Quit While You're Ahead

I just finished a draft of my second essay for tomorrow and proofread the draft of my first one, and the first one is good. I suspect that this is because I'm so tired that my eyes don't focus and I'm perpetually dizzy, but I think I'm going to quit while I'm ahead. And if I sleep now, Obama will still have a shot at winning Indiana. I'm going to pretend that I'm a good writer and that this primary will end tomorrow and dream about glitter and ponies before my alarm goes off and I find that I've misspelled everything and the primary will last until both candidates lose to McCain in the worst three-way ever in November and everything sucks a little worse.

Cinco de Mayo!

Unexpected result of moving to the UK #254: I've become a Mexican nationalist.

Who knew that I could miss actual tortilla chips so much? Or that I would be deeply distressed that nobody was celebrating Cinco de Mayo with really cheap, completely inauthentic margaritas? Abby and I went to The Mission for burritos for lunch, and I had a fajita and carnitas burrito that I repeatedly tasted in burp form for the rest of the afternoon, but which was (as far as burritos go) nothing short of a masterpiece. (Did I eat the bottom of Abby's chicken and guacamole burrito with a fork, even though I was already sort of in the throw-up zone? Maybe I did, and MAYBE I DID.)

I remember a bunch of the Rhodes Scholars trying to recreate quesadillas and chips y salsa in a fit of nostalgia and basically pulling it off except for these weird, bastard Doritos that only approximated tortilla chips, and I felt a stirring of pride when R. Dave made tacos and Erika had the first taco of her life. It was like watching the miracle of birth, except it was cleaner and less terrifying. (At least, it was until the casserole dish we were using to heat the taco shells exploded on the stove, at which point it was basically a wash.)

That being said, there are two things wrong with this picture:



First of all, Cinco de Mayo is not celebrating Mexican independence, as Mexico celebrates its independence on September 16th. Secondly, I can't believe that you get a free burrito for dressing like a Mexican. I should have just pointed to my tee-shirt and been like, "um, you'll notice that this is green, which was the color of Che Guevara's freedom fighters when they ousted Napoleon at the Battle of San Juan Hill. You know, on Cinco de Mayo."

Cat Fancy

Since I'm trying (desperately) to live in North Oxford and not in the Graduate Centre next year, I spent the afternoon with R. Dave, Debs, and Mark touring houses. It was cute, and the houses were great - which means that if there isn't space in one of them and I do end up back in the Grad Centre, it's going to be that much more painful. (To put this in context, I described my green bedspread, red carpet, red and off-white furniture and multicolored, multipatterned blue, red, green, and yellow curtains to a friend of mine, and he commented that it sounded like a bag of Skittles had exploded and dried. This is what I'm trying to avoid for next year.)

On the way back, we stopped at Green's Cafe and got to talking about ROFLCon and memes, and it occurred to us at some point that cats are way overrepresented on the internet. Like, there are LOLcatz, Stuff On My Cat, social networking and cat profiles at Cat Fancy, and (in the worst of taste), Kitlers. We decided that this is because the Venn diagram of "people who own too many cats" and "people who spend too much time on the internet" is basically one enormous circle.

To remedy this, I've been repeatedly watching the video of the sleepy bear, which has been terrible for my productivity. Not just because I'm watching bears instead of proofreading this article, but because it makes me want to slowly fall asleep and mash my face into my laptop. Might have done that a couple times tonight.

It's Like a Robin!

I can't believe that it's taken me this long to break out my two-toned, black and turquoise velvet long-sleeved hooded tee. Um, it must be spring?

Semantics

I think I've finished my syllabus for this summer, after substituting things like "is pop culture distracting us from inequality?" for alternatives like "to paraphrase Marx, is pop culture the trendy club drug of the masses?" If my students go back to the US and their takeaway lessons are a crash course in socialist theory and the fine distinctions between ketamine and MDMA, something tells me their parents will be not be pleased.

Pop Quiz

I'm putting together a syllabus for a class I'm teaching this summer on pop culture, and I spent a good chunk of this week trying to brainstorm major moments in pop culture - especially in the last twenty years - that every self-respecting young adult should know. As a result, I've taken to asking every person I've run into what they consider to be the really unforgettable milestones, and the answers are super-fascinating. It's like making them look at blots of ink, except the blots tend to look like things like Calista Flockhart.

I'm making a list, and you get bonus points if it's (a) something I can reproduce for the class or show on a projector, and (b) something socially impactful like the first interracial kiss on Star Trek or Pedro Zamora living with HIV/AIDS on The Real World. Still, there are no right answers, so I'll also take things like the series finale of Seinfeld or Vanessa Williams, Richard Hatch, and Janet Jackson flashing various parts of their naked selves if that's really what struck you the most. Especially if you were struck blind.

Step Away from the Altar

I should preface this by saying I've talked to a couple of people who had this reaction and I don't feel quite as crazy as I did at the time, but I was reading Benoit Denizet-Lewis's piece on young, married gay couples and as soon as I read about the Brandons, I found myself thinking that I kind of want to get married. Like, now. And then I checked myself before I wrecked myself, and slowly closed my computer and went for a walk to clear my head.


SINCE WHEN HAVE I WANTED TO BE MARRIED. And why do I find the Brandons particularly adorable!? Hell, as a matter of principle, I don't think people should be allowed to date people who have the same name as them. (I've kept this as a hard and fast rule for years, and while I know a couple named Brian and Ryan and I'll grudgingly let that slide, I've voiced disapproval for unique spellings like Chris and Kris and bilingually equivalent couples like Michael and Miguel.) I did eventually finish the article and even though I was wracked with guilt, I still had this nagging sense of cuteness that I couldn't shake. I felt like I should take a cold shower or something, but instead, I looked at divorce statistics. Maybe I could settle for a boyfriend and a sunny kitchen to host the occasional vegan potluck and that'd be fine.

(That said, Paul McLoughlin is in the article, and I'm a huge fan of both Paul and his partner. We took gay self-defense together back in the day, and I plotzed a little when I saw him in the NYT piece.)