduced himself and got my phone number. I mean, what?!? How did that happen? I had to pinch myself. Repeatedly.

We started hanging out every couple of days and talking when we saw each other at Java House, and then we just sort-of progressed into dating from there. So, meet Robert: he is a pharmacy tech at the hospital, though he is and has been looking for a job in urban planning. He was in the Master's program here at Iowa for urban planning, but dropped out because he just didn't mesh with the program itself. An Iowa City native, he lives just outside of town and usually comes in by bus. He lived in Portland for a time several years ago and loved it. He is also into jazz music. We drove up to Madison this past weekend for a mini-break during my spring break, and spent three days reading at coffeehouses, wandering through used bookshops, weaving through protesters, and eating at restaurants. On Sunday night we even heard a Latin jazz band at a bar, which was something new for me and super-exciting for him. (We don't get many jazz bands playing here in Iowa City). I had a great time just being out of Iowa City--despite how much I do love it here--and being with Robert and getting to know him better and holding his hand while walking down unfamiliar streets.

I'm learning some things about myself, as I feel like one inevitably does when one is with someone new. But this feels different, like I'm learning much more and more quickly. Perhaps this is because Robert is older than me--now that I've had my birthday, by 7 years--and already has much about himself figured out. He is into politics, knows what he believes, and is willing to fight for it. He knows what he wants for a career, and what he wants out of the city he will live in. He is very honest with himself, I think, and straightforward about his needs and wants. Naturally, I in turn have begun to sort-of evaluate myself. I feel hopelessly naive and ignorant when he discusses politics and get rather bristly, defensive, due to my engagement with it in the past. I think he is frustrated that I'm not registered to vote, and just last night we had a bit of an argument that ended with his saying that it's just naive for me to try to avoid politics because they are present in every thing and every aspect of life.

I think I know what I want, on some levels. I know that I want to be an English teacher. However, I've been so unhappy academically and intellectually this semester that I am beginning to have my doubts about whether I belong in the PhD or the MA program. If the teaching is what I really want to do, what am I doing discussing Levinasian ethics as applicable to poetry about the Mississippi delta post-Katrina? I want to be teaching Jane Eyre, accompanied by Wide Sargasso Sea. And don't even get me started on my utterly useless American Lit and Mass Culture class; we had to turn in a syllabus for our "dream class" before spring break and I spent a great deal of the week before it was due staring at a blank Word document sputtering, "But... my dream class is in British literature..."

Anyway, I knew a part of grad school was going to be taking classes I didn't care to, in subjects not pertinent to what I want to study and teach, but it just seems that they have all unfortunately fallen in the exact same semester so that at the moment I an not intellectually invested in any of my three classes. This is particularly dangerous as we approach term paper season and I am struggling to give a shit about a paper topic. Sigh.

So, I'm 23 now. And I wanted to update this, my blog, and begin what I hope is a routine of updating it more regularly. I picked up a zine in Madison put together by a young mom, each issue comprised of written accounts of her every-day experiences and it has inspired me to want to keep an account of mine. After all, my life is pretty exciting, right? I'm a pretty engaging writer, yeah? So we'll see how this goes.

I REALLY DO WANT TO UPDATE THIS BLOG.

Goals Starting Now

1. I am going to update my blog at least once a week with notes on my life, recipes, and outfits.

2. I am going to put my schoolwork first and foremost over any social life.

3. I am going to become exponentially more self-sufficient.

4. I am going to budget the hell out of my lifestyle.

5. I am going to eat well and continue to work out.

6. I am going to stay in touch with friends outside of Iowa City.

7. I am going to be the person I want to be and not just the person who wants to be the person I want to be.


...Stay tuned.

This past weekend I made black bean and sweet potato enchiladas for a potluck at my friend Zach's apartment.





A medium sized group of English grad students came over and watched the first and third Indiana Jones movies.




It was a good time. I forgot how much I kind of love young Harrison Ford.




Zach says that there are a handful of men that dudes stereotypically try to model themselves after. For example, Clark Gable and Humphrey Bogart. He suggested to me that Harrison Ford is also one of them--but I'm not sure. Wouldn't it be more specifically Han Solo or Indiana Jones? And I think I would go for Han Solo over Indiana Jones any day... despite Indy's being, yes, a college professor.

Anyway, back to the pot luck: the enchiladas were a success. I helped Zach make the guacamole that Alex and I used to take to the caf for burrito night at Hendrix. Bethany made these fucking amazing shortbread cookies with rosemary that just blew everyone away. I could get used to these pot luck-y functions: I get lots of compliments, I don't have to eat leftovers for a whole bloody week.

On Sunday I spent the day at Java House, being super-productive with Carmen, John (a first year)'s roommate and also a fictionist in the workshop. We then made some curry and a salad for dinner at her house and watched three episodes of Doctor Who and talked to Gizmo, the dog they are dog-sitting, with British accents.

All in all a pretty decent first weekend--although, I will admit, there were times when it was quite trying. I am not at all free from my insecurities. I need to work to get past the notion that if I am not spending time with others that it is a failure of some kind on my part.

Woke up today to this wintry mix:



Last night I made sweet potato and black bean enchiladas for a potluck over at Katy and Joaquin's house. The enchiladas were accompanied by brie and raspberry jam on crackers, a blue cheese and spicy sausage pizza, homemade bread, and a lamb skewer. And a good amount of PBR and whiskey. Later I got gloriously drunk with Jeff and apparently said everything with a British accent for hours on end. I don't quite remember.

At 8 when I woke up to get some water I had a pounding headache that Advil luckily took care of and went back to sleep. For breakfast we made leftover bacon with applesauce oatmeal pancakes, which I am sure is not helping my diet. Then again, neither is all that whiskey I drank. Oh well.

of strange color matches and karaoke night

hat: Forever 21
cardigan: JCrew, thrifted
tights: MP via Sock Dreams
shoes: Naturalizer
dress: thrifted, Blue Velvet ATX
necklace: Parts and Labor, ATX
belt: JCrew outlet

I'm not sure that lime green and bright yellow are supposed to go together, but DAMN IT they are going to be going together in this outfit, which is comprised largely of wool. Wool tights, wool cardigan (new today from Second Act--on sale for FIVE DOLLARS). Wool coat, when I leave the apartment.

The plans for tonight are to eat dinner at The Motley Cow, an upscale Iowa City restaurant that my friends and I have been ogling longingly for months upon months. We decided it was time that we resigned ourselves to the pricey entrees and tried it out. After this, we are heading down to the American Legion and meeting up with some Workshop folk for karaoke! The American Legion is a close relative of the VFW, for all of you readers with Conway, AR experience. Only, there is dancing. Like, a ton of it, and to Madonna and Hootie and the Blowfish instead of the electric slide. It is kind of one of my favorite things ever. Recently (read: for the past month) I have felt increasingly desperate to just get whiskeyed and sing and dance my little Lauren heart out. So tonight, it is going to happen. Brace yourselves, friends whose cell numbers I have who can receive text messages.

You think it's like this, but it's really like this:

A new year. I want to resolve to update this blog regularly. I love reading blogs and I want to have one, so why is it so difficult for me to commit to one? I think that sometimes so much will happen that I will get exhausted just thinking about writing about it. Which is certainly the case, I feel, for the past month or so.

I wrote my final papers. Grades posted. A, A-, and a B.

I was in a pseudo-relationship with Jeff, a 27-year-old poet from the Writer's Workshop. After a packed month full of Workshop gatherings, bars, and karaoke-ing mixed with the final papers, we decided (well, he proposed and I accepted) to take a few steps back. We'll see where that takes us when the semester starts back up again.

Winter break: spent 2.5 weeks in Austin amidst a very gloomy house. Strongly suspect parents are having marital troubles that are almost solely on my mum's side and originate from the age difference between them that becomes more and more pronounced as time goes by.

Took the train back to Iowa City, where I am reading and redecorating. Waiting for the others to return.

Trying, always and again, to lose weight.

Snow.

Quinoa Soup with Avocado and Corn

3 cups chicken broth
1 cup quinoa
1 cup frozen corn kernels
1/3 cup chunky salsa
1 ripe but firm Hass avocado, diced
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1/2 lime, juiced

1) In a large pot or Dutch oven, heat broth over high until it comes to a boil. Add quinoa. Drop heat to medium-high. Cook (still boiling) 15 minutes.

2) Add corn and salsa. Stir. When it comes back up to a simmer, kill the heat. Remove the pot from the burner. Add avocado. Stir gently. Salt and pepper to taste. Add cilantro. Stir again. Squeeze in lime juice.

Notes: Adapted from here , my quinoa turned out much less like a soup and more like quinoa with stuff in it--and was DELICIOUS. It is more filling than it appears, so, consider it 4 servings. The lime juice helps the avocado to not turn brown, so it keeps fine in the fridge as leftovers for a few days after making it. And, bonus: LESS THAN 300 CALORIES per serving.

I was Jane Austen for Halloween. The dress, though you cannot tell from the photograph, is floor-length, and I am wearing brown riding boots beneath it. I carried a copy of Persuasion at the beginning of the party, just for clarification, but it wasn't really necessary simply because everyone knew me and I'm just the type of girl who dresses up as Jane Austen for Halloween.

The feast was this:

First course: Mulled wine and slow-cooked bell peppers stuffed with a turkey-prosciutto-carrot-celery-onion mix
Main Course: slow-cooked lamb in a red wine tomato sauce with rosemary and thyme
Dessert: slow-cooked rice pudding and apples dipped in dulce de leche

It was a huge success, and I did have a lot of fun cooking it. However, it was incredibly time-consuming on a Sunday afternoon and I wouldn't want to repeat the feast-party concept more than seasonally.

We watched Hocus Pocus. Have you all seen this gem of a film? I hadn't seen it since my pre-teen years, most likely, but when I was growing up I was obsessed with it (for whatever reason). I had not realized then how actually creepy it is; the way that Sarah Jessica Parker's witch character breathes the word "boys!" whenever they are mentioned just made us all uncomfortable. After the film we watched a collection of Michael Jackson music videos; we meant to only watch "Thriller," but once we got started, we couldn't stop.




On the left is my friend Annmarie as Pippy Longstocking, and in the middle Lisa as a viking! She is trying to chop off poor Jane Austen's head.

30 for 30

-Pick 30 items of clothing (not including coats or accessories).
-Wear a different outfit each day for 30 days using only these 30 items.
-No shopping allowed!

The Lauren Line-Up



1. Quack's t-shirt, from Quack's Bakery in Austin, TX.
2. 80's sleeveless tee with zipper, from Second Act Vintage in Iowa City, IA.
3. 80's button-up shirt, from Second Act Vintage in Iowa City, IA.
4. Powell's t-shirt, from Powell's Bookstore in Portland, OR.
5. Button-up shirt, from Second Act Vintage in Iowa City, IA.
6. Collared button-up tee, from Gap.
7. 70's polyester button-up with yellow flowers, from Second Act Vintage, Iowa City,
IA.
8. Long-sleeved v-neck tee, from street vendor in Brussels.
9. Turquoise scoop neck, 3/4 sleeve, from H&M.
10. 3/4 sleeve boatneck tee from American Apparel.
11. Hunter scoop neck tee, 3/4 sleeve, from H&M.



1. Wool cardigan, Urban Outfitters.
2. Silk/cotton cardigan, Gap.
3. Wool sweater vest, Etsy.
4. Wool button-up sweater vest, Second Act Vintage, Iowa City, IA.



1. Skinny-leg jeans, Gap.
2. Skinny-leg jeans, Odille via Second Act Vintage, Iowa City, IA.
3. Straight-leg boot-cut jeans, Gap.



1. Pocket skirt (mustard), American Apparel.
2. Pocket skirt (sand), American Apparel.
3. High-waist skirt, American Apparel.



1. Weird dress, Buffalo Exchange.
2. 90s dress, Blue Velvet Vintage, Austin, TX.
3. 60s/70s dress, Second Act Vintage, Iowa City, IA.
4. Criss-cross dress, Buffalo Exchange.
5. Denim jumper, Good Will Store.



1. Navy/black ankle-Oxford-boot-things, Salvation Army.
2. Cowboy boots, distant Christmas.
3. White ankle-boots, White Rabbit Vintage, Iowa City, IA.
4. Black ankle boots, Naturalizer via Dillard's.

Halloween update is in the works. But for now let me share some ideas, briefly.

This will briefly become my own personal fashion blog. So that I can do this: 30 for 30, in which I take 30 items of clothing and wear 30 different outfits in the month of November.

Just a heads-up. Tomorrow: descriptions of my 30 items.

Let it be known that my weakness is thrift stores. I went with Annmarie and Lisa to Goodwill and Second Act (which is an AMAZING thrift store with an entire room devoted to vintage where everything is priced so reasonably I often do a double-take at the price tag) this afternoon to help them find bits and pieces of their Halloween costumes, and ended up spending more money than either of them and buying clothes. Listen, friends; I don't need clothes. My closet is bursting with pants and skirt and dresses; my drawers are overflowing with shirts, socks, stockings, and leggings. I have two shelves bursting with cardigans and sweaters. I do not need any more clothes. But I just can't help but look at them and when I see something with potential at a good price I just can't let it go. I pounce. And I don't usually regret it either, which only perpetuates the problem.

Tomorrow, Jess and I are hosting a Halloween FEAST at her apartment with several slow-cooker courses and mulled wine--and, most importantly, a viewing of Hocus Pocus. Don't tell me that you don't know about Hocus Pocus. I am dressing up as Jane Austen. I promise to upload photos of my costume, the gathering, and of course the FEAST. We are about to head to the grocery store now to buy the various ingredients.

Also this week: Ghostface Killah in downtown Iowa City, Culler and Derrida in my Ethics of Close-Reading class, and Heidegger Day this Tuesday in Theory.

It's not that things got complicated or I got that busy... well, maybe it is that.

Important Life Event: Alex and I Broke Up
-This happened about two weeks ago. He came to visit me over his fall break, and I felt that it was time for us to stop doing what we have always, always, always done in our relations, even a year before they became at all technically romantic: tactfully avoiding discussion of the future. If we took our relationship to the next level, as it were, we would have gotten engaged. And although it is fabulous that we know so many people (read: ex Ultimate Frisbee people) who are marrying young, that is just not who I am. I haven't really been single for more than a month since some time in high school, and he hadn't ever been with anyone else, so we decided that now, being across the country from each other, would probably be the best time to have those experiences. And the future? Who knows, I guess. I'm trying not to think about it too much because it is really upsetting, to remember how hard I tried to make this relationship even happen in the first place, only to give it up in the name of needing more life experiences... and yet I know I am right, that we are right.

Classes
-As far as these go... I am at the place in the semester where I am devising paper topics. For my Modernism paper I am going to try to write about repetition in To the Lighthouse and Good Morning, Midnight and its relation to affect. For my Close-Reading paper I think I am going to return to Women in Love (egads!) and flesh out this idea of performativity of the reader using that which I was always taught to find warm-fuzzy: reader-response theory. And Theory? Who in the world knows. Perhaps I will do something where I relate different theorists' ideas of the limits of language from feminism to post-structuralism to psychoanalysis to... marxism? Oh I hope not.

The Life Social (as Opposed to Aquatic)
-Great. I have really made friends with my fellow first-year English students, I feel. We've gone apple-picking and thrift-store-shopping, dressed up for tea parties and gone out to restaurants and movies. On most days I spend the afternoon at a coffeehouse or two with my friend Jess (a post-colonialist who grew up in Austin and went to nearby Grinnell for undergrad), and nearly every weekend I go shopping with Annmarie (a Victorianist who took a year off after undergrad to get involved with community theatre). Annmarie and I, along with Gemma (who is interested in emigre literature and is learning Russian) are starting a fashion blog because we came to realize that we were always complimenting each other's outfits.


(Annmarie, myself, and Gemma being fashionable and enjoying fall colours)

-My Theory class, which is from 5:30-6:45, has taken to going out to dinner together after class on Thursdays. This is particularly cool because about half of the students who participate are not from English, but other departments. While I really do enjoy immersing myself in Englishness, it is nice to have some acquaintances in other areas of expertise, though related such as Film, Communication Studies, and Education.


(Theory Class Cook-Out, circa two weeks ago)

-I am co-chairing the Jackobsen Conference (the cross-discipline graduate conference here at Iowa in the spring) as a senator on the Graduate Student Senate. I have two co-chairs that I meet with who are not in English (Kyle is in Journalism and Netta is in Nursing) and I also attend Executive Council meetings with GSS higher-ups, none of whom hail from English. I am easily the youngest person on the Exec Council, by probably at least 3 or 4 years. They like my ebullience, I think (hope).

What else can I tell you all that is important? I think I have covered some of the major points and updates. Expect better and more regular posts from now on, hopefully with photos as I had originally planned.Cheers.

The only big news I have is that I have finally started watching, and consequently gotten addicted to, Dr. Who. I'm not sure what it says about me when my three favorite TV shows are all of the sci-fi genre. I never thought of myself as a sci-fi person. And this is especially relevant because I put my name on a list to take a course in sci-fi next fall (and, bonus, to take a seminar in Victorian women writers!). In London Alex and I famously had a debate on whether or not sci-fi counted as legitimate literature, with Vonnegut being the obvious line-straddler. I don't know. But I guess, someday in my free time, I might think about this and revise my position, perhaps? (And: is film different?)


This weekend I am going apple-picking with a group of English folks, as well as consignment-shopping. Fall is about to hit--like tonight. I'm serious; the past week has had temperatures in the 80s, but after tonight the next 10 days (according to weather.com) will have high temperatures in the low to mid 60s. Hello, autumn. Fall is my favorite season, and I think I will love it even more here... though it is the introduction to the feared inevitable winter. I am going to order a winter coat this weekend/next week. Oh my.


So far I have deduced that I am not a Marxist or a Structuralist. There is a running joke amongst us that I have a very strong aversion to post-colonialism--which is fair, to a point. I just hate the way that it takes over discussions and that once people bring it up, it is as if the only aspect of a novel or an article that is worth talking about is the lack of mentions of India or Africa. I have a long rant about this (and it gets increasingly more intellectual, I assure you), but that will be for another time. Right now I have a phone date and stuffed poblano peppers to attend to.

One of the larger aspects of student life at the University of Iowa is, predictably, football. Now, I grew up in Austin, Texas, the daughter of a man whose license plate for-real-actually reads "U-TEX-1," so obviously football culture was not going to be a huge shock for me. However, attending a tiny liberal arts school devoid of any football team did ensure that I never really had any experience tailgating.

Apparently you don't need a truck with a tailgate in order to tailgate.

Around 1pm I met a handful of my first-year PhD comrades outside the library, all of us dressed in yellow and black (both Hawkeye AND Hufflepuff colors, as I did not fail to inform them). We marched onward to the neighborhood bordering the football stadium, and met a sea of black and yellow. There were large tents of people selling things like gyros and "big ass turkey legs" and other meaty essentials--and of course, just about every single person had a beer in hand. We wandered into a neighborhood alley where several smaller trailers were set up, many with long beer pong tables posted beside them. Everyone, in case I have not reiterated this enough, was wearing yellow and black.

After finding a cozy spot on some grass in the shade, we sat, drank PBR, and people-watched. The crowd began to thin out as it neared gametime, but every now and then a person would walk by and yell "go Hawks!" at us, to which we replied with fist-pumps or "go Hawks!" of our own.

It was very surreal.