Rainy Day Rock

Whenever it rains, I think of this song:



I was scared, I was scared, tired and underprepared, but I'll wait for it . . .

Uncannily reminiscent of comps, that. Aside from depressing me, rainy days also make me want to snuggle up and read. How convenient.

Obama to Congress / Jindal Response

Okay, as busy as I am, I can't resist throwing in my political $0.02 now and then. And if you're reading political commentary from me, you can usually bet that it's going to be, if not pro-Obama, a day or two late.

However, I'm not going to go on and on about Obama's speech. Honestly, it was nothing new. He gave some explanations, some of which was (understandably) defensive, but really, if you're in Congress and you voted against the stimulus bill, there's really nothing at this point that's going to change the ideology that went into your vote. I think the purpose of this speech was more for the American people to see confidence from the President about his plans. My favorite part, though, was when Obama announced he was going to put Biden in charge of an oversight committee because "nobody messes with Joe." Biden's slap-happy showman reaction was priceless:

This still cracks me up. He's like a little kid who finally got recognition from his cooler, popular older brother. Biden is sharp when it comes to admin, but he's nuts. He's a gregarious uncle while Obama is an aloof golden boy. The Odd Couple.

And I can't resist commenting on Jindal's response. I didn't go to super liberal MSNBC. I picked up this baby from sympathetic Fox News (via youTube, of course).

Have you ever seen 30 Rock? There were lots of comparisons with Kenneth Parcell the Page. Personally, I was thinking he was going to ask "Won't you be my neighbor?" at some point.

Honestly, I think Jindal is a sharp guy. He's someone whose politics I generally disagree with, but who I'll listen to because he's highly intelligent and not a reactionary. I was surprised at how canned he sounded. And one last question, WHY would he bring up Hurricane Katrina? (In the full version of his speech, the "story" is about Katrina.)

That's my political $0.02 of the day. Back to my regularly scheduled reading and studying my brains out. I have a midterm today from a professor who is known for being a tough grader. Gulp!

T Minus 2 Weeks . . .

It's coming down to the wire.

I can't complain. I signed up for this thing. I can't say I didn't know what was coming.

It's a little demon that all graduate students must exorcise at some point or another called comprehensive exams, more affectionately known as "comps." For me, it's a set of 9 intense essay tests over a 3 day period that tests your knowledge of basically the whole canon of Spanish and Spanish American literature from medieval up to present day. Oh, and there's a section on linguistics/teaching methodology/history of the Spanish language too.

It's crazy. Every time I look at the reading list, I get weak in the knees because there is no way . . . the task is more than daunting.

It's not like we're expected to have read every single solitary work on the list. But we need to be at least familiar with everything on the list. ::cough::summariesandarticles::cough::

Surprisingly, I'm not freaking out as much I thought I would be. Sometimes I wonder if I should be freaking out more. I've been more serious about getting stuff done, at least. If I keep it up, I should have my bases covered. Even if I fail a few sections, I will have the chance to take them over. But I don't even want to fathom the prospect of failure.

If I can just get through this, the rest of the school year will be beautiful. I may even pick up a part-time job when comps are over because this semester we're not getting paid boo.

**Bonus**
An attempt to answer the million dollar question: "What are you going to do after you graduate?"

I graduate in August. And though I wanted to leave for France as soon after graduation as possible, it looks like it will be more reasonable for me to wait until January 2010 to leave. What that means is that I'm going to have to figure out what to do with myself from August-December. What would be fabulous is if I could stay on as an instructor at Auburn. If that doesn't work out, maybe I could find an instructor position at a college in Montgomery. After that, it'll be on to France for 6 months. After that, I might join the Peace Corps. Or I might go to seminary. Or I might apply to a PhD program. Or I might decide to work abroad. It's frustrating not knowing what I'm going to do. But I'd rather not know what I'm going to do due to an abundance of options than not know what I'm going to do because I've run out of options.

My Ghetto Phone

People nowadays have long since had camera phones. But now, Blackberries are all the rage along with iPhones, and other mp3 player, Internet browsing, built in GPS system phones . . .

My phone is ghetto. Fresh out of the basic phone from 2005 world when AT&T Wireless was still Cingular. Old, played out, scratched up, cringingly behind the times, and just plain, down home, uncompromisingly ghetto. It don't have no camera. Attempting to surf the net on it is like attempting to use a mimeograph machine. The key pad is scratched up. The LCD screen has a few spots of gel which oozed to the surface because it's had more than its fair share of drops. I could easily get a major upgrade and get with the times, but there's something in me that won't let me. I can't give up on my phone. I can't let old girl go.

She's been with me through too much. All the boys (which sounds sort of ludicrous because there have been so few) who managed to get my number since 2005 have called me on this phone. This phone has tasted many tears. It's heard me rattle off pieces of my mind in Spanish. It's been blasted with my bursting laugh. How could I just cast her off for a newfangled bauble, like some sort of despised techno-Velveteen rabbit, when she serves her purposes just fine?

I know the day will come where she'll give up the ghost or become obsolete and I'll be forced to upgrade. But for now, I'm willing to suffer the humiliation of owning her, of constantly seeing her crass, broke down ghettoness stand in embarrasing contrast to slicker, more techno-savvy phones. I just can't let old girl go.

I dunno what it is . . .

maybe it's the remnants of Valentine's Day rolling around in the corners of my mind. Maybe it's the fact that one of my closest friends is planning a wedding. Maybe it's the awareness of babies being born and the sweetness of one falling asleep in my arms.

It's nuts. I mean, this line of thought would be somewhat rational had I, say, at least a significant other. Maybe the fact that comps are looming so sinisterly is causing me to slowly lose my mind. In any case, my red light daydreams lately have been about my wedding recessional song. I know. Nuts.

I want my recessional song to be non-traditional, lovely, spunky and fun. I'm trying to decide between the following (like there's any need to decide any time soon):

"A Thousand Winters Melting" by The Myriad

The chorus is is so LOVEly.

"Godsend" by dcTalk

I had a borderline obsession with dcTalk back in the day, and I've always adored this song.

"What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong

I think this is the happiest song ever.

"I Believe in You" by Il Divo and Celine Dion

I absolutely love Celine Dion's voice, and I LOVE the French part. The song is gorgeous.

And lastly, "Wonderwall" by Oasis

This is only somewhat of a love song, but I like the way he sings "I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now." In my head, the song is about the couple's journey together up to right before the guy asked her to marry him. Okay, maybe that's a stretch. I just like britpop.

Valentine's Day 2009: Letters from the Past

I went to an art activity sponsored by a student organization last night. The picture posted here is the result of a small canvas, an array of oil pastels, and a bit of inspiration. I think of it as my Valentine's Day present to myself.

I'm a sentimental pack rat. The items in my collection range from a box of (now extremely stale) French candies from a handsome Parisian I met during one of my trips abroad to a Christmas card from a guy I had the biggest crush on when I was 16, from stories that I wrote in Kindergarten to letters to the editor that were published in the campus newspaper.

I don't think my sentimental collection habit is extreme . . . I rarely revisit things. I just keep them packed away. To be honest, I have this fantasy that after I'm long gone, one of my great-grandchildren will be rummaging through the attic one day and will stumble upon a box full of cards, letters, journals, pictures, drawings, stories and newspaper clippings and will begin to fit together the little pieces of my life she's discovered.

Among those little pieces are a few warm and fuzzy missives. I'm too self-conscious to post any would-be love letters I've written, but I will post a few excerpts of the sweetest things people have written me in the past. Emphasis on past. I cannot emphasize enough the fact that the ones who wrote these things have since moved on. I'm leaving out any identifying details or clues to how long ago they were written.

* * *

"When we first met, I had no idea that I would feel the way I feel about you now. In the past I may have taken your friendship for granted, but now I'm here wishing that we could be more than friends. I feel like I've searched everywhere for the 'perfect one' but now I see that the perfect one may have been right in front of me all along."

* * *

"You're the most upstanding that I've ever been with. Being with you taught me selectiveness. You are a very good idea of the kind of person I'm looking for. Sometimes, (in the past), I wonder if I ever had an idea of what I was looking for in a woman. I learned that I don't have to 'catch the first one along.' I also learned that intelligence and beauty can be found in the same person! You've been a true friend, talking to me, being my friend, not knowing what/if anything would come of the friendship. I don't know what you think I'm thinking, but I love you, too. I'm doing well, and I hope you are, too."

* * *

"Thanks for not having a 'but.' I suppose it's my insecurity that was making me wait for one, but I don't feel insecure anymore with you."

* * *

"Thanks for your wonderful friendship, keep those beautiful smiles. And a big hug from me to you!"

* * *

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! A big hug from me to you.

Why I Don't Hate Valentine's Day Even Though I'm Single

I love love.

I know, that's so . . . whatever, but I do. Though there's a part of me that often sees things in hues of blue, I'm still entranced by the prospect of passion.

I'm single. Everybody's getting married, I'm round three for bridesmaid, everyone has a boyfriend, I don't, I'm single, boo-hoo-hoo, blah, blah, blah. I'm single. But I love love. I'm a romantic. Yearning and sighing and hoping and melancholy and optimism and wishing and patience and longing are all a part of it.

This is what I know about me: I'm headstrong, I'm indecisive, I'm impulsive, and I'm emotional. This makes not a good combination when mixed with not the right guy. I feel badly for the guys that somehow got it in their heads that they were interested in me and went for it. Sometimes I feel badly for me when I think of the times that my heart literally hurt. Sometimes I wish things had worked out. But I don't feel badly that thus far, nothing has worked out. Each experience has left me a little wiser and has helped me understand myself a little more and each time I've come a little closer to discovering what it is that I really and truly desire.

This is what I also know about me: I'm young, I'm intelligent, I have a toothy grin, a boisterous laugh, and a lot going for me. I'm hopeful. I'm hopeful that someone, someday will appreciate what I have to offer and will love me in spite of me, and that I will love him, as he is, in return.

Valentine's Day gives me the same sensation that I feel when a child approaches me with outstretched arms. She isn't mine. I have no children of my own. But I can't help but to embrace her.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life (Proverbs 13:12).

Just a Really Quick Question

Why do guys use so many sound effects in their conversation?

A "Conservative" Contradiction

The reason I put "conservative" in quotes is because, for reasons I can't exactly grasp, people don't like to call themselves Republican anymore. It's almost like "conservative," and, in the same manner, "independent," have become euphemisms for Republican. I also put it in quotes because I'm using it in the political sense, not in the general sense. Most people would say I'm uber-conservative generally, but definitely left-leaning politically. Now that the preliminaries are out of the way . . .

I just realized this while pondering a conversation I had with a "conservative" who's pretty sharp and into politics as well. On one hand, people say that they are uncool with Obama because he's "all talk and no substance. He says a lot but never gets specific. What does he really stand for?" But in the same breath they'll say, "I don't think Obama's a bad guy, I just don't support his policies."

So, how can you not know what he stands for, but at the same time not support his policies? If he has policies (which you don't support), that means he stands for something specific (which you just happen to not agree with).

I'm definitely not without my own contradictions, so, I mean, I feel you. But I just had a revelation and wanted to share.

And This Is News Because . . .

Okay, so why would somebody write a report on this? Like, seriously? The next headline will be, "President Obama coughs up a loogie." I mean, I could see if he knocked himself senseless or something, but it was "ever so slightly."

I mean, I am a confessed Obamamaniac, so I'm not going to front and act like I don't care to know details about the Obamas. (I especially like reading stuff about Michelle's wardrobe and hair because I think she's a classy lady.) But I'm just wondering why the above-linked was a story on the CNN Political Ticker. I wonder if the reporter who wrote that really felt it was worthy political news. I wonder if he or she took it seriously or if it was meant as kind of a joke. Because I couldn't have done it with a straight face.

Cure for the Pity Partyful

This morning I woke up and immediately I knew it was one of those Saturdays. One of those Saturdays when you know you have a boatload to do and little motivation to do it. One of those Saturdays when, even though the sunlight is filtering in through your yellow curtains, you don't feel that bright, and you feel the weight of contradictions and uncertainty bearing down on you. In that hazy, I-just-woke-up morning light, all you can hear are the sounds of silence and the only thing certain is that you're alone. The perfect ingredients for a pity party.

The only thing about a pity party, though, is that you can only have one by yourself. The focus is solitary and inward, and you and you alone can enjoy a table spread with narcissistic self-obsession. And there's nothing that gets the party going like a tearful call home.

The reasonableness of the cure finally hit home today. I always knew it, but this seems like the first time I immediately did something about it. Why don't you do something to get the focus off of yourself?

So I put a batch of cookies in the oven to bring over to the new pastor and his family, and I invited an exchange student over for dinner. I'm cured! Pity party over. It's not hard to stop thinking about yourself. Because you are outnumbered by other people who could use your mental energy and empathy.

Er, Did I Just Make You a Christ Figure?

I absolutely love this guy in my program. He's part Jew, somewhat Buddhist, somewhat agnostic, completely cynical, and totally hilarious. The main thing we share is our support of Obama and love of rehashing the side-splittingly funny things that tend to happen in Golden Age Lit. However, when it comes to matters of faith we have some obvious disagreement, but interesting conversation.

He expressed to me his dislike of the hypocrisy and pushiness of the so-called Christian Right. I agreed. There's definitely enough hypocrisy on the part of some well-known Christians to go around (Ted Haggard, anyone?), and I could sympathize with his gripes about grandstanding and self-righteous rhetoric, and I conceded that federally funded faith-based programs blur the line between the separation of church and state. But what I tried to get him to understand is that the Christianity that he sees portrayed in the media and in politics is not what Christianity is truly about. I told him that Jesus himself reserved his harshest criticism for the "Religious Right" of his day, the Pharisees, for the same reasons he mentioned.

"So, you're making me a Christ figure? Wow! Thanks. I really appreciate that, Chantell."

Musings on My Boy

All right. So, my boy is dealing with his first big boo-boo RE: The Tom Daschle fiasco. He already used up a little bit of political capital on getting Geithner through (whose tax-forgetting sins weren't nearly as egregious as Daschle's, but still, Treasury Secretary forgetting to pay taxes? Boo.) He couldn't afford to use up any more.

I know he's probably like, "D'oh!" a la Homer Simpson right now because he was really depending on Daschle to get health care reform business underway. Oh, well.

But this is why, though I'm not as starry-eyed about my boy as I was say, after the Democratic National Convention speech, I'm still giving him a thumbs-up:

1. He realizes the importance of the confidence of the American people in government, and he doesn't want to give the impression that people of power are held to different standards than ordinary folk. He ran on a campaign of change and higher standards and transparency, and if Daschle hadn't resigned, the cynicism-meter would've shot up.

2. He actually owns up to his mistakes. And right away. He literally told Anderson Cooper (and a slew of other reporters) that he "screwed up" in allowing the Daschle thing to get this far. He's owning up to his mistakes and is taking responsibility for them. That in itself is a breath of fresh air.


I love the way he says "Look." It's SO Obama. (I also think Anderson is one of the hottest reporters on the news. I love how he furrows his brow and confidently asks tough questions.)

A Quote and a Couple of Links

I saw this "quote of the day" on my Gmail header and liked it:

"Patience is the art of hoping." -- Luc de Clapier

An article I wrote for the latest issue of 90&9:

When Being Right Isn't Enough: Speaking the Truth in Love

Another one I wrote several years ago that's being run just in time for Valentine's Day:

The Quality Woman: What She Wants, What She Will Not Accept, and How to Win Hear Heart

Enjoy!

The Facebook Snob: It's Not You, It's Me

Really. Don't take it the wrong way if I don't accept you as a Facebook friend. I'm admittedly a Facebook snob, and I won't confirm you as a friend unless I know you or have communicated with you in some recognizable way.

It could also be that I do know you, and for that very reason don't want you up in my Facebook business. Not that there's anything juicy to hide. (Seriously. If anything juicy were going down, I would not be posting it on no Facebook.) I just don't want you up in my grill, looking at my pictures, and don't want you to have the power to leave any asinine comments on my wall.

It's not you, it's me. Don't take it personally, m'kay?

February, we need to have a talk.

How dare you get here so fast, February?!

Don't you know that I have a lot of scary things coming up that I feel woefully unprepared for? Arrgh. I want to take you, ball you up into a wad, and fling you back in time. Comps are coming up in March, do you hear me? The second week in March. And you're already a short month! (sigh.)

The only good thing about you is Valentine's Day. Perhaps I have hope of acquiring a few morsels of friendly chocolate? (Since I won't be getting any more-than-friendly chocolate. Hate on Valentine's Day if you're single if you want to, but chocolate's chocolate, youknaaimsayin?)

All right, February. You win. Let's face it, you're already here. No use getting all bent out of shape about it. I guess your coming is an indication that I need to get on the ball. Thanks, February, for putting things in perspective for me. We're still dawgs.