Piss and Moan
To recap my last 18 hours:
I went to a great meeting of young feminists, came home, ate a salad, drank some wine, argued with the Manfriend about canon-making and the ways in which we talk about art, argued with the Manfriend for real about stupid stuff, made up, went to bed way too late, woke up to another FREEZING day of ass-chapping temperatures, came to work on a packed train of chronic flatulators, then sat at my desk for four hours getting up the energy to get a cup of coffee.
And now I'm writing an email to tell our student workers how to use our stupid new database. The email's full of marvy sentences like: "Under the 'Time' section, check the box marked 'Completed,' which will cause a little date box to open. Type the date in that box." Yeah, that's right, the date! In the date box!
It could be worse, though! My office could be under renovation and paint fumes could be wafting in my door even as we speak!
Oh wait.
Yes, as Month Two of the Great Leap Forward continues here at the People's Republic of DoGooding, my wee workspace reeks of Benjamin Moore in an antiseptic shade of white that makes my face hurt. Such is life, though, when progress is on the line.
Currently reading: No Matter How Much You Promise to Cook or Pay the Rent You Blew It Cauze Bill Bailey Ain't Never Coming Home Again, by Edgardo Vega Yunque. I love the way he piles on the words and images, then twists them just a bit to make unexpected connections. I'll reread some of his sentences, thinking, did he really just do that? I wish I had the book here so I could pull out one of his more astounding sentences. It's not just facile writerliness, though, but (I think) an attempt to get at the multitudes contained by the characters in a novel concerned with identity (on many levels), race, jazz, and politics. I'm only on page 18, but he seems to be pulling off the neat tricks better in this work than in The Lamentable Journey of Omaha Bigelow into the Loisada Jungle.
I went to a great meeting of young feminists, came home, ate a salad, drank some wine, argued with the Manfriend about canon-making and the ways in which we talk about art, argued with the Manfriend for real about stupid stuff, made up, went to bed way too late, woke up to another FREEZING day of ass-chapping temperatures, came to work on a packed train of chronic flatulators, then sat at my desk for four hours getting up the energy to get a cup of coffee.
And now I'm writing an email to tell our student workers how to use our stupid new database. The email's full of marvy sentences like: "Under the 'Time' section, check the box marked 'Completed,' which will cause a little date box to open. Type the date in that box." Yeah, that's right, the date! In the date box!
It could be worse, though! My office could be under renovation and paint fumes could be wafting in my door even as we speak!
Oh wait.
Yes, as Month Two of the Great Leap Forward continues here at the People's Republic of DoGooding, my wee workspace reeks of Benjamin Moore in an antiseptic shade of white that makes my face hurt. Such is life, though, when progress is on the line.
Currently reading: No Matter How Much You Promise to Cook or Pay the Rent You Blew It Cauze Bill Bailey Ain't Never Coming Home Again, by Edgardo Vega Yunque. I love the way he piles on the words and images, then twists them just a bit to make unexpected connections. I'll reread some of his sentences, thinking, did he really just do that? I wish I had the book here so I could pull out one of his more astounding sentences. It's not just facile writerliness, though, but (I think) an attempt to get at the multitudes contained by the characters in a novel concerned with identity (on many levels), race, jazz, and politics. I'm only on page 18, but he seems to be pulling off the neat tricks better in this work than in The Lamentable Journey of Omaha Bigelow into the Loisada Jungle.
posted by turalura at Thursday, December 08, 2005
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home