Overeating--The American Answer to Just About Everything

Mmmmmm . . . I love food, love it so much. Textures, colors, smells, and flavahs. Possibly the best thing in the world is a warm, full tummy after a large meal, where you just want to crawl into a cozy bed, curl up, and drift off, letting the gastro-intestinal system do its thang.

My housemate Colleen asked my other housemate, Jesse, if I was anorexic. Possibly because I'm skinny (I like the words "slim", "slender", and "petite" so much better). Or because I tend to eat healthily--lots of vegetable and grains. Jesse just laughed and said, "She's cooking all the time. Anorexics don't cook. They don't like food."

It's twue. I love food. And in the past 2 weeks, I have overeaten three times.

My definition of "overeating" is when you eat so much that it hurts. The first (and worst) was on my birthday. Greg and Melissa took me out to Shalimar, an Indian Buffet in South Bend. Mmmmmmmm. I ate two plates of food, a lot of naan, and two bowls of mango pudding. Due to the spiciness, I also drank a lot of water. At the end of the meal, I felt that standing up might cause spillage, so we all just sat there, bellies pointed out and up, stunned looks on our faces--food coma.

Melissa and I then went grocery shopping. Bad idea. She actually had to go sit in the car cause going up and down the aisles stocked with food was nauseating.

Friday John and I got Kung Pao Chicken and Crab Rangoon from the local greasy-chopstick. We finished eating at about 4 o'clock, at which point I had to loosen my belt. Then we ate Friday-night supper at my professor's house at 5:30. Well, I couldn't be rude, could I?

Sabbath was incredible. We visited a church (yes, an Adventist church) hosting their Thanksgiving celebration. Only one thing was missing--cranberry sauce. They had it all: casseroles, yams with marshmallows, fifteen different potato dishes, and best . . . turkey. Not Tofurkey. Turkey.

A heaped plate and two pieces of pie later, I was ready to, as April said, "be rolled out".

Today in Speaking and Listening, one of the ESL classes I teach, we discussed American attitudes to food. Specifically, why are Americans so damn fat?

I asked them why they thought. MinSung said it was because we all have cars, so we never exercise. Check. Yeong Ro said it was because our food is so "sweety and salty." Check. I asked if it could possibly be genes--are white people just prone to being fatter than Asians? Secretly I believe this, but surprisingly my students don't. They said that with McDonalds and KFC taking over the world, everyone is getting fatter. Check.

Then we talked about Thanksgiving and Christmas, and I explained it using an analogy of bears. In the winter, bears don't do a lot. They get really fat and then sleep in a cave to conserve energy until spring. Personally, I resonate with that.

I told them that, for Americans, Thanksgiving and Christmas are times to build our adipose layers so we can last during the long, holiday-less months (President's Day doesn't count) until we all have a Fourth of July barbecue.

Mmmmmm . . . barbecue.

Canonicity and Textuality--these were the topics today in Research Methods class.

Why does every article I read, lecture I hear, or fellow Masters student I talk to make me feel more and more like a huge idiot? I really should have read Sarah Orne Jewett by now, and by golly, what am I doing in this program when I don't know about Derrida? My head is barely above water, and the giant academic leeches have got my legs and are pulling me under.

The thing is, I don't even have time to find out about all the stuff I should have learned before, because I'm being buried under mounds of research papers, reading assignments, and journals. I'd love to start a 3-month extracurricular reading cycle, like my friend Keturah: Dive into American poetry for 3 months, move on to philosophy, check out Greek theater, immerse myself in feminist criticism. But there's too much pressing to do.

Today in class we talked about what works we would include in our literature classes. Were we textualists, who would try to integrate texts as disparate as comic strips and Romantic poetry in one thematic class? Or are we canonists, who believe that you start with Shakespeare, Dante, and Milton, and then move on to everyone else who "belongs" on your reading list? Inclusive or elitist?

On what grounds WILL I choose my works? Someone in the class said they would choose works they knew and enjoyed, but only high-quality ones. "Aesthetic," my teacher said. Another student said she'd try to choose works that taught a good point, resonated with the class, helped them understand what it means to be human. "Didactic," said Dr. Davis. The other girl said that she would choose works from multi-cultural backgrounds, so people reading them could gain awareness of the world. "Socio-political."

As for me, I think I'll go home and bury my head in Anne of Green Gables for the fifteenth time, and try to forget my wasted childhood reading only kid-lit and not bettering my mind with short stories by Hemingway or poetry by Yeats.

I just found something very funny, thanks to Jeff Boyd's blog (check it out! No, seriously, check it out!). It's called Savage Chickens. It's little cartoons about 2 chickens that are drawn on yellow sticky notes. FUN-NY. One of my favorites: Inspirational Quote Reject #425 "Life will be better when you win the lottery."

Raking my anger out . . .

I just raked my whole yard in 20 minutes, and stuffed a car-load of leaves underneath the big tree in the front that my landlord calls "the Christmas tree." He's not from 'round here; he's Indian, so maybe they don't have blue spruces in India.

At any rate, it was a lot of work, and I'm sweaty and giddy afterwards. The wind tumbles leaves off the trees at the rate of a steady downpour today; it skips in circles and bites its own tail, gusting and lolling about. The trees are almost bare. Two weeks ago, they were lighted like a stained-glass window. Now they're lighted by the sky behind and between them.

Bare branches with a cloud-streaked sky behind them--hail, winter is here. Or at least has a foot in the door. I'm going to say something that you NEVER hear me say: I can't wait for it to snow. It's just lingering in the air. The weather is unseasonably warm, and that "unseasonableness" is just the thing: you know that snow is waiting, biding its time, crouching to spring. And I want it; I welcome the crisp white world stripped of all semblances of life, except what we add with our zooming cars and fuzzy hats and bright lights.

Why was I angry an hour ago, muttering invictives under my breath, kicking the piles of leaves as if they'd scratched me? Because . . . silly reason . . . the boy hadn't called or written. Raking: a cure for the wounded, desperate heart. Thirty minutes of hard work, and you've a clean lawn and a calmer mind.

But now he has written, a funny e-mail addressing me as "peach popsicle face", and I can see straight again. I can see that the world was waiting for me to admire it, to delight in it, and will always be waiting, even when I'm anxious and pent-up and hopelessly lovelorn.

Beautiful, gentle world winding down the year into winter. . . Annie Dillard says it best (she says everything best): "How can an old world be so innocent?" For starving, broken, victimized people, the world may not seem innocent; it's a cruel world. But for me (and I'll celebrate this even while I recognize my obscene luck), any world where a boy calls you "chiquita banana" and raking is the answer to your worst emotional problems is innocent and lovely.

Batch, botch, butch . . .

I really love curse words. Is that bad? I know they're not acceptable in some social situations--like, you shouldn't bust out the F-word at your grandmother's funeral or, at a job interview, tell the interviewer you have to "piss like a racehorse."

But, like capers in a salad, curses are the juiciest things. Overuse kills flavor but just a few add such tanginess when well-phrased--irreplaceable. My professor said it well, "Sometimes you can't do better than a hearty 'Damn'".

I especially love the word "bitch". Not applied to me, usually (unless used as a term of endearment by a tall, blue-eyed Vancouver-ite--you know who you are), but wow! That word has punch. And being a woman, I think it describes certain aspects of woman-hood perfectly.

C'mon, ladies--you know what I'm talking about. The cattiness, the passive-agressive back-biting, the perfectly manicured nails and shiny lipstick smile hiding a malicious and determined soul--we've all done it. No word--be it "wench," "whore," "slut," or even the legs-crossed, eyebrows-raised, audibly-whispered variation, "witch"--has the same pop. I think it's the hard "b" followed by the harsh, grating "tch"; it just sounds bad.

So, when I know I've been a real bitch, it makes me feel a little better to say it. But don't you dare, unless you want to get you-know-what-slapped.

Here's a website about the word: http://www.answers.com/topic/bitch. What's your favorite usage of profanity?

I know I posted some funny stuff yesterday, but this is too choice to pass up--delicious. Read on . . .

Donald Rumsfeld is briefing President Bush: "Yesterday, 3 Brazilian soldiers were killed."
"Oh no!" exclaims the President, "That's terrible!"
His staff is stunned at this unprecedented display of emotion, watching as Bush sits, head in hands.
Finally, he looks up and asks, "How many is a brazillion?"

Ahhhh . . . yes. Humor at Bushie's expense. Cheap shot, Katie.

Don't worry. Real stuff is coming.

I love the idea of just pissing people off . . . even though I'm too self-conscious to actually do it.

91 Ways to Agitate Someone Who Doesn't Like Harry Potter

1. Relate everything they say to the Harry Potter books and/or movies.
2. Say they look like a Harry Potter character of the opposite gender.
3. Quote Dobby.
4. Hog the computer 24/7 while logged onto MuggleNet.
5. Read out loud to them whenever they can't get away from you (Example: When in a car or an elevator). If you don't have a book with you, recite from memory.
6. Give them Harry Potter merchandise for their birthday and Christmas and demand that they keep it and treasure it forever.
7. Rewrite their favorite song with Harry Potter lyrics and sing it constantly.
8. Crowd their inbox with Harry Potter related e-mail and make sure the subjects are misleading.
9. Start singing a sorting hat song at random moments, pretend to forget what comes next, and ask if they know in a very loud voice.
10. Make them play Quidditch with you.
11.Give all of their friends Harry Potter related nicknames and act mortally offended when they don't know the history of their character.
12. Change your name to that of a Harry Potter character and start screaming when they don't address you as such in public.
13. Always speak with a British accent - especially if you aren't from the UK.
14. Refer to real places by Harry Potter names.
15. Throw a fit if others don't use these names.
16. Draw round glasses and lightnigh bolt scars on every poster and picture you come across..in permanent marker.
17. Give long lectures about how the prophecy relates to every day life.
18. Give every room in your house a Harry Potter codename. ( Example: The living room becomes the Entrance Hall) and whenever someone asks you where something is, use these names.
19. Change them immediately if they figure out what the names refer to.
20. Constantly ask if they can see the thestrals too.
21. Refuse to explain what a thestral is.
22. Say "Anything off the trolley, dear?" in a fake British accent when offering anyone food.
23. Pretend you can do magic.
24. Rearrange their furniture and blame it on indecisive house elves.
25. Yell "Get away from me, Death Eater!" whenever they get near you.
26. Constantly compare them to Mrs. Figg.
27. Laugh evilly if they ask who Mrs. Figg is.
28. Complain loudly about how your pictures don't move.
29. Whenever you're asked for advice, reply with "Three turns should do it." in a very serious voice.
30. Break any awkward silences by saying "How 'bout them Chudely Cannons?"
31. Tell a very long joke using a random Harry Potter quote as the punchline and then laugh hysterically.
32. Make sure the joke isn't funny.
33. Use the titles You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to refer to random people.
34. Make sure no one knows who you're talking about.
35. Write letters to people (friends, neighbors..politicians) and ask them to join S.P.E.W.
36. Hand fliers advertising it to random passerby.
37. Report Dumbledore's death to your local authorities.
38. Call them repeatedly asking if Percy Weasley is there and hang up before they can reply.
39. Pop up in place you're not supposed to be and insist that you were only trying to apparate.
40. If you're late for something, blame it on your broken time turner.
41. Deck yourself out in all of your Harry Potter gear when you know you'll be going to a public place.
42. Walk past a wall over and over again, stopping randomly to bang on. When you receive weird stares, shout "What?! I'm look for the Room of Requirement!"
43. Every time you see them, demand an explanation of why exactly they don't like Harry Potter.
44. If anyone tells you you'll go to hell for reading Harry Potter, either: a) Jump and down and tell them that you can't wait. b) Tell them you'll meet them there. c) Sing "Weasley Is Our King" over and over again. Or d) Ask them to back up this claim with evidence, and laugh at them when they can't.
45. Play the soundtracks while they're stuck in your car.
46. Add commentary. ( Oh, this is where they..)
47. When one of the movies is on TV, call to remind them.
48. ..every five minutes.
49. If they ask for your phone number, tell them it's 6-2-4-4-2.
50. Say "Alohomora" everytime you open a door.
51. Sort every person you meet into one of the four Houses.
52. Follow them around while acting out a scene from the book doing very annoying voices for all the characters. Expect them to join in, act offended when they don't.
53. Count down to some obscure Harry Potter event, whether it's Dumbledore's birthday, or when a Harry Potter DVD comes out. Keep saying: "87 (86, 85, etc.) more days!" in the middle of every conversation you have with your friend. Smile in a superior way when they ask what you're counting down to.
54. Start talking about a deceased Harry Potter character and suddenly burst into hysterical tears.
55. Refuse to be comforted.
56. Ask them to help you study for your O.W.L's and N.E.W.T's.
57. Knit them hats and insist that you're just trying to liberate them.
58. Talk to animals and insist that they're Animagi.
59. Treat them to lunch and then suddenly realize you can't pay for the meal since the restaurant doesn't accept Galleons, Sickles, or Knuts.
60. Run up to random men with long, dark hair and scream "SIRIUS! I always knew you were alive!"
61. Point at modern electronic devices and loudly say "Look at that! The things these Muggles come up with.."
62. Write letters to the Editor of your local newspaper about the evils of our societ. ( Namely Death Eaters and discrimination against friendly werewolves.)
63. Send them numerous letters informing them that they have been selected to attend Hogwarts.
64. Carry around a shiny rock and proclaim that you possess the Sorcerer's Stone.
65. Say everything in a sing-song voice like Luna Lovegood.
66. End every converastion and/or letter with "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
67. ..refuse to provide an explanation.
68. Tap all brick walls you encounter with an umbrella.
69. Say "Lumos" when turning on a light.
70. Point and grunt and insist that you're speaking Troll.
71. Refuse to wash your hair and explain that you're going for the Snape look.
72. Spend hours at a time trying to get your broom to fly.
73. Invite them over for the night and force them to watch the first three movies with you.
74. If they leave for any reason, restart the movie and tell them it's the Time-Turner scene.
75. Shriek loudly and insist that you're speaking Mermish.
76. If you're asked to retrieve something, shout "Accio!" loudly.
77. ..when this doesn't work, throw a fit.
78. Demand to know what exactly the function of a rubber duck is.
79. Talk like Hagrid.
80. Point to garden gnomes and say "Silly Muggles don't have a clue about what gnomes look like!" in a very loud voice.
81. Take them to a CD store and make them help you look for the newest Weird Sisters album.
82. Yell Avada Kedavra anytime they give the anti-HP lecture, then fake excruciating pain as your soul rips in two.
83. Write "Enemies of the Heir, BEWARE!" in red paint on their wall.
84. When confronted about the message, refuse to take responsibility and/or explain it further.
85. Hum Hedwig's Theme constantly and be sure to include any crescendos, decrescendos, accentcs, etc.
86. Petition to have Hedwig's Theme become the new National Anthem.
87. Wear all black and explain that you're in mourning over the death of "The Only One He Ever Feared."
88. ..when asked for am explanation of this cryptic title, cry hysterically.
89. Replace their entire movie collection with the Harry Potter films.
90. If they ask you about the weather, solemnly say "Mars is bright tonight."
91. Print this out and use it as a checklist.

By the time you're almost a quarter-century-old, you should definitely know how to enjoy yourself. And I do.

Yesterday I rode my bike to school, at my own pace, enjoying the fall splendor and the warm weather. I was five minutes late for class, but I didn't care. Birthdays give you license not to give a damn. Then class got out early, so I rode back, stopping to swing for a few minutes and sing a song. I had homework to do, but I didn't care.

Then Greg Okimi talked to me online, and it was good. Jessica called me, too, so we chatted. I got my homework done and went to class exuberant and light. My professors congratulated me on my proposal being accepted.

Greg and Melissa took me out to Shalimar for lunch, and we stuffed ourselves SICK. It was great. I ate two plates of yummy Indian goodness, and two bowls of mango pudding. Melissa and I literally couldn't walk afterwards; we went to the grocery store and had to hunch over the cart, complaining about how much looking at food made us feel like throwing up. (You gotta gorge sometimes.)

After I got home, I read in a bubble bath and drank half a bottle of Welch's sparkling grape juice. Sparkling grape juice is not that expensive, but it's such a precious commodity to me. I always only have it on holidays or celebrations, and always just a glass, leaving me wanting more. Well, this time I could have all I wanted.

Then Daniel showed up, gave me a birthday hug, and we went to Vespers. It was a great day, as a birthday should be. No stress, just solipsistically enjoying yourself. :D

It's my BIRTHDAY!!!!! I'm 24!!!!!

Actually, this is not as exciting as it sounds when I write lots of exclamation points after it. Twenty-four is kind of a throw-away year. Not that I'd want to throw any year of my life away, but twenty-four is like . . . what's this? another year, but not yet wise, quarter-century 25, and past the crazy body-shot drinking hoopla of 21. Not that I ever drank any body shots. My hoopla was contained to being woken up at midnight in the dorm while the Boyz strode in carrying a brown bag with a bottle of Cheap-O strawberry wine and Dixie Cups.

Yesterday my students surprised me with a cake and some sparkling grape juice. It was really nice of them--I had barely mentioned it to one of them at 9:30 am, and by 2 pm, they've got it all planned out. Sans plates, cups, and forks, that is. We took the party upstairs to the ESL office so that we didn't have to grab hunks of cake with our bare hands and drink out of the bottle.

Horror of horrors . . . (I hope none of my students ever read this) . . . it was a BUTTER-CREME cake. Y'all from Korea will know what I'm talking about--that thick, tasteless, creamy icing layered onto fluffy white cake until it overwhelms it in mouthfuls of gooey, gagging nothingness.
At Poly School, we probably had some of this cake every week--a birthday, a going-away party (lots of those at Poly), little Seung-Hee's first violin recital, whatever. It was disgusting, and yet we ate it, like watching a movie that's so bad you can't take your eyes away.

When I left Korea, I was like "Yes! Taco Bell awaits! Road-trips galore! And no more freaking butter-creme cake!"

Um . . . not so fast. Yeah. I don't know WHERE they found it, but my students (Korean, funnily enough) managed to find a cake with butter-creme icing. As they proudly displayed it, one said, "This icing butter-creme. Korea like butter-creme . . . not so sweet like sugar icing."

Yeah, I know . . .it sucks! I thought. I smiled, took a big bite and said, "Mmmmmmm. Delicious."

Well, I woke up this morning with "Something's Coming" from West Side Story in my head. That bodes well. I was dancing down the street in my dream, singing it, spirit fingers and all. I wish my life were a musical.

By the way, I got accepted to the PCA-ACA conference. Yay me.