Sunday, October 31, 2004
After returning from work I let Kevin know we wouldn't go any farther than holding hands. He seemed somewhat surprised, but he'll live. I was going to offer him a Blow Pop, but I had forgotten my purse. Oh, well.
Amy and Robert put in some horror movie, which I suppose I shall watch as well, though frankly I would rather sleep or study for tomorrow's logic exam. A headache prevents me from concentrating fully, anyhow. I shall arise early on the morrow to work through some practice problems. Ausgezeichnet.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 6:15 PM]
We'd Be A Crazy Team
Saturday, October 30, 2004
At a party last night I shook Elton John's hand and introduced myself confidently: 'Hi, my name is Lauree. That's L-A-U-R-E-E, Lauree, spelled with two "E"s'. Then I shook his hand twice more, as there were three of him.
Rebekah's roommate, Jen, knew a girl throwing a party at her house off Boston Avenue. Coincidentally, I also knew a girl throwing a party at her house off Boston Avenue. The girls were different, but the house was the same. Jen knew one roommate, Jessie, from a philosophy class they took together last year. Kelsey, the Classical Society president, had earlier invited me. Jen and I decided, over the course of the evening, that we should marry each other. I only had a few JELL-O shots.
Some guy invited me to play a card game with his group. I sat down (at Jen's absolute insistence) thinking, Gee, I hope this isn't one of those drinking games where everyone ends up naked. I almost asked; the prospect made me that nervous. On the ride home I told Jen, Rebekah, and Kevin, who all laughed at me... not with... at...
I don't see what's so funny.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 6:20 AM]
Veni, Vidi, Vici
Friday, October 29, 2004
Classics Day Agenda:
-picked up Classics Day t-shirtI attended no classes and I ate for free. I was supposed to give some high school kids a campus tour, but only one person (a German exchange student) appeared in the lobby. She didn't want to go by herself, and I instead led her to the room with the pankration demonstration (the reference above to Brazilian Jui-Jitsu). My favorite move involved the Classics graduate student, Jared, back to the ground with his partner between his legs; Jared's legs came up under the other guy's knees to splay them out, which would break the groin muscle. That move was called the "banana split".
-sat at the snack table
-drank three sodas
-talked to Classics people
-peed
-watched a graduate student show the high school kids Brazilian Jui-Jitsu (demonstrating classical fighting methods)
-fantasized about said graduate student naked and oiled, which is how the ancient Greeks fought
-peed
-invited to party at The Classical Society president's house this evening
-loaded leftover snacks and shirts into the president's car
-peed
-walked back to my dorm
I've learned many things since coming to college.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 12:51 PM]
Te Amo, Pujols And "Curses"
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Last night I watched the fourth game of the World Series with Kevin, who fell asleep during the middle. The Cardinals hardly looked ready to win from the outset. Marquis (the Cardinals' starting pitcher) appeared lost in space the entire time. I decided from the first moment he stepped on the plate if the Cardinals won, it would not be by his design. Rolen and Pujols made a few spectacular defensive plays, but somebody has to cross the plate a few times to win the ballgame. Oh, well. So long as the damned Yankees don't win, my life will keep moving forward.
Rebekah, Carissa, Kevin and I are going to some Irish music concert on campus this evening. It won't be Flogging Molly, but it will be amusing to pretend I'm watching Flogging Molly.
Tomorrow is Classics Day, during which the campus hosts high school Latin kids competing in little academic tournaments, or something. The Classical Society people never e-mailed me about my role or when I'm working, but I'll make an appearance anyhow for the sure-to-be-classy Classics Day t-shirt I paid for two weeks ago... and for the free food.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 12:57 PM]
Makes Me Smell Like No Other
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Yesterday at the computer in the library lab I started blacking out, so I walked back to the lobby where the people sucked my blood (my life source) away for another soda, some cookies, and Blue Bell ice cream. Then I ventured to the Classical Society meeting that proved disappointingly dull and uninformative. But I paid the club dues.
At work I was giddy from the massive amount of sugar I consumed prior to arriving. I remained thus after Rebekah picked me up. I hope I thoroughly freaked Kevin out. He needs to learn sometime I'm an oddball.
The Cardinals lost... again... but at least not to the bad guys (id est, the Yankees).
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:35 AM]
Pins And Needles
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
A few minutes ago I donated blood at the university library. The girl who stuck me sloshed my blood around in a beaker tube afterward, which reminded me of the gory movie I watched last night. The opening scene consisted of fifty Japanese school girls jumping all together in front of a subway train. Blood flew everywhere. When I die, I want my blood to splatter someone and make them nauseous.
I'm light-headed; I think I'll go back and grab a soda. Ooh...
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 2:00 PM]
Elliott: Sleeping With Yourself Always Counts
Monday, October 25, 2004
Kevin met Kermit, but he apparently does not understand that he and Kermit are rivals for my affections... and Kermit always wins. After we do The Nasty, Kevin is going to receive the "let's just be friends"/"it's not you- it's me"/"it would mean I would have to shave my legs every day" talk.
April learned some of the details of my first boy sleepover- she laughed through our entire phone conversation. My sporadic sexual encounters are always more comedic than sexy. For example, Kevin and I sat on his bed watching Southpark when he made that first "move" of putting his hand over mine. I knew it was coming, and I hurt my face suppressing my giggles. I didn't want to injure his feelings, so I pretended I was really, really absorbed in the episode.
While figuring the logistics of fitting two people on a dorm bed, Kevin turned and asked, 'Okay, so how do you want to sleep?' Out of the many choices, the thing I chose to say was, 'Um... well, you just hop under the sheets however you usually do, and I'll sort of work around that.' He looked perplexed, so I gestured toward the bed and snapped my fingers twice. This added an element of fear to Kevin's expression, but he got in the bed like a good little boy (I suspect he will, in retrospect, pick that precise moment as his first mistake in this relationship). Then I walked over to the light, grinned at Kevin deviously, and turned it off. Did he get the hint? Nope. They never run when they have the chance.
I asked April if she thought me "naughty" for taking someone else's emotions and turning it into a comic strip of sorts, but she assured me I am not a bad person. Of course, this assessment did come from someone who automatically causes men to begin conversations with phrases such as, "Please don't kill me..."
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:14 AM]
Lauree = Dirty Whore
Saturday, October 23, 2004
I slept with a boy last night.
I called in "sick" to AfterThoughts. My shift runs from 5:30-9:30 p.m., but I see no point in going. I need to gather myself to quit on the next shift, which will be an awkward situation.
I might end up getting shang-haied into attending the football game with Kevin, Polo, and Rachel (Polo's girlfriend). Rebekah invited me to "party" with her afterward, also.
This week involved much social interaction. It hurts my lonely little head.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 12:48 PM]
New This Week
Friday, October 22, 2004
Somehow, The Father must be convinced I need two majors. I decided upon Classics with Latin/Linguistics and History/German. Hopefully, becoming a CA will satisfy him enough to open his little mind to the option.
I have had no luck with acquiring another job. Argh.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 9:19 AM]
Stepbrother = Douche
Thursday, October 21, 2004
A few minutes ago I sent The Father the following e-mail:
Father:My stepbrother believes the world owes him something. He also feels he can "take anyone on", in anything, even though he spends his time playing video games for endless hours instead of doing anything constructive with his life. He honestly thinks he can protect the house if one of his old drug buddies comes around. He said as much on his weblog. I wish I had a motor vehicle I could drive down with to give him the verbal and physical beatings he deserves.
I am somewhat ambivalent about writing about this, but I eventually decided I would rather be safe than sorry. I mentioned over the phone Jeremy's pathetic friend Wade told me about Jeremy's weblog, and that I read it on occasion. I knew he was in town a few weeks ago, but of course made no effort and had no desire to contact him.
It would appear someone Jeremy referred to as a "business associate" from Austin had Jeremy contact other supposed businessmen they knew in the Houston area about a third entrepreneur who was coming to forcefully (that is, with a 9mm) collect payments from these businessmen. This unsavory character called Jeremy first and threatened him. He then found out where the other people were, drove down from Austin, and, according to Jeremy, 'fucked them up'.
Jeremy, of course, spoke grandiosely of the incident, saying such intelligent things as, 'he knows not to mess with me' and 'he doesn't know where I live'. Frankly, Father, Jeremy doesn't intimidate me, and I don't carry a gun around.
You and Terri do or don't do whatever you like with this news. As for me, I'm just glad I'm not living in that house. You don't need this kind of crap in your lives, and Jeremy has no right bringing it. Maybe this guy won't come knocking, but if he doesn't, it could be someone else later. I'm telling you I heard someone might show up with a gun in your neighborhood because I love you and do not want any of you to get hurt as a result of Jeremy's stupidity. If I was there, I'd kick his ass.
Did you watch the Cardinals/Astros game? It was good.
These aren't harmless marijuana users he deals with; he has no business bringing hardcore drama into my siblings' lives. It's bad enough they've been stuck with The Wicked Stepmother, but now they must also apparently contend with The Druggie Stepbrother who can get them killed. If he doesn't care about himself, then fine, but when it affects other people, he had damn well better act like a man instead of the little pussy (sorry, Elliott) he is.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 8:38 PM]
What It Don't Get, I Can't Use
In the ancient sports class the professor reviewed Herakles' twelve labors, which happens to cover the mythology lecture I missed Monday when I played hooky. Griffin (the hairy boy) ought to be pleased. Yesterday one of the mythology TAs gave part of the lecture, but he spoke rapidly, providing little detail to the stories. Thereby he lost a few points- he's a handsome fellow and I had rather wanted to jump his bones (without touching him, somehow). Oh, well.
By the way, Louis, I altered the comment box- see? see? Tell me it's pretty.
Working through the logic homework last night led me to realize I do not understand how to apply subderivations. Conjunctions and biconditionals are easy to derive, but disjunctions and negations must be sub-derived from the original premise(s). I get lost amid all the lines and symbols. Reading the book helped very little. Hopefully with practice I'll learn this last section before the test next Friday.
Tonight I'll watch the Astros game with Kevin. I haven't watched baseball since the end of summer; it will be nice.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 1:54 PM]
All Over Me Best Persian
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Last night I ate dinner at a TexMex restaurant with Kevin, Polo, and some other people. Today I spent in agonizing pains of the stomach and the head, which leave me unable to concentrate on the logic homework I need to finish. Pacing around the room with headphones on usually clears the mind.
A boy ("boy", but he is older than I) who sits next to me lately in mythology decided we are a study group. He has hairy legs and a beard, so I am glad he probably only wants my notes. He asks me questions about the professor's lectures and I always answer them, which must have led him to believe I know the answers to his questions.
Yesterday Kevin asked me, 'So, what are you here for?' as though we go to jail, not college, though I am increasingly convinced that college is a prison. I told him, 'Oh, I'm just here to snag me a husband,' which he thought deliciously funny. But I am dead serious- I require economic stability if I'm ever going to buy all the crap I want. I'm developing a plan whereby I accomplish this goal without having to do the nasty with the guy.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 4:07 PM]
Big And Strong And Tall Instead Of Little Me
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
A boy named "Kevin" and I snuck into a workshop for first-generation college students last night, because it offered free pizza. Well, we "snuck in" in the sense that Kevin's friend, as an organization member, took us. But no one else knew who we were. We stuffed our faces and listened to some staff member's PowerPoint presentation listing campus buildings and services. Afterward Kevin and Polo (they sound like a cartoon duo) invited me to join them at a campus movie night sometime. They are my new food buddies.
Texas Tech posted spring schedules sometime yesterday; being an anxious little schedule bunny, I already composed a few options. They hinge upon whether I take Japanese next semester or wait until summer. I must take the five credit-hour Latin course, and I suspect I might not devote properly to both at once. If I do not enroll in Japanese it leaves room to begin achieving the Linguistics minor requirements with sophomore English courses (Introduction to Critical Writing and Introduction to Poetry) and Anthropological Lingustics in Languages and Cultures. With Biology of Plants (a natural science) that equals eighteen hours, of which I intend to scrounge up funds for three (the loans cover fifteen) or scrap an English. Sometime this week I'll meet with the Applied Linguistics advisor lady and someone from the Education department.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 9:01 AM]
Reading Rainbow
Monday, October 18, 2004
Shortly before midnight some putz pulled the fire alarm. I stood outside in the wind with my arms crossed angrily across my chest as though I held everyone personally responsible for the unwelcome intrusion of my paper-writing. I procrastinated until the last minute in order to build up adrenaline for ideas, only to have my thought processes hindered. When I try to write something substantial (something not on a blog), I go through a whole process, akin to Pollock's drip-painting [I present a grandiose image of myself]. I returned, uncapped an orange Fanta (which tastes much more delightful than icky Fresca), and eked out one more paragraph before bedtime.
Today, because I knew I could get away with it, I played hooky from logic and mythology. The lectures cover the books, which I can read easily from the semi-comfort of my bed. Amy and Robert are sleeping in the room; I hope they decide to go to class so that I may sleep.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 12:03 PM]
The Shaft
Sunday, October 17, 2004
Next Saturday I work a four-hour shift. Das ist alles. Yesterday the people at Claire's (Claire's and The Icing own AfterThoughts) called me to substitute someone's shift. They mentioned they needed another associate, I mentioned I needed another job, and I believe we may configure a mutually beneficial relationship. I'll still require a second job, though.
This morning around five-thirty the fire alarm went off. At first the siren and voice over the intercom were part of my dream. After realizing the situation I considered remaining asnooze, but I remembered reading somewhere refusing to leave the building during a fire drill incurs a disciplinary infraction of some fashion. Cursing inwardly I hobbled down seven flights (which I did not so much mind, as there were boys who climbed down from the top, Floor Twelve) and walked outside onto the crumbly pavement in my bare sockies, as I had forgotten to don my Airwalks. After only a few minutes the dorm went back up the stairs. I could not fall back asleep, of course. I lay in bed for an hour and-a-half contemplating why I am a complicated person.
I shall spend most of this day in bed either sleeping, reading, or moaning in pain. I waste much more time now that I do not have a motor vehicle or a full-time job.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:34 AM]
Morphine
Saturday, October 16, 2004
I loathe the menstrual cycle.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 5:05 PM]
Windburn
Friday, October 15, 2004
Having the attention span of Daffy Duck impedes my ability to accomplish anything. Amy turns on the television, sits on her bed instant-messaging friends, eats chips/crackers/cookies, and talks to her boyfriend, Robert, who usually sits behind her watching television or recuperating from rugby practice.
When anything that produces noise (id est, the television) comes on, most of my head focuses on the noise. I cannot operate concurrent systems (this applies to everything, including and especially brain functions). Amy runs the television whilst she does eight other things, but I am too shy to ask her to turn it off because a sixty-fourth of her is paying attention to the program. Amy and Robert watch movies late at night, sometimes when I am trying to sleep, but I cannot sleep even when they have the volume down. I know it's there.
The Megabitch used to keep the lights on at night purposefully to irritate me.
I cannot nap now because Amy and Robert are in the room doing things (not sexual things- just things). I am too sensitive. Hopefully, they won't notice I leave the room or stop what I was doing when they come in. It is my nature.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:02 AM]
Hunting Wabbits
Thursday, October 14, 2004
I journeyed to the mall with applications I returned to a bookstore, a cafe, and a joint that sells college-kid clothes (with accessories, of course).
I loathe malls. When I grow up, I never want to work in one. Malls are communist. The other night my manager put something on a shelf, but she said she really thought that something ought to go elsewhere, where it would be more accessible. Instead of taking initiative to put the something somewhere else, she simply put it where the corporate office instructed her it belonged. This sort of idiocy makes me want to hang myself. I've never had to read Food Nation; the subjugation of free-enterprise is self-evident.
After reading another essay about Modernism, I feel confidently informed to write a lengthy paper rehashing the author's postulations as my own. I might inject a theory or two, but the professor won't know the difference.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 4:46 PM]
Lieu Lieu
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
The latest art appreciation assignment involves writing an "actual paper" paper comparing Modernism with post-Modernism. After the last class this afternoon I proceeded immediately to the computer lab and began research, but the pretty pictures distracted me. In lieu of working I spent the past half-hour downloading images by artists of the time period.
An angry Austrian (Egon Lee Adolf Schiele) drew the above in 1917. He also created unflattering nude self-portraits.
I ought to study for the ancient sports exam scheduled tomorrow, but I suspect upon return to the room I shall preoccupy myself with something else, such as reading the Kafka book I forgot I had and rediscovered last night.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 1:31 PM]
Dadgum Wheelies
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
The Father abhors wheelies, "wheelies" referring to people of either sex who for one reason or another reside in wheelchairs. During his college years at the University of Missouri wheelies took up the entire sidewalk, which was not wide enough to accomodate them. A non-cripple with adequately functioning legs walked around them or, during winter, leapt into several inches of snow to avoid them. This affected The Father deeply and is the reason he accepted a nondescript job bidding drywall, married young, fathered five children he only wanted theoretically, and lived twenty years a life devoid of meaning or fulfillment until he met Terri, married her, found happiness, and is presently forcing his nightmarish interpretation of The Brady Bunch-esque family onto me, making my life more complex and conflicted than I need at this stage in my development as an adult.
I hate wheelies, too, for they are the direct cause (as outlined above) for my misery.
The other day America witnessed the long-awaited demise of the highest-ranking member of the wheelie hierarchy that threatens to overrun our businesses, our entertainment venues, and our beloved prairie lands. Christopher Reeve, injured by the fall taken off his horse as he practiced the gentlemanly sport of fence leaping, irritated countless people with his self-serving advocation of cripples, as the following quote from a young man in Texas illustrates:
The man spoke at the fucking Oscars and called for more movies about handicapped people. He never did that before the accident. If he didn't care then, why should we care now?All research aimed at eradicating or alleviating diseases and permanently-debilitating injuries ought to cease. Besides the massive expense and the consumption of human effort that could be applied to more worthy causes, focusing attention on whiny, pompous paraplegics forces the rest of us to acknowledge our own impending deaths and the myriad horrible ways in which our ends might come about.
Until it happens to us, we should not concern ourselves with the pain other people live with daily, especially when those people are famous, wealthy, and successful. Anyone who manages to eke out a satisfying existence for himself whilst the rest of us toil ought to die a severe, dramatic death- that'll learn 'im. Christopher Reeve acted in one successful film and milked it for all it was worth. For the last nine years of his life, he could not move any part of his body except his mouth, which he then proceeded to use inordinately in recompense. To take a favourite saying from the same young man I quoted earlier, "What a douche"! Knowing full well he would never walk again, Reeve had the audacity to, at least publicly, chug along anyway with his "I think I can" attitude in order to inspire his own and other people's false hopes. The media exploited Reeve and allowed him forums to express his sudden plight in sympathetic terms.
But Hollywood should never address cripples or the diseased or the people affected by them, all of whom number in the millions. Hollywood serves only to portray unpleasantries such as war, political upheaval, the lives of heroin-over-dosed pop culture icons, and the evil forces of nature- things that "stick it to the man" somehow. Michael J. Fox isn't trying to overthrow the government- all he wants is to stop shaking. How unromantic. Well, tough noogies for him. In Back To The Future he should have leapt atop his Vista Cruiser and proclaimed to the world, "Stop everything! We have to devote the rest of our lives to stem cell research!" And nevermind most people knew nothing of DNA, let alone stem cells. The twenty-three year-old Michael J. Fox should have known then what he does now.
People spend too much time trying to cure breast cancer, too. That aggravates me on a more personal level, because my mother died of smoking-related lung cancer. But no one cares; people can only spend so much time "fighting the war against _________". "Victims" of lung cancer don't deserve the label because they did it to themselves, whereas women (and a couple of unfortunate men) simply wake up with deadly lumps in their boobs.
The Father and I sat watching the television one evening when an advertisement appeared for the Houston-sponsored Komen Foundation Race For The Cure. The Father uttered a sound of indignation and muttered his outrage that breast cancer patients received all the press attention. At the time I viewed the world differently than I do now; I rebuked him with, "If Mom had died of breast cancer, you would cry that no one remembers people with breast cancer!" But now I know better- lung cancer patients are more important and suffer more pain than anyone else. Everyone reading this should leap from their chairs and devote the rest of their lives to curing lung cancer.
But wait- what do I care? I'm not dying- it was just my mother. It was only Christopher Reeve. Sit back down, kids.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 3:12 PM]
Things I Learned Today
Monday, October 11, 2004
Yiddish:
Kish m'in toukhes Kiss my assAssyrian:
Schvag! Shut up!
Stup ir Fuck you.
Silena yemokh al khasookh. I will fuck your mother on your back.Bosnian:
mapritana Fucker
Khoool ikhree. Eat my shit.
Thal min gyanookh. Go play with yourself (to a male).
Dabogda te zgazila kola HITNE POMICI! May the ambulance car hit you!Greek:
Jebi se! Fuck you!
Kurvo! Bitch!
Jedi govna! Eat shit!
kurcoglavac dickhead
Filese to kolo mou Kiss my ass.
vlaka moron
Skata na fas. Eat shit.
skila bitch
Salta gamisu. Fuck yourself.
Skatofatsa shitface
komotakia fucked up (drunk or stoned)
mikrit soutsounos a guy with a ridiculously small dick
Treeha mouni travai karavec. A strand of pubic hair from her cunt can pull ships.
Kani putsokrio! It's fucking cold!
Ise vlakas. You are stupid.
kopanos prick
tsoula slut
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 6:53 PM]
On Second Thought
The current place of employment failing to prove lucrative, I shall spend this week job hunting. Until I secure one, I shall pine away for this man.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 2:20 PM]
Off To See The Wizard
Sunday, October 10, 2004
I ate an apple-walnut tuna salad sandwich for lunch, which constituted the day's highlight. The six hours I worked today are the only hours I get this week, which is ridiculous. I cannot survive on $5.50 an hour for only six hours. Cingular Wireless looks promising.
At the moment I desire nothing more than sleep, but I shall wait for Amy and Robert to leave for what will surely be a lovely dinner at the Olive Garden. They were readying themselves to go when I left the room.
This template brings mild happiness.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 5:46 PM]
To Be A Halloweenie
Saturday, October 09, 2004
Amy's mother and grandmother journeyed here to Lubbock for Homecoming Weekend (which I find odd, because Amy does not play for the football team). They bore gifts of Halloween candy and dollar store delights for the two of us. That embarassed me somewhat (The Father doesn't send me anything, much less Amy), but I am grateful nevertheless, for this means I shan't have to venture forth into the shivery air for to seek trick-or-treat goodies Halloween night. Rebekah's father also came up and I have seen numerous families walking around campus.
It would never occur to The Father to make an especial trip to visit me. I certainly would not want him to, but the fact of his continual, voluntary absence from everything I've ever done saddens me during our occasional argument in which he accuses me of being self-centered. From my observations of other nineteen year-old college girls, his calling me selfish is about as absurd as if he was to accuse a three year-old of being irresponsible. [I no longer remember how, but this is all tangential to Amy's mother giving me a ghost basket of Halloween candy.] Of course I think of only myself ninety-nine percent of the time- I am plotting the next stages of my life. That necessitates my blockage of certain foreign influences, most specifically of The Father's theory that I will be happy living at home and going to U of H.
Now I want ice cream, but I lost eight pounds through September and I ought to continue being a good egg.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:31 AM]
Cadillac Ranch- Get Your Kicks Off Route 66
Friday, October 08, 2004
I snagged this template from a small design site, probably operated out of some guy's basement/bedroom. The image suits my usual mood. Later I might attempt to read codes for linking to other people's blogs through points on the graphic, but current patience and time lacking, that particular project will wait for a rainy day (of which Lubbock has experienced many recently).
Conducting research for the latest art appreciation journal assignment proved tedious. I had to write about the Our Lady of the Rockies monument located outside Butte, Montana and the Cadillac Ranch situated near Amarillo. Both are drive-by "road meccas" to which I would never pilgrimage. Visiting them would be anticlimatic.
I anticipate the logic class more warmly now that I have a snob buddy (his name is "Matt"). Matt and I discuss the forces that impel us to attend logic daily, though we are both quite aware we could play hooky and not miss anything consequential. The professor moves the class very slowly, to the point that I preoccupy myself by tapping the lid on my ever-present bottle of Diet Coke with Lime or create stick-figure illustrations for the arguments in my lecture notes. For instance, today I illustrated the following argument:
If Adam goes to the party, then Betty goes to the party.Below the notes I drew Betty in stick form, with Adam and Carl on either side in poses that I shall only describe as "predatory".
If Betty goes to the party, then Carl goes to the party.
Adam goes to the party.
Therefore, Carl goes to the party.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 3:10 PM]
Roast Beast In My Salad
Thursday, October 07, 2004
Imbibing fluids constantly makes one urinate constantly.
I read two chapters of the art appreciation textbook. I found them informative, if exhausting to read in one sitting.
Time to pee.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:51 PM]
Who Will Plow My Vulva?
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
I learned about the Venus of Willendorf today from the art appreciation textbook chapter about art formed through the earth. This marks the fourth (4th) time the Venus of Willendorf has appeared in my classes. First Mrs. Norwood introduced the image during our senior year reading of Beowulf (I do not recall how it was relevant to the story). Then during my community college stint the human sexuality professor brought up the plump little statue during a slide lecture. This semester in classical mythology the Venus famously provided the primary example of feminine deity prominence occurring before men discovered they played a role in reproduction (after which point rational human societies collapsed).
Anyhow, the post title refers to a hilarious poem exerpt in which the Egyptian (or maybe she is Sumerian) fertility goddess, Inanna, begs the question. A mortal king, of course, boldly and ably answers her prayer. He probably wanted to shut her up, as she repeats the plea in several lines.
Hopefully next semester or next fall I will have time to enroll in the comparative mythology course (I think I am required to take it for the Classics major). I would enjoy learning more about how world mythologies interrelate. Also, they all contain many an amusing sexual tale. On that note, several people in my mythology class do not understand that the Greeks regularly had sex between males (female-female was less common) and did not evaluate themselves in terms of "homosexual" and "heterosexual". I suppose the concept does not prove difficult for me to comprehend because I am inherently skeptical enough of religious and other institutional (governmental) doctrines of our society that demonize male-male sexual behavior. Boys ought to have "bosom buddies", too.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:01 PM]
No Time To Say, 'Hello'
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
I promised Rebekah tomorrow I would take her out for a dinner date. The arrangement pleased her and ensured my ride into work later that evening. Friends are useful things.
I am currently sabotaging my precious time as I await the beginning of the Classical Society meeting. The rain pouring outside deters me from vacating my seated position at the library. It rains far too often for one such as myself who must walk everywhere.
Now that I've discussed the weather, I suppose I shall leave to look up child pornography or how to construct effective car bombs.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 12:54 PM]
Siamese, If You Please
Monday, October 04, 2004
I finally met with my academic advisor this afternoon (his name is Dr. Holland, but he does not look like Richard Dreyfuss). He advised me to graduate at some point, which I shall seriously consider doing. Dr. Holland liked my idea to graduate as a Classics with Latin major/Applied Linguistics minor and encouraged me to keep taking Japanese so the program will have someone to send overseas. Ausgezeichnet- if they already want to send me abroad, that means they'll be more enthused to help me figure out how to pay for it.
The art appreciation exam I took this morning ought to be an easy "A".
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 3:09 PM]
America (The Book)
Sunday, October 03, 2004
I bought The Daily Show writers' book about America yesterday. It reads like a textbook, so I still managed to fall asleep on it. The bookstore Amy and I went to sold select bestsellers for forty percent off; I could not resist when I saw Jon Stewart lying on the table. My love infatuations are torn between Jon Stewart, Steve Irwin, and that British guy who hosts occasional ancient history specials on PBS.
Elliott's commentary on how dirty lying liars make him feel gullible made me think of my manager, Keri, who ranted at me for twenty minutes last night as we closed about Rebecca (an assistant manager) requesting off tonight to study for a test, an excuse Keri believes is entirely fabricated. Keri felt taken advantage of and she raved for quite a while before asking, "Lauree, do you think I'm being a B-I-T-C-H [she spelled it out]; am I over reacting?" I had been attempting desperately to wipe everything down and clean the store for closing as I usually do while still looking interested in Keri's conversation with me-but-more-herself; her question sort of threw me. I cannot tell a lie: I chopped down the cherry tree and liked it, but I managed to cop out of a real response by saying I hadn't known Rebecca long enough to pass judgment. People who ask those sorts of things thoroughly irritate me, because I know dadgum well Keri did not want my actual opinion. She wouldn't have liked it.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:25 AM]
My Husband Beats Me
Saturday, October 02, 2004
The laws of physics are my enemy. At the fair last night Amy and I rode something (the name of which eludes me) that spins the cars around a looped track for three or four minutes. Seated on the outside, I got smashed against the side of the car. Amy seemed to be enjoying herself too much, so every time gravity pushed her against me, I punched her shoulder, which did not force her off but did make me feel better about the situation. This morning I awoke with a blue-red bruise to my arm and my ribcage, as well as neck stiffness. But it was worth it. I like getting bruised, because bruises are something to poke at when I get bored.
I work tonight with the desperate hope that the trash of Lubbock all decide to converge at the fair (this is its last night) rather than the mall. My stomach aches from that turkey leg and the fried cheesecake. Frying cheesecake gives it a mushy sort of texture that I did not much care for- cold cheesecake tastes better. Amy ate a fried Snickers which proved most decadent. I paid five dollars to play some game that won a five-inch tall Cookie Monster doll. "C" is for "crooks".
Tomorrow I set aside for studying. This afternoon Amy and I will apply for employment at the bookstore ("Hastings", a chain neither of us had heard of previously). I have to hobble to the university bookstore before it closes for the purpose of acquiring red scantrons on which to take the art appreciation exam Monday. The campus sold out of orange scantrons; I'm glad to have avoided that melee.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 1:04 PM]
Saltshakers
Friday, October 01, 2004
Keri mentioned the Lubbock Fair, which Amy and I intend to crash at some point after Amy finishes the movie she popped into the DVD player a moment ago. I am too disoriented to maintain interest in something with a plot, which leads me to the computer lab for mindless Internet wandering until it is time to go eat turkey legs smothered in mustard. Mmm... goodness.
Last night Robert went to a new friend's birthday party, without Amy, which meant she was available to pick me up from work and preoccupy me until bedtime. We sat outside the dorm talking, she with a cigarette to smoke and I with Kermie to cuddle. We did not look at all pathetic. Afterward I could not sleep (as a result of drinking too much Diet Coke with Lime again), tossing until about three, reawakening at four-thirty, and rolling, exhausted thoroughly, off the bed at seven-thirty to study for the Logic exam for which I had not studied the night prior. The multiple choice portion of the exam was a veritable minefield, for each question had multiple answers, if, indeed, it had solutions at all. Scheisse. The applications followed the homework format; I either got them all correct or I answered everything consistently wrong. I am frightened.
Score on the first classical mythology exam: 88. Scheisse. Had I missed five rather than six questions, it would have been an "A". Next time I shall review the test before I turn it in. Now the instructor likes me, though, after she discovered I am a Classics major. She teaches the mythology and advanced Latin courses, which means I'll probably have her again next fall when I enroll in the third Latin course (next semester I take the comprehensive first-second year review). This professor has a good sense of humour, and she teaches the course through a sociological perspective I understand very well. The class receives a general ausgezeichnet rating on the Lauree Scale.
After mythology today I took an hour long nap before Amy and Robert entered the room carrying a basket of Robert's laundry. I still feel peaky-eyed and would very much like to continue that course of inaction, but I cannot concentrate on diving into the subconscious realm with the television blaring. I require utter darkness and silence. Maybe I'm too needy.
Sparky sent me a letter. His mother is doing well [I specifically inquired when I wrote him; I love Momma Sparks]. At his place of employment Sparky was pushing carts and managed to slam smack into a column, which cut his eyebrow open. I now call him Sparky-Scarface. The boy slaves away at school (drafting classes) when he doesn't work. I would bake him cookies, but I have only a microwave. I could send a hotdog.
The last school loan finally went through, but somehow a balance of $36.33 remains. Later tonight I'll bring my bank routing number to the lab in order to pay that part off. Then it will be done until next semester's nightmare. On that note today the first of my pitiful paychecks arrives. I need to find a campus job to cover the first part of the week (I work in the mall Thursday through the weekend, usually).
I suppose I shall cease the babble to print off the mythology notepacket for next week and the readings from Ovid's Metamorphoses. Ovid thrills me- poor, tragic Ovid.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 2:43 PM]