Rediscovering the world of academia . . . I'm writing this proposal for the Pop Culture Association and American Culture Association conference in April. It's about Harry Potter. Well, not really. I like to say that, because that's what I want it to be about. Really, it's about the mentor/apprentice relationship in King Arthur, and how that ties into not only Harry Potter but also The Lord of the Rings (J.R.R. Tolkien) and the Narnia Series (C.S. Lewis).

I'm excited. I hope I get accepted. Presenting a paper at a conference seems like such an adult, professional thing to do. Never mind that Baconian girl said, "Oh, you're presenting a paper! I've done that like two or three times--it's so fun!" I'm still excited. And Jessica will be there to hear me spout words of wisdom.

But the proposal drafting is sucking. I know what my ideas are, I just can't seem to write them in a way that is coherent and succinct. Damn writing essentials.

On the plus side, my Unionites and I are going to carve pumpkins tonight. I feel like I missed fall last year in Korea; I'm thrilled to be in Michigan, where the colors are more beautiful than I've ever seen, and fall is like a long, slow kiss. I missed going on a hay ride, but at least I'll be making gourd-art. I love America. We're so cheesy and funky and cool, with our crazy harvest festivals and dressing-up-getting-candy holiday.

Here's a poem I wrote about my bike. It's not finished yet:

It's fall, Bike,
changed suddenly in the space of
a week and a half,
and leaves now
swirl before and behind you
in tiny ballets of
African oranges, Van Gogh yellows,
sunset reds. All is changed--
trees, skies, even you,
stiff from a week in the unheated garage . . .
metal moaning, resisting movement.
The wind whistling in my ears
hums through your spokes,
pulling on spider threads
coated with dust from
a week of waiting (poised for action),
before shooting past,
ravaging a pile of sleeping leaves,
and rocketing through branches
to a sky unfurled and
floating with clouds.

I'm in love with my Bike. And I'm also in love with Fall. What's next?

Today is a Weezer day, revisiting old music and dwelling for a while on the new CD. At first I didn't like it as much as the older ones. It's not as catchy, lacks some of the new-artist verve of the blue album, the pep and joy of the green album, and the grinding humor of Pinkerton.

However, I find myself singing the songs again and again. They're not only melodic, they're meaningful. And it makes me love Rivers even more, as antisocial and angsty as he seems to be (what's with his Thank You notes? "friends, family, and teachers"). When I was driving to Michigan, I had about a 2 hour daydream about meeting him.

I was visiting some little artsy town, like Saugatuck, and having a drink in some crowded bar, when lo and behold! Rivers Cuomo. Of course I act nonchalant and continue sipping my mudslide. But he's looking for someone to talk to, someone who won't suck up to him, and his eyes light on the elegant blonde in the corner--me.

He sits down; we chat. I pretend I don't even know who he is, and when he does mention it ("Yeah, I'm the lead singer of a band. Maybe you've heard of it? Weezer?"), I'm like, "So, does that really satisfy you?", looking very genuine and down-to-earth, exactly what celebrities are thirsting for in their over-adored, under-appreciated hearts. In the end, he asks me to be in the band and bear his children. Our next album gives 20% of its profits to Amnesty International and we go on tour in Sweden.

Daydreaming about celebrities is counterproductive to living a reality-based life. I need to use my energy to love the people around me, and not spend my days composing letters to Paul McCartney.

But I do think it would be fun to write a paper about Weezer albums. I love albums that are themed, where the songs are all linked together by a common denominator. Pinkerton is a perfect example of this, with its repeated references to all things Japanese, and especially "Madame Butterfly", a musical about a love affair between a Japanese geisha girl (Cho Cho San from "El Scorcho") and Captain Pinkerton. The last song, "Butterfly", is such an amazing culmination of the whole album and a great addendum to the story told in Madame Butterfly. Go Weezer for being culturally relevant.

Last Weezer memory: I once had a dream where I was visiting a colonial mansion that had been turned into a museum. Looking at columns, powdered wigs, and old documents, I turned the corner and saw the next exhibit. Weezer. The actual band was there, on display, in full colonial dress, like big wax dolls but REAL people. Them. Yeah. No more listening to "Hash Pipe" for me.

I had forgotten the world of Adventist Dating. See, in the Adventist subculture, dating is kind of like stepping back in time, into the '50's. The first guy who takes you to the icecream parlor is your "steady"--even if you're not official, you're branded. If you date around, you're marked for life as a player with a big scarlet P.

It's not like the world in Sex and the City, where Carrie, who has been out several times (and even had sex) with Mr. Big, can see him out on a date with another woman and it's socially acceptable. No, no. This is more like Amish-land, where Jacob takes Sarah out for a buggy ride after the barn-raising, much to Samuel's chagrin, who had accompanied her to the corn-roast the week before.

So the whole dating-around thing doesn't happen. You meet a guy, and even if you meet other eligible, attractive bachelors, you are obligated to at least find out about the first guy first--kind of like a "To Do" list. He has dibs; until you decide you aren't interested in wearing his letterman jacket, you don't go to a social with anyone else.

Today was a perfect example of what NOT to do. Go out on Friday night date with Amazing Boy (#1). Leave feeling very glow-y. Go for Sabbath afternoon walk with Different Boy (#2), but run into Boy #1. Stare at each other awkwardly. Leave feeling very desperate and angst-ridden, wondering if Boy #1 will ever call me again. Pour out heart and soul to Boy #2, who proceeds to confirm your worst suspicions by telling you that, yes, in fact, he does like you--you're a very "special girl". Go home and cry and check e-mail fanatically.

Why can't I go out with many people, making sure I don't like Boy #2, making sure Boy #1 is really all that Amazing? Why can't there be an equation--if I follow it this way, I'll be sure to get the right answer? Why can't someone write "The Rules: Dating for Adventists"?

I guess I could, but I'm too busy checking my e-mail fanatically.

It's October 29, 2005. I've been home for over 2 months, meaning to start this blog the whole time, but not really having time to do it.

What's up with The Rediscovered Country? What does it mean--America? Korea?

Well, yeah. It means America, as I readjust "back" to normalcy. It means Korea, as I look back and process my year teaching there. It means my church, as I discover it again. It means college life, as I dive into my Masters in English. It means me. I'm the rediscovered country.

Pretty narcissistic, huh? My hope is that, through this charting of forgotten territory, I'll learn about the world, too. How to love and live better. What to hope for. Why I am who I am, and what I can do about it.

So . . . Shabbat Shalom.