Post thesis writing blahs

It's quite natural to want to take a break from writing after doing the equivalent of many marathons in order to produce a defendable thesis. But the break has turned into an unpaid, unappreciated leave of absence and is quickly becoming a serious case of the blahs. It's not that I don't have ideas, or even in-progress projects, it's just that it's all too easy to let the inner voice say "hey, I just wrote a 110 page thesis, I need a break. Put on a DVD and get me a gin & juice while you're up". The inner voice is such a lazy arsehole, I swear.

I actually miss getting up and spending a good part of the morning writing. For awhile I had my daily target at 500 words. I would do 500 no matter what, and then power on past 1000, sometimes to around 1500, if I was really on a roll. I'd start with 300 words of free, non-stop writing on a short story, "Grozny", and then go straight into thesis work. Since I write pretty clean copy the first time round, most of what I wrote was usable if not necessarily in the order it was written. I need to get back into a routine, and get on with it already. I'm hoping to have a more solid base of freelance contacts for when I'm in Europe, and time is limited for building that up. I've also got a large list of tasks to sort through:

Set a new writing target and write everyday
Get 3 queries sent out this week
Finish the course syllabus
Pay Discovery, get accounts paid up and in order
Rent cheques to landlord
Clean up the house
Medical claims
Travel arrangements
Excel charts for work
Do up the bloody overdue-since-April 30th taxes
Get a tuition refund from school
Start returning the boatloads of library books I have, before they are all due at once in September

Saw the new Superman yesterday, despite hating Superman. And you know what? I STILL HATE SUPERMAN. But he was hot, I'll give him that. When I find a reality in which all problems can be solved by whipping them into outerspace, I'll maybe alter my opinion. But only if he stops flying around with a bunched fist, cuz he looks like a moron when he does that. A hot moron, but a moron nonetheless.

Best thing worst thing

The Internet: best thing to happen to writers or worst challenge to the practice of the craft ever invented (thanks, Al Gore)? I'd really like to write out my thoughts on the subject, but I have a few more blogs to surf before I get down to work.

I thought I'd use a picture (not me) to dive into today's topic:
Bridesmaid season has now been kicked into high gear, and I'm starting to haemorrhage money in a most alarming way. I think if you're born a girl, you should automatically be handed a little guidebook with warnings about this stuff.

Like, warning, before saying yes to bridesmaidhood, be advised that:

*The dress will be priced in euros, not dollars. It will not fit when you try it on. There will be public nudity, awkward measuring, seamstresses, tears and more money involved in fixing the problem (which happens to be that the dressmaker got all the measurements correct except the bust, meaning I could fit a few encyclopedias quite comfortably in there). Reading material for the ceremony, bonus.

*You also need shoes, bra, jewelry, a shawl, a professional hairdo, makeup and so forth. You will draw the line at paying for a mani/pedi, as you strongly believe that nobody touches your feet without paying YOU!

*You will become a part of the wedding machine. No matter your personal feelings on marriage (which amount to "whatever floats your boat, as long as I don't have to walk down no aisle"), you are now a part of a whole new realm of behaviour, protocol and ritual. You may feel weird about some of the things you are now obliged to do. You will be asked many, many times about when you will be getting married. Surprise will be expressed if you state that no, you are not actually interested in being a princess for a day.

*Strippers and limos cost a lot of bloody money. You knew that before, but this is the first time you've ever been put in charge of "giving the stripper directions to the apartment and making sure he brings his naval uniform".

*You realize that you will now be a part of a drunken hen party that will hit the clubs and howl "she's getting married tomorrow, wooooo!" at every opportunity. You've always smirked at these roving bands of tiara-wearing women, now, you are one of them. Good god.

Don't get me wrong, I am very happy and honoured to be a part of my dear friend's wedding. I love both groom and bride, and know that this is a wonderful event in their lives and I am so happy to share it. I even plan to have a lot of fun at all the various wedding events. It's just that none of the roles, tasks and monetary investments involved were things that ever crossed my mind, having never been a bridesmaid before. Money is very tight, now that I'm done with school and have gone into loan repayment, and it's a bit painful to spend so much money. Why can't there be some kind of "Bridesmaid Grant Program"? If KINK can get money from the federal government to do its thing, why can't I?

If you're at the wedding, I'll be the chick in the black dress at the bar (open, thank goddess), clutching a portrait of Pierre Bourdieu to my heart.

Geez, mention soccer on your blog and watch the site traffic increase!

The house actually shook from the impact. Then the wail went up. I looked outside but couldn't see anything, so I ran down to double check. In the weeds beside the house, a small child holding her head and crying, a lifeless bike and a dent in the wall. I went running back in, grabbed ice packs, antiseptic wipes and bandaids, and then the little girl and her friend sat on my porch to get patched up. There was a stubbed toe that needed tending, and serious questions to be asked. "Do you have a daughter?" "How about a son?" "Are you married?" "How long have you lived here?" "My sister says that your house needs painting, are you going to paint it?" "Where's your cat?" By this time, tears had stopped flowing, explanations had been given (the bike has no brakes, so the wall of my house was the stopping mechanism) and they were off, laughing again.

Ah Zizou, pour l'amour de dieu!

What a way to go into retirement! Yes, the analysis will probably show that Materazzi, as much as I hate to think it, said something unconscionably awful - most likely racially motivated. It's the ugly side of football - sports generally- but for crissakes, it's hardly new or surprising! It's a well known strategy to provoke and unsettle the opposition. So why would Zidane, in the last 10 minutes of his life as a footballer, do something that could only result in ejection? To go from graceful master of the beautiful game to irrational thug, to send Les Bleus to penalty kicks as you are forced to stalk off the pitch with a red card held aloft - I cannot begin to imagine the shame, rage and désespoir Zizou must be feeling. The sentiment is likely echoing across France tonight.

Me? I was pulling for Italia and applauded Elizondo's call, as there was no other possible outcome for Zizou, as much as I felt sad for him. When the Cup started, I considered supporting France, ancestral ties and all. And certainly, they have excellent players in their midst. But the games I watched were so far from stellar, with their star power and luck carrying them through - malgré their weakness as a cohesive unit - that all I could muster was a profound sense of boredom. I have a soft spot for Portugal, having supported them through Euro 2004 (not to mention that my boyfriend, Christiano, makes the team a visual pleasure as much as a sporting one), and ended up cheering for them in their match up against France. But the game was assommant, and I ended up checking my email more than watching. The Italy v Germany game was the deciding factor in my choice of team to support to the final, despite Italia knocking my beloved Czech team out. I went into the match pulling for Italy and came out the other end 100% sure of my pick for first. The fire and skill of the Italian team, not to mention those gorgeous twin goals by Grosso and Del Piero in the last minute of extra time, left no doubt in my mind about who I would be backing today. To France's credit, they did a pretty good job. For once I actually found them to be playing at their reputed level of skill. But there was sloppiness too, like Diarra's pushing the limits, lipping off and getting a yellow. Up until the headbutt, I was sure that he'd get a red card and bring the team down to 10. And then Zidane walked over to Materazzi, weird smile on his face, and knocked the Azzurri player off his feet. Elizondo didn't actually see the shocking move, but his lineman did. There was no doubt about the outcome: Zizou would end his career outside the stadium, while his teammates soldiered on to their ultimate defeat.

World Cup, Zizou, red card

Reading lists

I've got raspberry muffins cooling on the counter and a pot of freshly made coffee to my right. Old time jazz is wafting in on the sweet scented breeze. I've turned the kitchen into my office, as the unwashed dishes and soft light coming through the screen door seem most conducive to getting work done.


Summer seems like the best time to catch up on some reading. I've got a few ideas for classics in my field that need a second glance. There's also the course readings I'm putting together for the fall. But I want to get a good list of other possibilities going, something I can take to the library. So, I'd be delighted all you literate people would make suggestions of "must read" books for my summer self-improvement project. Suggestions from usually silent readers would be happily accepted! Here are a few ideas to get things rolling:

1) Alison Bechdel's Fun Home. I think this book has the most buzz this season so it's getting harder and harder to not pick it up. From the author of the Dykes to Watch Out comic.

2)Bill Buford's Heat. Apparently it's not possible to review this book without alluding to Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential, which makes both the book and the reviewers seem dull beyond all reason. Nonetheless, Buford is a good writer with a sharp eye for detail, and the subject - restaurant work- is interesting to a former dishwasher like me. If you haven't read Buford's Among the Thugs, do run out and get it. Perfect World Cup reading, as it deals in intricate sociological detail with the English footie hooligan phenomenon in the 80's. Excellent, chilling ethnography.

3) Insert your ideas here

And life continues

While the final formatting of the thesis was excruciating - 6 hours to format a 7 line table of figures, come on Microsoft! - the actual approval process at Grad Studies was a breeze. I expected to have to reformat the table of contents, to argue over my copyright permissions (since they were in email form), to need the signature of a person away until the first week of July, something, anything. But the rubber stamp came down, and lo, it was good.

My advisor held an awesome party for all three of June's grads, with barbecue, wine and cake. My thesis went up on the mantle piece next to the others - and whoever said size doesn't matter is wrong, mine was the biggest - and we had a great time. I have been lucky to find an advisor who is so caring and challenging, who makes me want to continue on in academia. We will be discussing phd programs and publishing this summer.

I still can't quite believe I'm done, but man, I feel great.

Go Portugal!