One thing I like about winter is that it facilitates my self-improvement efforts. Deterred from my warm-weather habit of just bummin' around (walking, biking, sitting on a balcony somewhere), I have plenty of time to devote to such self-improvement initiatives as 1) reading a set number of books; 2) having stuff done to my hair; 3) working on the knitting projects I've started over the years; 4) paying semiregular attention to my blog, and other bloglike services. And so on. This is not to say that I wouldn't magically make the air 75 degrees right now, because if I would, I could. But I also appreciate this inside time which has allowed me to be so productive lately.

Still plugging away at the anthology, though one of the stories I read yesterday (Double Exposure) I was less than fond of. In it, the adult narrator recalls the time when, as a ten year old child, he met Sylvia Plath. He and his mother were living in England in an apartment not far from Sylvia's, and they ran into her one day en route to meeting her elderly neighbor. Lonely and bored, S. invited the two of them for tea the next day, during which date the three of them exchanged polite conversation and ate pastries. That was the narrator's only meeting with S.: she committed suicide a few days later. Eventually, the narrator went on to write poetry (not very good), then give up writing because of his evident lack of skill. Said narrator also went on to abandon women - much, in fact, as his own mother and S. had been "abandoned."

Hypothetically, at least, I don't have a problem with an author using a major historical figure as a character in a story. It's an interesting challenge, to be sure, requiring one to incorporate enough fact to make the figure recognizable as him or herself, but also to add enough person spin on said figure so that he/she does not appear wooden: a mere congregation of the well-known tidbits. That was my problem with this story: the Sylvia character was wooden. Her dialogue was rendered awkward by the author's blunt insertion of historical facts in places where no such pronouncements would normally occur ("Oh, please, don't call me Mrs. Hughes - 'Hughes' is the name of my ex-husband, not me"). Maybe I'm being picky. Or maybe I'm not. After all, I didn't start the reading of this story with a chip on my shoulder; I'd never heard of the author, and I was pleased (initially) with the appearance of such a famous figure in such an otherwise unassuming place. Maybe this story just serves to testify to the difficulty of writing quality historical fiction...

In other news, I am freezing my ass off. My house is plenty warm, but the office, with its ceiling-high plate glass windows, feels like an igloo. Scratch that: igloos are supposed to be warm. Right? The temp this morning was -10 - nothing, compared to what's going on in the Midwest/Maine - and I think the high for today is supposed to be 9. I am whining, yes I know, but I am incapable of surviving these low temperatures! My fingers are icicles! I cannot physically move any closer to the space heater, lest my pants ignite!

This wknd: Boston, thesis work, baked goods, movies, & other assorted fun things. Bonus fun: three day weekend.

Braving the elements from in here.

Yes, that's right: another storm anticipated tonight. I wasn't even aware of this impending "weather," as we Minnesotans like to say, until my mom called me (in the middle of the dinner I was at) and said, "Well, I know you don't watch the news, so I thought I'd tell you that there's going to be a massive snowstorm out East."

I was indignant! I do watch the news, though I didn't today. I read more news online, too (though many of you wouldn't believe it since I'm always only posting links from Yahoo, but that's because I have a Yahoo address I use only for online shopping/signing up for stuff, and I sometimes run into mildly interesting human interest stories en route to checking that acct. You know.). But, in the end, I was glad for the advance warning. Back from the dinner, I am in my slippers sipping cocoa and preparing to edit this cover letter.

This will probably sound dumb, given our country's current economic state, but I'm excited to be applying for jobs. My excitement owes largely to the facts that 1) I have five months until graduation, and so the real urgency of needing new employment hasn't set in; and 2) the job I'm applying for is pretty damned awesome, and it's in my dream city - which is very likely where I'll be living next year(!) I don't want to share too many details - nothing is finalized, after all - but I am getting psyched for post-graduation life.

Query: do any of you, reader friends, have job search/application tips you'd be willing to share? It is certainly true that I've never had a real job hunt. (For those who may be wondering, I went straight from undergrad to grad school, an assistantship lined up for me when I got here, so I didn't have to find employment on my own.) Indeed, it is strange, this job hunting.

I am freaking out in my brain.

Though I did, several posts ago, poo-pooh NYResolutions, what I didn't realize is that I'd soon be fulfilling a sort of constant, un [or under-] stated resolution of mine: catching up on the last ten years' worth of movies. It is no secret that I am painfully, woefully - almost unbelievably - behind the times when it comes to movies. Case in point: Saturday, E and I went to Blockbuster, so anxious were we to begin season two of "How I Met Your Mother" that we could not wait for Netflix! Of course, season two was completely checked out, so we scooted to the comedy section. I casually remarked that I'd never seen "American Pie," and Eric stopped cold. A woman in the next aisle over stopped cold. I stopped cold.
"Are you serious?" He asked, though he knew I was.
"Well," I said, in a paltry gesture of self-defense, "I figured that I'd heard all the jokes from it, so why should I actually see it?" But, even I was not convinced by this lame explanation.
Mid-length story short, I finally watched "American Pie." And you know what? It wasn't bad. Yes, I'd heard the jokes before, integral to our pop-cultural fabric as they are, but the storyline was also kind of cute. AND, for the first time in a long, long time, I actually remembered high school: the gossip, the absolute horror at bodily malfunctions (of self, of others), my [admittedly brave] choice of asking a totally random dude to prom - and then going with him, and then not dancing the entire time. Prom: O.M.G. What an ordeal. I don't think I've ever seen so many girls crying in a public bathroom.

Also in fulfillment of this unstated yet critical resolution was my viewing of "Anchorman," which I also [surprisingly] enjoyed. What's going on, here? Why am I enjoying these movies which I would previously have sniffed at? There's been a major shift in my sense of humor. Scratch that: in my public sense of humor.

Right now, I am minorly freaking out in my brain. In approximately two hours, I'll be teaching my first winter creative writing course and I am terrified. What's new? you may think (those of you acquainted with my terror). And the answer is, not too much, except the intensity of said terror. Aaaaaaaaaah(!)

WINTER BREAK! YEAH! I am so cozy: all my gifts are wrapped and the cranberry candle is burning and I just ate a delicious sandwich and I found my mittens. Winter break mode! Has finally set in.

Tidbits

It's finally winter: the season of Netflix. This weekend, we had two huge snowstorms - school was actually canceled on Friday, the last day of finals. We stayed inside, ordered Chinese food, watched "The Dark Knight." Having seen it, I can't say I feel too bad about having waited this long...meh. Overhyped, in my opinion. BUT: back to Netflix: I need to update my queue because all that's on it at the moment is "How I Met Your Mother" (as many discs as allowed) and "Who Killed John Lennon?" And I might delete the latter. Movie suggestions, anyone?

Ali and I went skiing yesterday, despite the horrible road conditions and subsequently ueberdangerous drive(s) to & from the hill. It's strange: I love skiing, although I'm inexperienced [read: not too good] at it. This affinity for the snow sport defies my usual behavior pattern of hating & scorning things I'm not good at - for example, basketball, public speaking, singing, dancing, and so on. In most cases, I fervently avoid activities for which my skills are underdeveloped. Don't we all? But skiing: skiing is a horse of another color. I'd really like to be good at it, and the only way for me to get better is to practice, despite looking like an ass whilst practicing. But good news: I did not fall once while disembarking a chairlift yesterday. Jawesome.

Well, A. & I found out the hard way that our landlord is less than fastidious about having the parking lot/alley plowed. Last night and this morning, I got stuck trying to enter/exit the parking lot because there is so freaking much accumulation. True, Toyotas don't handle exceptionally well in the snow, but there are at least eight or nine inches of snow in the alleyway. And that is bullshit.

Hell yes!

Finally, I am done with the semi-annual gradeathon! Yes, Sunday and Monday I forged through the insane amount of work I created for myself (using various methods of procrastination/accompanied by bouts of balking). Handed back my students' unit three papers yesterday, and the semester is mostly downhill from here. Get this, though: one of my students, after receiving his paper and as he exited the classroom, called me a bitch. This student, I assume, was disappointed with his paper grade. Such is life. Still: WTF? You don't do the work, you don't get an A. End of story.

In other, less obscenity-riddled news, I'll be teaching my creative writing course during winter break, and I am psyched. When I applied last year for a creative writing position, I received a continuing ed slot to be taught during J-Term. I didn't really know what to expect in terms of enrollment; I got a letter notifying me that minimum enrollment was eight students, that if I didn't reach this quota my class would be cancelled and I'd be given a mini-stipend as compensation for my planning. This did freak me out a bit, and I continued being freaked out as the enrollment held steady at six. But, sometime last week, two more students signed up: the class is on!

It's going to be intense: a semester's worth of work condensed into three [four day] weeks. It's going to be awesome.

It will be strange, not going home for winter break. Every year for the past six, I've headed back to MN for a monthlong (or sixweeklong) stretch of arguable R&R. My time was equally divided between working (random part time jobs; more recently, subbing in the public schools) and reading. Here, most of my time will be spent working: teaching, at the key office, on my thesis. Work, work, work, and the gray sky getting dark earlier every night. To keep from going nuts, I'm planning: 1) to go to the gym as often as possible; 2) a few ski trips; 3) to resume where I left off with various craft projects. Strategies: oh yeah!

I am procrastinating: yes, it's true. The semester ends in nine days - is that right? - and I still have a pile of unit three papers to grade, but what am I doing? Reading Perez. Brewing endless cups of tea. Creating excruciatingly detailed lists in googledocs. And Xmas shopping. My day was in some senses productive - I paid bills, went to the gym, graded other student work, looked over last night's workshop critiques, grocery shopped, cleaned. Just not productive in the sense I'm looking for.

Sunday, I started reading Carole Maso's Defiance, and I hate to say that I'm a little disappointed. This judgment will most likely prove to be premature (I'm only 35 pages in), but the language seems flattened out, normative. I read Ava and Aureole about two years ago, one after the other. These were books I couldn't put down, the language was so of its own creation. Defiance, though...
Has anyone else read it? Would anyone like to discredit the above statements and give me hope for the remainder of the book?

I am kicking myself now! In allowing myself to become so preoccupied with sundry procrastinatory activities (i.e., browsing around TJ Maxx), I totally forgot to buy Candy Cane Joe-Joes! CRAP.