Moot Point

brenda says:
Can I say “hanging out” in an essay?
Wrenkin says:
Maybe
brenda says:
That seems informal.
Wrenkin says:
Whatever.
Wrenkin says:
I’m always informal.
Wrenkin says:
Well, while being formal.
Wrenkin says:
I’m odd.
brenda says:
You’re totally formal. You’re one of the formallest people I know.
While still being informal.
I try not to be forced-formal, but “hanging out” seems borderline. But he’s not really doing anything besides hanging out.
Wrenkin says:
Well, like I wear button down shirts, bit not tucked in… and wool over coat, with pumas. I’m weird. Well, if you want to be square you can put it in quotes.
Wrenkin says:
This essay is such bullshit.
brenda says:
Quotes is too square. I think hanging out is enough a part of the lexicon that I can say it without scare quotes.
….
[Excerpts from his essay redacted]
….
brenda says:
I have to write about a urinal. How can you write about a urinal in an academic context?!
Wrenkin says:
I dunno.
Wrenkin says:
Psychoanalytically?
brenda says:
No, it’s just like, he sees the security camera in the bathroom while he’s standing in front of the urinal pretending to pee so he waves at the guard. How can I talk about pee?
Wrenkin says:
I dunno.
Wrenkin says:
Just do it.
brenda says:
What’s the formal essay way to say “pee”? I can’t use “urinate” in the same sentence as “urinal”.
Wrenkin says:
Yes you can.
Wrenkin says:
relieved himself?
brenda says:
I hate “relieved himself.”
Wrenkin says:
Umm… vacuuate or however you spell it? Or is that not for pee?
Wrenkin says:
Well, relieved himself just works.
Wrenkin says:
You can be circumspect…. set himself to the task at hand…
Wrenkin says:
etc
Wrenkin says:
Kinda obvious since he’s in front of a urinal.
Wrenkin says:
Don’t have to spell it out.
brenda says:
Yeah, you’re probably right. I hit these roadblocks a lot. You should have seen me when I was writing about David Lynch.
brenda says:
Oh. Wait. You did. We left 1,000 comments on each others’ websites. :)
Wrenkin says:
:)

Apartment hunt: ON!

I saw a one-bedroom place near Bloor & Ossington this afternoon, and I really liked it: parquet floors, living room, tiny kitchen, bathroom to be redone, slopey ceilings, cable and utilities included. It’s in my price range, and the third floor of a house. Which means, not a basement (!).
It also has a tiny tiny balcony that looks out on the house next door, which fulfills my lifelong dream of having a balcony. I kind of love it.

I’m seeing another tomorrow near Dufferin.

I watched The Last Waltz the other night, and somebody has a new crush.

BREN: Would you be jealous if I found Robbie Robertson really attractive?
ALEX: Well, he’s kind of old now.
BREN: I know, I just have a crush on him from when this movie was made.
ALEX: Oh, that’s okay then.
BREN: My crushes are very historically specific.

That’s the last time I say I’m in a good mood:

Today:

1) The train shut down because of a “power failure” at High Park this morning. (You never know with the TTC). I had to spend half an hour on a bus with dumb people to get from Keele to Royal York. With dumb people. Guy in front of me: “Is this bus going to Kipling?” Driver: “Yes.” Someone behind me: “This is the subway shuttle?” Driver: “Yeah, Westbound shuttle.” Guy in front me (again): “This bus goes to Kipling?” Driver: “Yes!”

2) I missed meal hall poutine for lunch. Poutine! They only do poutine a couple times a year. That was my last chance for poutine.

3) It was Chicken Fried Rice night. I had to go out for food.
3a) Then I lost ten of my thirteen dollars of change.

4) The DVD of Sans Soleil we were watching in class crapped out so we didn’t get to the end.

5) It snowed.

I have to go. I think I’m having a neck spasm.

So? I don’t know if anyone noticed, but there is a new visitor to the northern hemisphere and his name? It’s Mr. Sun!

I love spring. All the best things happen in spring.

For some reason I can’t get “Hotel Yorba” out of my head. And I can’t stop dancing around while I sing it to myself.

In between watching Gilmore Girls.

And not writing my essay.

I think the name for this is “spring fever.”

The other name is “three essays left.”

All they got inside is vacancy

I’ve got to go read some Foucault.

So now Rebeckler is annoying Americans too..
Lindsayism is all shocked. She doesn’t realize that this woman has a column in a national newspaper. Every week. (Does she still have a column? I don’t really read actual newspapers, especially not the Rebeckler part.)

On a Charlie Brown-hapless penloser note, Alex (pen hero) found a store that sells the pens I like. In red. It’s dreamy. (I think a pen is dreamy? Who am I?)

In other news, I have a confession to make: I can’t stop watching downloaded episodes of Gilmore Girls. Okay, I like The OC, but in a charming, critical, semi-ironic way. The thing is, I like these girls of Gilmore in a similar way, but I, more than that, find them actually, like, compelling. I sympathize with Lorelai’s annoying charm. And love of coffee.
I’m actually justifying the ridiculous amount of coffee I’ve been drinking because Lorelai does it, so it must be okay.

Only three more weeks of schoool !

Aaah.

Did anyone notice that in my last post, both of the “upsides” to the longness of my days involved gentlemen giving me baked goods?

I never said I was complicated.

It has been a long couple of days. I had that essay due this afternoon, which I, zombie-like, completed at 10-something this morning. I could barely keep my eyes open.
Never again.
So I have been exhaustedly pretending I know anything at all about documentary, which I totally don’t.

Also, despite having to write an essay and being kind of tired yesterday, I still had to go to school and work. Then I had to go to Alex’s house for his birthday dinner. I ate his parent’s food, got my croissant stolen by the dog, looked at pictures of little Alex (also, less little, George Clooney-collarless shirt Alex), told Alex I’m glad he was born, and went back to trying to sound smart.

Then, today, my prof explained our two-hour exam. It’s an exam that will consist of a question or questions relating to material studied this term that can be answered in two hours. She won’t tell us what it will focus on, because to her, the point is that we review the entire year. The date of this test? The Tuesday of the last week of classes. Because we totally have time to review an entire semester of readings in the last week of classes. I don’t have two essays due that week. Oh, no wait. I do!

Yeah. On the upside, my coffee guy saw how sad and tired I was, so he gave me a cookie. I like my coffee guy.

And Alex gave me some leftover pie. Half a pie.

I definitely owe someone some karma.

You know what’s a bad idea? But not actually as bad an idea as it sounds? Writing an essay from scratch in two days.
I mean, as ideas go, it’s bad.
But, it does require you to write and work with an efficiency and focus that is reserved for those times when you are forced to do something at the last possible second.
Unfortunately, the lack of outside research kind of makes it look like something I wrote at the last possible second.
Not so bad.
Until you get tired.
Lalalala.
What? Three more pages?

A month from now this will all be over.

Edit: I just noticed I wrote: “In fact, Spurlock’s mixture of modes is in fact merely a re-crafting of the expository mode,” etc. in my introduction. There are so many things wrong with that.

Oh, Starbucks, you tantalizing wench, just when I think I’m free of your charms, you find another way to tempt me.

I had a Caramel Mocha tonight. I left my room in a sugar-withdrawal frenzy and hurried to the absolute nearest *$ franchise. (I have mentioned before how densely Starbucksed my neighbourhood is, I know. I would much rather go to a quality local-owned business, but that’s not what’s in my Indigo.) Anyway, the beverage: Caramel. Mocha. With whipped cream and caramel on top. I had seen the signs advertising this latest sugar=packed abomination and it had been dismissed as being way too sweet. Tonight though, it was all I wanted.
And, oh, so good. The coffee was really just background for the (delicious) intermingling of the chocolate and caramel flavours. It was so rich. It was like liquid luxury.

Ironically, I just finished watching Super Size Me.

But I’m also writing an essay about the narrative and expository strategies of aforementioned in two days (today and tomorrow, to be handed in on Tuesday afternoon) so whatever gets me through.

I don’t want to think about how many grams of fat and/or calories it has. Maybe I’ll eat the orange Alex left me.

Sometimes I feel like I’m charmed. Not in the Shannon Doherty-magic way, just the lucky way.

Last night, I goaded Alex into splitting chocolate cake with me because I was really tired and we all know how much girls like chocolate.
(Plus I wanted to sample the desserts at new Fran’s to see if they were different from old Fran’s. The mac-and-cheese was totally different: it had, like, blue cheese in it. Seriously. I don’t think I like new Fran’s as much, despite its sputnik-retro decor. It’s very “upscale diner.” Whereas regular Fran’s is just “diner.” I’m sure there are probably better diners but none that are so close both to my house and to my preferred movie-screening establishment.)

The waiter brought us the bill, whispering so no one would hear, “I forgot to put your cake on the bill, so it’s on the house. Uh, happy anniversary!”
I paused: “Actually…”
Waiter: “Is it?”
Me: “Well, eleven months.* It’s not a real anniversary.“
Alex: “That doesn’t count.”
Waiter: “Eleven months totally counts.”
Me: “Well, it’s, like, a month til real anniversary.”
Waiter: “No, eleven months totally counts.”
Me: “Meh.”
(Waiter leaves.)
Alex: “Hey, it actually is our eleven-month anniversary.”
Me: “Yeah, Jen had a post about her two-month anniversary yesterday and it reminded me.

He did screw up, but it was nonetheless free cake, so we gave him a good tip. (By we, I mean Alex. But I did pay for Indian this weekend, just so the internet doesn’t think I’m living off my boyfriend’s student loan.)

Other times, like when I’m clumping late into class (in my big boy loafers) where I’m supposed to take questions on my big presentation from my intimidating seminar prof and he’s obviously waiting for you, and your whole group is lined up in front of the class and you know he was saying something like, “I’m sure Brenda is on her way…” because when I came in, he said “She has a very distinctive gait.” (By distinctive, he meant “loud.” I’m late to his classes a lot.)

I smiled knowingly and then we went on with the inquisition. By inquisition, I mean the way in which he seemed to suggest that my paper was on the right track and also, said something about how all our papers were really good. Actually, I think “excellent” was the word.

Huh. Maybe I am charmed.

*Though we are the most distigustingly adorable couple in the world, I feel compelled to point out that we don’t, like, celebrate every month or even necessarily note it. But still, eleven months, long time.
As I write this, I realize that the word anniversary implies a whole year. So “two-month anniversary” is technically totally incorrect and I feel weird even writing it. But that’s what I said. So, uh, in the spirit of blog-accuracy, I’m leaving it in.