So, in case you hadn't noticed (please tell me that, at the very least, you noticed), I haven't been updating much. But I have been thinking quite a bit about the fact that I'm not updating much. Indeed, I've wasted precious time that I could have spent updating (ha) on thinking about why I'm not updating.
As such, I nearly came to the conclusion that maybe I should trash this blog because I'm not really doing the format any justice.
But then I heard about this project called Holidailies, in which participants agree to post to their blog/journal (with entries that are least 50 words) every day during the month of December and decided to try and meet the challenge.
It's sort of like that moment in a relationship that's failing wherein you answer the question: should I stay or should I go with the decision to get married or have a baby. Lucky for me, the commitment is only 31 days long, not 18 years or a lifetime. But, nonetheless, it's a commitment and hopefully I can follow through and feel better about this little space I've created here.

I usually enjoy The New York Times' arts and entertainment coverage but yesterday's article on rich people as the new porn (both literally and figuratively) pissed me off to no end.


Now don't get me wrong, I like to snark and the NY Times is often a greak place to go to get one's snark on but this time I think they crossed the line. It's one thing to take jabs at people for what they do but when you're being snide at the expense of an 18-year-old girl's self-esteem, when you poke fun at a young girl's appearance, a young girl's who's only crime is being the rich and now semi-famous daughter of some filthy rich guy--well that's just plain mean.

In keeping with the general hypocrisy about the upper class, these shows have already whipped up some moral outrage. In "Rich Girls," Ally Hilfiger, daughter of Tommy, and a less attractive sidekick are shown doing "damage" in Prada and expressing their patronizing concern for plebian New Yorkers, notably Prada salespeople and "garbage men." In "The Simple Life," which has its premiere on Dec. 2, Ms. Hilton and her own less attractive sidekick are airlifted from 90210 to the Ozarks for a monthlong live-in with a farm family." (italics mine)

The references to the "less attractive" friends/sidekicks had absolutely no relevance in this piece and only served as a snide underscoring of why many people rightfully think that entertainment journalism is a pointless endeavor. Just think about, how would you like to be reduced to and referred to as the "less attractive" one? Right, you wouldn't.

After weeks and weeks of endless studying I feel as though I can finally take a deep breath and sit back and relax.

Not that it's over...not by far, but the amount of work I have to do between now and the end of the semester is so tiny compared to what I've finished...yesterday I turned in a term paper draft (for my summer school term paper), presented an oral report and turned in a short story. Now I just have to revise the term paper if necessary, write another term paper and read a few short stories to critique.

It's cake I tell you, cake...

Because of the holidays there's no class next week, thus this weekend has been declared a homework-free zone. Also, because a work project I thought I had to do has been temporarily shelved it means that I really have no responsibilities, no obligations. I intend to do all sorts of wild and crazy things such as go shopping, watch a King's game at some friends' house, have Sunday brunch with a friend and clean out my closet.

I also intend to sleep without waking every two hours in a state of panic. I intend to NOT be short-tempered and impatient with my husband. I intend to read a trashy magazine. I intend to watch junky TV. I intend to let the muscles in my body unknot and relax. I intend to feel as if I have a life that exists outside the school/work continuum.

Bliss bliss bliss...

No really, I'm still here...thinking about the parallels between Jean Rhys's Wide Sargasso Sea and Marilyn Robinson's Housekeeping, tweaking a short story, reading, drinking too much coffee, listening to The Elected (and thinking it sounds like Elliot Smith then kind of freaking out when I learn it was recorded at his studio, pre-suicide), wanting to just crash out until January 1st.
I'm no rock'n'roll fun lately but hopefully something good will eventually come out of it.

What else can be said about a wedding with a reception that plays The Beastie Boys' "No Sleep til Brooklyn" as its last dance?
Beautiful ceremony in the Asilomar Chapel in Pacific Grove. Super-fun reception. The groom even sang The Velvet Underground's "I'll Be Your Mirror" and I cried so much that I finally just gave up on drying my tears or fixing my makeup.

A million congratulations and wishes of a long and bountful marriage to Rachel & Tom...thanks for letting me read at your wedding, it was a huge honor and I'm so happy for the both of you.

Michael Moore writes in The Nation about one of my favorite comic strip artists, Aaron McGruder. (via Bookslut).