it's been a long time...

... since I wrote in here.

Starting in approximately two weeks, I will be a member of the University of South Alabama College of Medicine Class of 2012.


(Also, I love this song. It's like poetry, except with music, which is even better. Buy it, because it's worth your money.)

at night we crossed the border, following a black robe
to the edge of the reservation to Cataldo Mission
where the saints and all the martyrs look down on dying converts
what makes the water holy she says is that that it’s the closest thing to rain

I stole a mule from Anthony—I helped Anne up upon it
and we rode to Coeur d’Alene, through Harrison and Wallace
they were blasting out the tunnels, making way for the light of learning
when Jesus comes a’calling, she said, he’s coming round the mountain on a train

it’s my home—last night I dreamt that I grew wings
I found a place where they could hear me when I sing

we floated on to Hanford on a lumber boat up river
past the fisheries and the milltowns like a stretch of future graveyards
she was driven to distraction—said I wonder what will happen
when they find out they’re mistaken and the land is too changed to ever change
we waded through the marketplace—someone’s ship had come in
there was silver and begonias, dynamite and cattle
there were hearts as big as apples and apples in the shape of Mary’s heart
I said inside this gilded cage a songbird always looks so plain

it’s my home—last night I dreamt that I grew wings
I found a place where they could hear me when I sing

and so they came with cameras, breaking through the morning mist
press and businessmen, tycoons, Episcopal philanthropists
lost in their appraisal of the body of a woman
but all we saw were lowlands, clouds clung to mountains without strings

and at last we saw some people...
and at last we saw some people
huddled up against the rain that was descending like railroad spikes and hammers
they were headed for the border
walking and then running, then they were gone into the fog
but anne said underneath their jackets she saw wings...

. josh ritter, "wings"

More updates to come...

The peace protesters were out on Airport Road today. For those of you who aren't from Huntsville, the intersection of Airport and Whitesburg is one of the busiest in town. Frequently on sunny Saturdays a group of ten or fifteen well-meaning citizens will congregate on this corner and hold up signs with sayings such as "END THE WAR." Now, while I don't agree with their politics (while I agree that it was probably not the wisest decision to enter the war in the first place, I don't think that immediate withdrawal from Iraq is a viable or safe solution to our problems), I do admire their idealism and dedication. However, I have to ask: is this a productive way to spend time? What, exactly, are they accomplishing by standing at an intersection waving posters around? They no doubt offend quite a few people, given that Huntsville is a largely military-populated city in the middle of a red state; I'm sure they expect this. But other than that, what is the purpose of this activity? I highly doubt anyone is going to change their vote based on a posterboard on a stick. If they are really, truly passionate about the cause of peace, why not do something? Write a letter to a congressman. Campaign for a specific candidate. Get involved in the political process. While I don't identify myself with the political left, I have a lot of respect for the passion I've seen in a lot of them and they seem to overall have more enthusiasm for politics than conservatives generally do. But why not put this passion toward something productive instead of standing on a random street corner?
Just a thought.

Happy Easter!

love & hate.

five things i love:
1. The song "The Temptation of Adam" by Josh Ritter. You can listen to a gorgeous live NPR recording of it here if you're interested.
2. The fact that Josh, along with Ingrid Michaelson, is coming to Bottletree on May 4th and that I will be there.
3. The sheer talent of both actresses in Notes on a Scandal. Judi Dench and Cate Blanchett are absolutely, 100 percent perfect. Both of them capture the roles with such subtlety. That fight scene at the end, where Cate's wearing all the eyeliner... wow. Go see it. (Side note: I really want to see I'm Not There. I am thoroughly convinced of her ability to play a man and it just makes me curious.)
4. Go-Gurt. Remember those? Well, turns out they only have 70 calories apiece and they taste amazing if you keep them in the freezer. It's like an ice cream popsicle, except in flavors like "Scooby Doo's Cool Fruit Punch." The downside: You have to hunt to find a package that doesn't include the "Cotton Candy" flavor.
5. www.toothpastefordinner.com. Some of my favorites:
> know your body type
> movie quote (the story of my life)
> fifth day


five things i hate:
1. capital letters. enough said. i was probably e. e. cummings in a former life. (is he dead?)
2. FACEBOOK APPLICATIONS. No thank you, I do not want to "add some dope bling" to your profile. Nor do I want to give you a "werewolf hug." I'm only trying to find your wall amongst the colorful chaos that has abducted everything useful that used to be on your profile.
3. The fact that whoever lives directly above me feels the need to play the piano and the drums every day at such times as, oh, say 12:30 am. It varies, but it is always when I'm trying to sleep. Come on, have a little common sense or something.
4. A low of 34 degrees tonight when it is snowing pretty much everywhere north of here. That is probably the worst temperature I can think of: cold enough to be miserable but not cold enough for any fun precipitation.
5. The song "Your Body Is A Wonderland" by John Mayer. I kind of want to throw up every time I hear it, it's so awful.

because i love high fidelity...

TOP FIVE DREAM JOBS:
1) Music coordinator for film and television, Los Angeles
I am not even joking, this is an actual job: creating soundtracks for movies and TV. I'd spend part of the day negotiating with record companies for broadcast rights, the other part of the day listening to the scads of free CDs I've received in the mail from up-and-coming bands, and every night go to a concert. I'm still in awe of the fact that people get paid for this.

2) Actress, National Theatre, London (the RSC or the West End would be all right too; I'm including them in this category.)
Okay, so the American accent might be a problem. But I'm thinking that once I broke into the scene, myriads of playwrights would begin writing in the role of the quirky American girl into their shows so that I could be in them. Or else someone would just teach me to pull off British.

3) Casting director, National Theatre, London
I would get to go see plays and showcases every night, probably with killer seats, for the sole purpose of scoping out talent so that I could recommend people to directors and help with their casting choices.

4) Entertainment journalist, Paste magazine. (Rolling Stone would be fine as well. Really, I'm not picky.)
I'd review music, books, movies, etc., which means I'd get a bunch of them for free, and force share my opinions and favorites with the world. So basically-- getting paid for what I do already.

5) Pediatric endocrinologist
Treating kids with hormonal disorders-- diabetes, growth hormone deficiency, thyroid problems, etc.

Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning when I wake up, I think, "Maybe today Physics 102 will have some sort of relevance or application to my life." And every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning at 9:15 my hopes are once again crushed against the classroom floor. Today, in the ten-minute working by my professor of a problem involving one entire blackboard, countless variables and unthinkably small numbers, and something about the number of electrons passing through a copper wire, I couldn't help but stare in amazement at the sheer ridiculousness (is that a word?) of the problem. I almost started laughing when he brought in the concept of the "mole," something that I thought I had gladly left behind in my days of general chemistry. Meanwhile, my professor's rapidly increasing energy level (no doubt due to his daily caffeine intake of one Diet Coke with Lime per class period) is causing the decibel level of his voice to rise to approximately the level of an excited Baptist preacher. (There's a reason why churches are built bigger than science classrooms.) And let me assure you, hellfire and damnation are much more interesting than electron-volts.

Anyway, I've begun to perfect my "fascinated/studious/I'm-absorbing-every-word-you-say" face, while in reality I am wishing I was anywhere but sitting in an uncomfortable chair, pretending to fastidiously copy down every exponent and every unit of measurement, when in reality I am actually watching the second hand on my watch tick, which I'm pretty sure slows down as soon as I walk into that classroom. Maybe that's the physics problem we should be solving -- how the department has created a time-warp state that makes every class feel like it lasts three hours.

I'm really not like this in all my classes. I promise.

Sometimes the numbers say it all.

42: Number of minutes before my first class I woke up this morning. (That number gets smaller every day.)

3: Number of different VeggieTales ties my physics professor has worn so far this semester. Today it was the Pirates Who Don't Do Anything, Monday it was Christmas themed (yes, in February) and the first day of school I believe it was a French Peas motif.

3: Average number of episodes of House M.D. referenced by Dr. Hunsinger in any given pathology class.

14: Average number of times I forget to pay attention in any given pathology class.

40: Estimated percentage of Samford that is currently sick with the flu.

11: Number of dollars I spent on echinacea and Airborne yesterday in order to avoid contracting the flu.

8: Number of days ago that I ordered all of my textbooks. (Not one has come in yet.)

10: Approximate number of copies of Medea contained in Samford's library.

2: Number of copies of Medea in Samford's library that are in English.

1: Number of copies of Medea in Samford's library that is in English and is not written on heavily in blue ink on every single page.

366: Number of Shakespearean insults I paid for when I bought my page-a-day calendar at the Globe Theatre.

314: Number of Shakespearan insults actually contained in the aforementioned page-a-day calendar; those sneaks put every Saturday and Sunday sharing the same page and therefore sharing the same insult.

10: Number of times today I have wished I was still in London.

welcome to samford!

Last night, just before I went to bed and just after I had spent approximately three hours being crafty (I love not having homework yet) I made a wonderfully virtuous decision. I was going to wake up at eight o'clock in the morning, three HOURS before the start of my first class, and go to the gym. I know, I know. "You shouldn't have!" you're thinking. "You deserve your beauty sleep!" But having not seen the gym in over six weeks, I was determined. So eight hours later, I stumbled out of bed, visions dancing across my mind of myself happily jogging on the treadmill, stomach fat melting away. I donned my best workout gear, and Ruth and I got in the car (separate cars, she usually lasts about three times as long as me at these workout sessions) and drove over to the gym. I know it sounds ridiculous to drive to the gym that is on campus, but it's about a 20-minute walk and it's freezing outside. But once we get there, we realize that there is NO parking whatsoever. Apart from the three empty faculty spaces and the eight empty handicapped spaces. (At the gym. I know. Call me insensitive, but sometimes I wonder.) After a few minutes of driving around in circles, we realize that we have, in fact, been defeated by the sorority house residents who use the Hanna Center lot as their personal parking spaces, and no one looks like they're leaving anytime soon. So our choice was to either risk a $30 parking ticket or go back home. We chose the latter. Obviously someone up there was trying to prevent me from working out. Slightly irritated, I return to my room, looking forward to my hot shower. However, once I get in the shower, the water stayed hot for approximately two minutes, just long enough for me to wash my face, before turning ICE cold. We're not talking lukewarm... I might as well have been bathing in the Alps.

So I'm currently sitting here with a clean face and dirty, wet hair, (stomach fat still intact, muscles unworked) waiting to get back in the shower until the water temperature slightly resembles warm.

I just love Samford.