So it's been a long day.  This semester, my TAing assignment is all for one prof, which means I'm still doing the work at the press but might actually do class-related stuff aside from photocopying.  Huzzah!  Today consisted mostly of working at the press from around 9 a.m. until the start of the class I'll be TAing for at 2, and then I wrote about six pages and read five stories, several of which were longish, two of which were completely unrelated to anything I'm doing for class.  Always a nice reprieve.

The three stories that I read for class are Joyce's "The Sisters," "Eveline," and "The Dead."  That's for the first of my two classes tomorrow, the Joyce seminar.  And I still have to type up the 15 pages for the fiction workshop tomorrow night; everybody has to present 15 pages as a "ticket" into the class.  Since I'm starting to get tired of my current novellas, I'm starting a new project, for which I've recently hammered out the requisite 15 pages (on the typewriter, obviously).  I'm doing some weird stuff that I'm not sure you can actually do in fiction.  Which means, of course, that I immediately believe that there must be some way of doing it.  Of course, this project will be tightly under wraps.

Also, within in the next month, look for either an email or LJ post that's a solicitation for readers of a ms of three novellas and possibly an essay (still have to think that one out).

Time for me to go hurt my fingers in an attempt to learn guitar chords and prove how much of a lamer I am by calling it a night at 9.30.

Dear FList,

So I've been working in the library.  For half of eternity now.  Well, doing my own work.  I have a study carrel in the basement of the library, and it feels like I'm in an episode of The Twilight Zone.  I think I just saw Rod Serling smoking by the stairs.  Anywho, I decided I should eat something because today I've had three cups of coffee, a bottle of Coke, three liters of water, and a pretzel.  That's right--a pretzel.  So I went to the snack bar in the library.

Let's just say that I hate yuppie bastards with their yuppie bank accounts.

I got this thing called the "Bison Basic" because it was the only affordable, meal-like item.  $2.99 for the Bison Basic.  First of all, it doesn't even contain real bison.  It's a slice of turkey with a thinner slice of wax ("provolone") on stale white bread.  Three bucks for that.  Or I could've upgraded and paid $7.99 for a feta and spinach wrap.  Or $8.99 for a ham and swiss pannini sandwich.  Who the hell do they think is going to this library--Bill Gates?  Certainly not the CEOs of the faltering Wall Street financial giants, that's for sure.

But no worries--with the help of three mustard packets, the "Bison Basic" was successfully renamed the "Barely Palatable."  So yes, I ate food today.

Oh god, I think that creature that's on the airplane wings from that episode of The Twilight Zone where William Shatner plays the delusional spaz just walked by the window into my carrel.  EEK!  I mean, ach!

Also, this level of the library is 24-hours quiet.  Which is why this evening's "music" is bothering me.  Oh well, back to working on stuff for fiction, then reading for Study of Lit Remix.

I'm pretty sure the Venerable Dr. Black Jeans [DON'T USE THE ABBREVIATION, PLEASE! I IMPLORE YOU!] told me I should apply to BU just to become a mole in the English Department.  However, since moles have notoriously bad eyesight, I think I'll just be James Bond--who is suave, has good eyesight, and is Sean Connery, to boot.

So why am I posting?  Well, that's a good question.  Here's a note I was going to email out to everybody.  Commence note:

"Dear Lovely Ladies,
"Thank you for being intelligent, wonderful people who do not attempt to pressure me into doing things that I do not wish to do, like playing games of beer pong at a graduate student picnic.  I believe that's conduct unbecoming of a grad student, and those people who engage in it ought to be sacked.  All of you are way too cool for that stuff, and if we were in the '80s or middle school, I would commence telling you all how much you rock my socks off.  Nowadays I'll just have to figure out to write it in 733t.
"Your friend,
"~pH"

Also, I'm engaging in my own forms of stupidity--like having a tomato for lunch/dinner, running up three flights of stairs, and then wincing like Peter Griffin once I sit on my tufon.  And no, chiara_suzuka , this isn't me trying to get you to follow through on your promise of driving forty miles to punch me if I do anything stupid--I think I'm just naturally this stupid.

And let's close this off with an episode of Ultimate Battle Royale.  I thought of this one just this morning, and it could result in the end of the universe...and I'll give you my answer next time as well as selecting the best explanation of those provided.  Now, the rules are:  Of the two parties presented, pick which one you think would win, and then explain why.  You are allowed one super secret option during a round of Ultimate Battle Royale, where you can make up your own results by literally picking a winner (doesn't even have to be in the original proposition) and a rationale from, literally, any outside source.  But since we're doing this on LJ, I'm going to turn off the super secret option.  So it's only the characters listed in the original prompt.

Nathan Fillion, Captain Tightpants, vs. Batman, the Dark Knight.

Okay go.  And now I have to staple 16 copies of a story for workshop, then go to workshop class, then photocopy a bunch of stuff.  Woot.

The honors defense?  Rocked.  Quality Time.  I'd do it again if it didn't require writing another novella.  Now that I'm finished with everything, I think that tomorrow calls for pulling out MacGregor and getting back to the short story biz.  Gotta get myself published now, that's the real test.

My favorite part was...the entire thing.  Actually.  And then the entire defense was riddled with compliments and then ended with lots of compliments and praise.  chiara_suzuka, do me a favor over the next few years and hand me at least a good insult a week.  Between all of the praise I received at Bucknell for my fiction writing and this afternoon, I'll need somebody to keep me grounded.  Anchor me to the earth, if necessary.  I'd rather that my self image not turn into a hot air balloon.  If it does, shoot me down.  Hailstones, cannonballs, harpoon gun.  Turn off the fuel jets.  Whatever.  Gotta keep the ego in check.  Can't turn into a PEZ dispenser.

One incredibly fun moment was channeling Batman and Dante in, as the beloved advisor to English Club described it, "a single breath."  He commented that it was something truly postmodern, if indeed anything can be described as such.  In hindsight, there are probably 8000 additional references that I could have made, but the 8000 I used were, I think, sufficient.

When asked about it as an experiment and if it really mattered, I channeled Batman for the second time of the afternoon, saying, "What good is a dream, if not a blueprint for courageous action?"  A blueprint, indeed.  Hopefully, all blueprints for courageous action will be so rewarding.

But major props to the venerable Dr. Black Jeans and the support of the Grand Old Man of Fiction--they were, really, great helps in this entire process.

MARSHA:  Maybe not getting into grad school is just God's way of telling you that you need to do something else with your life...

That was after six bookmarks, ca. 7 April 2008.  Granted--this was not the first time that my mother had made comments like this.  The following remark was made after I didn't get into the Governor's School for creative writing in my junior year of high school:

MARSHA:  Maybe this is God's way of telling you not to be a writer.

My mother has this fantasy that God wants to bludgeon me into eternal servitude.  Yes, nikeshizu, I think Catholicism is probably to blame for that.  And for the strange churning I get in my stomach every time I consider taking a course of action that would emphasize what I want to do (as opposed to what my parents would like, as vocalized by "God.")  Yeah, right.  Well, if God wanted me to do something else, then...haha!  Foiled!  After receiving six "bookmarks" and nearly abandoning my future to a life of unemployment, today brought some very good, very exciting news.  Thank you, Bucknell!  So I'll be in Lewisburg next year and still near beautiful Susquehanna!  Granted, I won't be living in Selinsgrove or anything, but I'll still be able to pop down, visit Hassinger Hall, hang out with the MLS crew (here's lookin' to you, fivesecondsago), and just enjoy the general awesomeness of the Susquehanna River Valley.

That, and I should have just trusted chiara_suzuka from day one, when she said, "Don't worry.  You will get in somewhere."  Or, more recently, when she quite portentously said, "Philip Roth went to Bucknell.  You'll be fine."  Moral of the story:  Always listen to her.  Somehow, she has a better grasp on my fate than I do.  These are things that I can come to accept.

The other lesson that I've learned today is that when your mother channels the words of God, she apparently loses something in the transcription.  And no, my initial reaction wasn't "Take that, God!"  Instead it was a "Wait...I got in somewhere?  Woot!"

So to all of you wonderful, wonderful people who have supported me since I sent in the first applications back in December, thanks very much.  I appreciate the support and all that you've done.  You're all a part of this success, too.  I doubt that I'd have had perseverance enough to keep going without you.