Orlando’s Last Prank

Yesterday, a friend came over to help with the packing as I get ready to move. My bound thesis was sitting on my desk, so she picked up a copy to glance at it. When I looked over her shoulder, something funny had come over Orlando.

First I saw this:


Yep, *cringe* it’s Orlando.

Then this:


Wait, what?

Then this:


Title: The Thesis Jen Wishes She Had Written.

Although Orlando may have shrunk 23 pages in length, my illustrious thesis now has a section called: “Wandering Monster Tables.” Brilliant!


If only I had gotten this copy before my defense. This could completely revolutionize the teaching of Shakespeare.

All the same, I can’t help wondering if someone, somewhere, is now desperately trying to find the Foucauldian Heterotopia on level 5 of Labyrinth Lord, all the while wondering why the character “Pericles” has yet to show up…

Well played, Orlando. Well played.

Stress Cravings

I’m moving this week. Like the majority of normal human beings, I don’t consider moving a particularly enjoyable endeavor. In fact, it’s downright stressful. Pressed for time, frustrated with packing, there must be a logical stress reliever. Right?

So what do I do?

I go outside when it’s getting ready to storm and I weed the garden-I’m-getting-ready-to-leave-behind.

Logical? Not exactly. But it works.

I douse my nostalgia about the tomato plant that grew from last year’s rotten tomato seeds (and is 20 times healthier than my potted heirloom tomato) in a hefty dose of overgrown mint and spiky weeds.

I wax poetic about the next residents who will let the place go to wrack and ruin in my absence while stabbing my finger on a rose thorn and putting a restraining order on the imperially minded morning glories.

Then I go inside, get a drink, and sit on the couch to watch the storm while I pack my silverware.

Literary U

This week, my sister got married! (!!!!!!!!)

In the lead-up to the big day, I spent a lot of time driving around Richmond. I discovered anew the poor state of my distance vision while I attempted to find my way to 102 locations around the city. Google Maps was my friend. However, this week I learned something about the aforementioned friend.
Google Maps loves extraneous U-turns.
The simple answer, looking at a map, might be to make a left turn and then another left. BUT, you could shave off 2.374 seconds by making a U-turn at the light, turning right on an unmarked access road, and then turning left onto your target street.
Google Maps: Do it!
Why, Google Maps, why?
Thankfully, as a Master of English, I know that any number of explanations is possible. It all depends on your theoretical framework. For example…
Psychoanalytic
The shape created by a U-turn speaks for itself. GPS devices are associated with the feminine because they often speak with a female voice, so the obsession of GMaps with U-turns is a manifestation of penis envy and the early stage of an Electra complex — female drivers are particular targets of the software’s ensuing rage.
Feminist
Mapping is traditionally a masculine endeavor to control the land, which is portrayed as female. Demanding a U-turn is GMaps’s attempt to inscribe a phallic shape on the terrain.
New Historicist
Powerful institutions attempt to contain drivers within a regimented system of roads, and technology like GMaps was invented to serve this end. However, unmarked access roads are traces of an earlier system of roads, so U-turns that utilize these older access points represent the geographical subversion of today’s technology.

Post-structuralist
The term “u-turn” represents a collision between the inability of language to account for movement that does not conform to prescribed directions, producing regression to verbiage based on representative sounds and shapes, and the underlying demand of language for an illusion of simplicity as demonstrated in the rejection of the precise term “hyperbolic turn” on the grounds that the adjective “hyperbolic” constitutes a point of contamination between the literary function “hyperbole” and the mathematical shape “hyperbola.”
The list could go on and on, endlessly deferred toward the void…

Open Letter from a Escalatorphobic

Dear WAY TOO YOUNG TO BE THAT GOOD suit-clad piano player in the department store,

Your playing is beautiful. Make no mistake. But like 99% of your mall-walking listening audience, I did not expect live music while I wandered through the makeup department. I did not approach the women’s accessory department mentally or emotionally prepared for your rendition of “On My Own” from Les Miserables.
That song should come with its own set of user advisories: Do not listen to this recording if you are A) a romantic, B) single, or C) likely to become single. Most importantly, do not listen to this song if you are any of the above and in the process of stepping onto an escalator.

We timing impaired down-escalatorphobics may be few and far between, but there’s no need for you to shake our equilibrium right before we step onto a relentless mechanical cliff-walking instrument of doom.
That’s all.
But the last arpeggio — beautiful.

Proverbial Wisdom

Proverb
It is a false logic to presume that love of an activity precludes the consideration of extenuating circumstances when determining the wisdom of the aforementioned activity.

Example
I love to run barefoot. Usually, running barefoot is a great idea. Yesterday, I consulted this logic and went for a short run barefoot, on the sidewalk, at noon. I neglected to consider extenuating circumstances such as 95-degree weather and the thermal conductivity of cement and asphalt, not to mention the delay of temperature-based sensation in the feet due to the concussive effect of running barefoot.

Consequences
Rather large, rather painful blisters on both feet.

Lesson learned, proverb. Lesson learned.

Decal Art

This week, I officially became an alumna of the graduate school. That meant getting my alumni library card and an alumni parking pass. What I didn’t realize was that it also meant being inducted into the secret society of new art at the university.

The following scenario ensued when I entered Parking Management:

::standing in line while a recent graduate tries to argue his way out of multiple parking tickets past appeal deadline::
::more standing in line::
::he’s still arguing::
::pulling out the “I could just have left without ever paying these” card::
::response: the “not if you ever want your transcripts” card::
::bam. I smell defeat::
::okay, he’s gone::
::note to self: I would not want their job::

“Hi, I just graduated and would like an alumni parking permit – what do I do?”
“Bring in your front and rear parking decals.”

::removal of front decal: check.::
::removal of rear decal: umm…::
::after ten minutes, decal detaches in 1/4 cm increments::
::uh-oh::
::shrug.::

::carrying front decal and small sticky clump of detritus from rear decal back into the office::
::sheepish grin::
“Hi, I’m back – the front decal came off without a problem, but the back one…”
::holding out scraps with an attempt at humor::

::parking management lady takes scraps::
::wait, what?::

“That’s fine.”
::tapes front decal and wad of scraps to the back of alumni application::
“Fill this out.”

::shrug::
::kind of hard to write on top of such an uneven surface::
::but done.::

“Here you go.”
::and check.::

Universities. Creating new sensations in mosaic art one decimated parking decal at a time.

Guess I’m really an alumna now.

Hooding Pictures

I look like I’m in a lot of pain. So does the professor placing the hood on my neck. It’s rather amusing, actually. But no, thank you; I will not be spending $125 on these photos.

Open Letter to My ThinkPad

Dear Linus,

It’s been a good two years. You stepped in at a time in my life when I really needed support. You helped me see Marvin for what he truly was, and you stood up for my decision to let him go.

We’ve shared a real connection, Linus. I’ll be the first to admit it. Even though you pulled an Eternal Sunshine on me twice, I took you back — you know why? Because I knew I needed you. You went more days without sleeping than I can count, and the number of times you got a full day off would probably fit on a tetrahedron die.

But we have had our problems. Your reliance on power outlets is neither environmentally conscious nor convenient. Heated arguments are one thing, but you never really chill out. You’re always hot under the battery pack. And I need someone I can count on. I can be scatterbrained, but you can’t seem to break the habit of losing important documents at the last minute.

When you lost Orlando, it was the beginning of the end. I know you didn’t like him (we had our disagreements too), but you can’t treat a thesis like that just because you’re jealous. I need a computer that can keep up with me, and I don’t think you want to anymore.

What’s more, now that you’ve lost touch with your network of friends, I just can’t afford to support you. You don’t have insurance, and you go to the doctor way more than someone your age ought to. All the features I liked about you seem to have expired. You even get really blue when I ask you to play music.

But I would like for us to remain friends, Linus. I think the phrase “trade him in for a newer model” is kind of crude. Just think of it as you’re being let go, your life’s going in a different direction, you’re part of a permanent outplacement…

I know, I know. It sounds bad. But we can still hang out from time to time. You’ll always be my first and only ThinkPad. I hope you can forgive me.

Sincerely,

Jen

The Big Day

Today is the hooding ceremony for my MA in English Literature. Everything suddenly feels so intense and final.

And exciting. 🙂

We did it, Class of 2011!