Monthly Archives: October 2012

Exploding Subcompacts

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After this past weekend, I can safely say this: when Honda civics break, they break with gusto.

I drive a hybrid Honda civic. It is a reliable car in a goofy color. I am fond of it, and it has not given me any problems in the last two years. However, when I left for work this past Sunday, I was greeted by a dead-as-a-doornail car.

This would be fine, except that all of the people I know who own cars were either a) at church (pious people got wheels, y’all), b) unlikely to own jumper cables, or c) my sleeping roommate. So, because I am an adult, I called my parents.

Because they love me, they jumped my car and–though the car seemed convinced that the parking brake was on–I got to work just fine. At work, I cleaned a bunch of tables and debated with my coworkers whether my constant exposure to Windex is responsable for the skin condition that is currently splitting my right palm open with dry skin and sadness.

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A Sign in an Uncaring Universe

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Today is not a depressing-blog-entry-about-my-existential-anxiety day! Things are good. There is a cat napping on my floor and my apartment no longer has fleas and I have plans for later tonight that apparently involve free beer. So instead, today we are going to talk about the strangest thing that has happened to me since I spent my twentieth birthday on a roof with a nautilus*.

A month or so ago, I adopted a dog from the Urban Pet Project. Though she was a wonderful little fluffy white thing, it quickly became apparent that a) my roommate’s cat was miserable with the dog around and b) the dog was too prey-sensitive for my comfort level given the living situation. She was a great animal, but it was a poor fit, and so with heavy heart I returned her to the rescue.

The rescue posts pictures of every adopted animal and their new owner on their Facebook page. So you can imagine how pleased I was when, a week later, the little fluffy white dog showed up with a new owner–a skinny hipster dude with some tattoo sleeves. Continue reading →

The End of Time

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This past week has been a great example of something that I find utterly… itch-inducing about college: the simultaneous dragging-on and obliteration of time. I spend most of my time worrying about things that are far enough in the future that I cannot do anything about them (family health issues, my post-grad employment prospects, registering for classes in six weeks when the course atlas isn’t even out) while also freaked out about the things that are approaching faster than I want them to (the timeframe to write my 100-page thesis, the end of the weird cocoon of the last few months, registering for classes in six weeks because the course atlas isn’t even out). Time–at least for me–never, ever passes normally in college. As a result of my particular cocktail of neuroses, this means that I’m pretty constantly anxious about projects that exist in the collegiate timeframe.

I realize that this is a weakness, but I really love short-term projects where I control a large part of the process. I like having a clear beginning and end date and am happy forging a path to connect the two. But when we get to something like my honors thesis–a 100-page document of original research which I have to have written and defended by mid-April–I’m at a loss. It’s a huge project! I want to be working on it so it can be done by February!

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Viking Bocce

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I am back in Atlanta after spending a week in the hills (near where FDR died in the arms of his mistress) with some of the other folks in my scholarship program. Though I’m not totally sure what that particular retreat is supposed to accomplish other than making all of Emory’s merit aid recipients tremendously fat on southern food, I am in no way complaining. There was muscadine ice cream! And viking bocce!

It’s called kubb. No, really. It was insane, as games invented in cultures that don’t have balls are wont to be.

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Keep on the Sunny Side

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I’ve been in a Thought Catalog-style funk the past few weeks. This doesn’t usually happen this time of year–I love autumn, and I still have a month to go before the pumpkins are out and the candy flows like trans fatty water. But so far this week I’ve just been burying my head into my possibly flee-infested pillows and not checking my email.

Academic burnout: it’s possible that I can, as the internet would say, haz. And all for reasons that are a) pretty objectively sucky and b) completely out of my control. These are my favorite! Like a root canal without Novocaine! Or a honey badger to the face!

So as to distract myself from the encroaching sense of “bleurgh,”/”I am going to cry in my car now because I Have A Lot of Feelings” I’m compiling a list of my favorite things from my favorite season. Feel free to add your own, bloglings.

Indian corn: Something about me just goes all a-tingle when there’s Indian corn to be placed festively in baskets. (Native American corn? Technicolor dream maize? I assume that “Indian corn” is probably considered impolite at this point in our collective history.)

Pumpkin beer: New on the list, for legal reasons. But I do so love booze and the taste of seasonal gourds together. Now if only Terrapin would quit selling their pumpkin brew in four packs instead of six…

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