The Foody Philistine

In my lonely nighttime wanderings (it's still daytime for me, you know), I've been desperately looking for something to do. At 2 AM, I was watching a Home Improvement marathon. At 5 AM, I was eating a whole box of pizza. At 7 AM, I locked myself out of the house for 45 minutes with no bra or shoes. I've done nothing constructive.

I've finally found another book to read, though, conveniently stolen from my mother's Floor Library of Books Rarely Read. It's called The United States of Arugula (I think that's a veggie) and is one of those amusingly educational tomes about how our food culture has changed in America. I've perused the first few pages and have already developed some thoughts.

I'm a regular watcher of the Food Channel, if only to see Alton Brown and Marc Summers (we go way back). I also love those Food Network Challenges were masters in their field rush against the clock to create some wonderful culinary confections. Oooh, and Ace of Cakes. I love Ace of Cakes. Call me a nerd, but I adore the Food Channel.

Still, for all the time spent in front of the television, I'm still not a gourmet. Give me the simple. Don't make my grilled cheese with artisanal bread and brie. I don't want Kobe beef. And, dear Lord, don't put truffles in anything. I'm a simple girl with simple tastes.

Not that I won't try things. I've had my fair share of haggis, I've tried the 1,000 Year Old Egg (gak!), and I'm willing to give a shot to a local speciality even if it's not at all kosher. I'll eat the food for the experience, but I probably won't make it part of my daily diet.

So I'm a foody philistine. Eager to learn, but restrained when it comes to actually eating it.

K.

Cheese it! It's the Cops!

I wish it wasn't so cold out-- then I could walk across my parking lot to find out why there are so many police cruisers outside my building. I should be typing my paper, but when you hear someone talking over cruiser speakers, you can't just sit and think about the religious implications of Eudora Welty's short stories. No, you get up, open your window, and squint really hard at the street because you've taken out your contacts and can't be assed to put them back in for the rest of the night. Unfortunately, giant flashing blurs don't excitement make, so you go back to your computer, disappointed, and try to rub some warmth back into your figures.

Then you figure that you could read the safety report that's bound to come out of this mess and save yourself some trouble.

At least, that's what I would do.


K.

Scattered Thoughts: New York and AWP Conference

• I honestly can't get comfortable in this city. I feel like everyone knows the moves to an intricate ballet and I happened to miss the particular dance class that taught balance and self-awareness. New Yorkers seem to have an extra sense-- a sense of movement, speed, and intuition. I try not to do the typical "stare-blindly-up" neck crane that is the international sign of the tourist (though I had to do it at the Rockefeller Center-- sorry), but I still stick out.

• One thing that I will say about New York is that it's Jewapalooza here. My father and I were cramming down cold fried plantains at the 53rd Street Deli when this older couple sat beside us, excusing themselves in perfect New York accents. They then launched into a conversation to themselves-- in Hebrew. We stumbled into the Diamond District, running into Israelis and black-frocked men in a stunning array of wide-brimmed hats. Ah, my people!

• I attended two seminars today. One was on blogging and its affects on writing and the teaching of writing. I found it interesting that many older people wished to set up their own blogs as a self-marketing scheme, but had little to no idea on how to go about it. It's a strange feeling knowing more than some of these venerable gray hairs, especially those who can afford AWP memberships. Exciting, actually. The second seminar was about historical fiction, which I love to read. I now have four more books that I have to buy.

• My parents decided that I should have business cards for this event, but promptly forgot to make them. So while I was being lectured at, my father was searching for a printing service to make up some simple ones. I don't know when I'm going to use them, but it feels professional in a way.

• The Hilton has really odd-looking chairs. I suppose that it's meant to be classy, but it would be a lot classier if the gold roping was actually attached to the chair, not suspended in a plastic sheath. It rather looks like those cheap strings of light bulbs you can find in college dorm rooms. Very distracting.

• Unfortunately, the Hilton has a really awkward elevator system. I'm sure it works for them, but it's awful for me. So many people are waiting and the elevators are never there when you want them. When I was trying to get to the lobby, I pressed the 'down' button and waited. And waited. And waited... until finally, an elevator arrived. An older woman got out, but then proceeded to stand in the doorway, talking to someone still in the elevator. Politely, I waited for her to get by, but as soon as she moved, the doors began to close. With an undignified yelp, I tried to launch my arm between the closing doors, but they didn't bounce back like I expected. So the elevator I had waited so patiently for slid through my grasp. The lady must have heard my irritated sigh, because she apologized and beat a hasty retreat. She's lucky that I was in a bit of a stunned stupor; I might have popped her one otherwise.

• Going to see John Irving speak tonight. E.L. Doctorow tomorrow afternoon. Will be missing Frank McCourt on Saturday, which is sad.

• Time to pass out now.

K.

Procrastination Station

I've been blowing through book left and right lately. In fact, since I put up the "What I'm Reading Now" thing on the right-hand side of my blog, I have changed the middle book three times. It doesn't make sense that I am reading so much at this time of the year-- I have papers due, finals to stress about, and one really evil professor to try and impress. And yet, I shouldn't be all that surprised. Historically, I avoid work by either sleeping or reading. Reading often works better for me than sleeping, because while stress can keep me away for hours, stress in fact drives me to read.

It's cliche to say, but books are an escape for me. The sad fact is that if I'm engrossed in a book, people have a hard time reaching me. I remember once in elementary school, I was busy reading while my teacher was taking roll. She called my name five times before I snapped out of whatever fog I was wandering through and answered her. Surprisingly, she wasn't mad at all for this inconvenience; to her, this was a sign of my English majoriness to come. Oh, little did she know.

Another story, slightly more embarrassing perhaps, is when I managed to read myself out of a bedroom door. Instead of cleaning my room (which was always-- and still is-- a mess), I was lock my door and pick up whatever novel happened to be lying around. Well, eventually my parents caught me and decided that I didn't deserve the privacy. So they took the hinges out from my bedroom door, leaving it propped up against my wall and my doorway open to the elements. Not that this stopped me from avoiding tidying up, but it certainly wore down my patience when I had to stomp to the bathroom every time I had to change clothing.

Frankly, this reading thing as been a blessing and a serious albatross around my neck. I can't stand the temptation. In fact, I've just finished a paper and, though I still have other assignments to do, I am going to take a hot shower, read for an hour, then go to sleep. I'll regret it when I'm sleep-deprived and crying into my laptop later in the week.

K.

I Read; Therefore, I Am

I'm going to confess a secret. A secret that will cement my nerd status for perhaps the next ten thousand years.

I have a reading journal. That I keep on my own accord. That I am not forced to do by any class. Ever.

It's not the type of journal where I write a wee report for each chapter. No, that would be going too far. But meticulously recording the start and finish date for each book, both school and pleasure-- yeah, I do that.

I'm not sure why I embarked on this project; I suppose that I always wondered how many books I was getting through during a set period of time. Sometimes they all run together, which kind of defeats the purpose of reading all together. So I went out and bought a small notebook which, rather fittingly, is covered in shelves of tiny books. Now write little blurbs about the books I read along with the dates.

So far I've been diligently keep track of my reading habits since August 11th, which is pretty exciting for someone as perpetually distracted as I am. In that time, I have read 21 books, which I find interesting. I'm pretty excited to see how long I can keep this up.

Oh, and this site hasn't helped. I keep checking up every other day to see if I've missed any. 6.22%, woot!

Anyone else do something completely unnecessary that seems a lot like work?

K.

1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die

Here's a great site where you can download an Excel sheet of 1001 books that you should probably read.

It's actually really fun to play with!

K.

Norman Mailer
1923-2007

K.

Taken Over By Victorian Humor

I find that the more I delve into Victorian literature, I'm finding the most idiotic observations absolutely hilarious. My sense of humor-- and my imagination-- seem to have been irrevocably skewed.

I often picture myself standing in front of a blazing fireplace with a companion, clothed in a crimson smoking jacket and cradling a brandy snifter in my palm. We are both gazing up at some protrait of an aristocratic relative that clearly marks me as one possessed of wealth and good taste. I turn to my friend, gently swirling the brandy.

"I say, old boy, did you not find the resemblence between Lady Audley and Phoebe Marks in Lady Audley's Secret quite remarkable? Why, the illustrious lady and her maid servant are only separated by coloring, the inferior far less vibrant than her clear superior."


"Quite right, quite right," my companion harrumphs, "in fact, the only thing the young maid needs to look like her mistress is a make-over. A Pre-Raphaelite make-over! A-hur-hur-hur!"

We both chuckle heartily, then launch into a detailed discussion about my butler Nigel's latest faux pas. It seems that the blighter had mistakenly placed common butter on my table during tea instead of clotted cream. Imagine making such a barbaric mistake. Clearly, this man had never stepped foot in the hallowed halls of Eton, a-hur-hur-hur!

See, that comment that my "companion" made was not at all funny, but I definately giggled at it when my professor said it in class. What is happening to me?

Seriously, there needs to be a comedy intervention.

K.

Shh! I'm Reading!

When I look back at this week, I shake my head with both amusement and horror at the amount of time I have spent reading. No, not pleasure reading-- the assigned kind, where you can feel the professor's whip poised behind your head.

That is not to say that I hate the books I am reading. In fact, I am pleasantly surprised at just how much I have enjoyed the novels assigned. Here's a list of my current reads:

• The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins. This book, often referred to mockingly by critics as a "sensationalist novel," has me utterly enraptured. Call me shallow, but I enjoy the kind of Gothic Romanticism that is often condemned rather than praised. Who can resist solving the mystery of the ghostly lady, all clothed in the purest white, who has recently escaped from an insane asylum? I certainly can't. It is most unfortunate that I really only have time to read the recommended 60 pages a day.
• Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen. Years back, I tried reading Austen's Sense and Sensibility, which I quickly abandoned after realizing that I didn't have the patience for her writing style. Now that I'm forced to read one of her novels, I am really enjoying the lady author's wit and humor. Watching her clueless "heroine" blunder through all manners of social situations and bad advice is very amusing. I also appreciate Austen's ability to parody the plot devices of 19th century novels. Maybe I'll give Sense and Sensibility another try...
• The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien. The storytelling in this book blew me away. The way O'Brien portrays the soldiers of Vietnam in a carefully neutral light should be a lesson to us all. Just read it.

Wonderful books, all. Too bad I have to read them simultaneously!

I feel like a real English major now. Lucky me.

K.

Pleas of a Literature Major

I've fallen into a literary rut.

For the last several days, I've been skipping from book to book-- from Dan Brown to Margaret Atwood to Salman Rushdie. I read the first couple pages, then my mind floats away from the words on the page. One minute Gibreel and Chamcha are plummeting to earth; the next minute I'm thinking really hard about how nice a turkey sandwich would taste.

I'm currently deep into The Last Jew by Noah Gordon, a novel about the Spanish Inquisition. The dialogue is entertaining, the characters are well-rounded, and the topic is interesting. However, though these are the required criteria to make it on my reading list, I don't know how long this book is going to last. I've been too unpredictable to judge.

Personally, I believe the problem is that I no longer have an assigned reading list compiled by a herd of professors. During the long haul of the school year, I scour the great works of literature required in class, all the while dreaming of the other books that really wanted to read. But now I have the free time and, well, I've read all the books that I had dreamed about during the year. What now?

Dear readers and lurkers, please give me some reading recommendations. Classics, summer reading, bestsellers-- it doesn't matter. Is there a book that stuck in your mind? Made you think? Made you laugh? Made you cry? Tell me about it.

Seriously. Tell me about it.

Because I may soon end up bringing cheesy romance novels to my brother's soccer games, which would be awwwwkward.

K.

The Finals Week Review

It would be exceptionally irresponsible of me to write a full-blown entry this early in finals week. I was subjected to three of the suckers today and am scheduled for two more tomorrow. Thankfully, that will be the end of my sophomore year at good ol' West Chester U. Until then, only small tidbits about life in general.

**

Spent last night writing a six-page paper detailing the way Philip Roth skillfully manipulates his audience via writing style, little-known facts, point-of-view, etc. I focused mainly on The Ghost Writer and The Plot Against America. I respect Roth's insane imagination (Transforming America into a dystopia by electing Charles Lindbergh president? Resurrecting Anne Frank? Whew.) But Mr. Roth, sir, why can't you end your novels? You randomly peter off at the end, leaving me wondering if you simply got bored of writing. C'mon, sir, do you really expect me to believe that after the anti-Semitic explosion in The Plot Against America, everything goes back to text book American history? No repercussions? Nothing?

Although, I should criticize my betters when I'm guilty of the same sin. Makes me feel better about myself, though.

**

At the beginning of the semester, I spent about $100 on two of my textbooks. I sold them back today for $57. It seems that books depreciate in value as soon they touch dirty, dirty college student hands.

Let's not even talk about not being able to sell my novels back.

**

The professors seem even more eager than the students to get out of here. Instead of forcing us to take real finals, they are throwing out quizzes that clearly took them fifteen minutes to create.

That's okay; it only took me 10 minutes to complete.

Not that I'm complaining.

**

Someone got yelled at today for studying in the library coffee shop. What is the world coming to when you get chastised for-- G-d forbid-- studying in a part of the library? On finals week! Geez.

**

Hopefully, there will be a well-written tribute to the most important woman in my life tomorrow.

(Think about it: who is the most important woman in any Jew's life? You got it!)

K.

Putting Too Much Thought into Poetry

I have just come from an English Club meeting with a head filled with words and a heart brimming with muddled feelings. For once in our intensely bureaucratic existence, we of the English Club (gasp) read poetry.

Now, I'm not usually a poet. I prefer the flow of simple prose, maybe a research paper here and there. Poetry, however, seems to be untested ground.

Don't get me wrong; I wouldn't be a Literature major if I hadn't studied poetry. I know the difference between alliteration and apostrophe, that one tenuous word between a simile and a metaphor. I know poetry.

But... Some poetry just confuses me. I guess the best thing I can compare it to is installation art. For example, I have a hard time believing that a toilet placed in an open corner of an art museum is art, no matter what modern jargon the beret-ed art critic spews at me. I feel the same way about some poems.

Let's look at something for a second.

Emptiness...

So, poem or not?

The poet speaks first:

"Well, clearly, this is a poem about the blankness of the human soul. Look at the font!The size of the text! The expanse of space around the single word "emptiness." It shows how the modern world sucks the humanity out of the blah blah blah..."

I say:

"Err..."

Some say that I'm Philistine, but I just don't buy it. It seems that the poet put more effort into the explanation than the "poem." Nu?

Because I have such strong opinions about this sort of thing, I don't know if I feel comfortable writing poetry. I know that I shouldn't worry about the reactions of others, as poetry is intensely personal and emotional, but I do.

I just need to think more about this.

K.