Bear in mind, this is largely plagiarized. Below is the description of our course, the first we will ever teach. It looks like a hoot, we know, but alas: enrollment is capped and we can't permit another student to sign up. Unless she's hot and has a round ass.This section of English 110 will focus on representations of cultural trauma, loss, and memory at times of historical crisis and war. In addition to exploring contesting definitions of the terms that comprise the course title, assignments will invite students to analyze how crisis and trauma narratives are constructed; whom they are constructed by; who consumes them and how they are intended to be consumed; and how they are shaped by rhetorical and cultural contexts and concepts of the individual, community, and the nation.Next semester it's nothing but fluff and pop culture, we promise.

A friend pointed me to feb 03 good housekeeping's interview w/ LauraBush, in which she discusses the love she shares w/ the pres. The obedient wife, she married him age 31--and what was she doing with her life, out of college, on her own, for the 10 years before then? Was she a virgin? (My friend thinks yes). Do you want to know her advice to a newlywed? (Pay attention, pay close attention to your husband during your first year together, because first years are rocky and telling.)

All I remember about Laura comes from the origin of poetsagainstthewar, when she invited Sam Hamill to attend a White House symposium on Dickinson, Whitman, and Hughes.

How can you not compare this significant lack of information and attention with the media's nasty slanderous representation of Bill and Hilary?

As I was writing this, a knock on the door: two young men (Mormons?) wearing Jesus pins, want to save me. I am here to enjoy my sins, thank you very much.

Highlights: getting car fixed so I can make a roadtrip to Omaha! And I now own custom-fitted new sneakers, with creamsicle/ibook orange stripes, so I can pound pavement for a Sunday morning mini-marathon. Duh. Rally tonight, writing to do...

My therapists keep asking me to consider going back on meds. The signs are all there, etc, except what I don't tell them is that not only am I experiencing all the classic signs, but I am also experiencing their opposite, simultaneously. I am a walking living breathing contradiction. If I describe myself one way, usually the opposite is also true. I'm tired and wide awake. I hate/love everybody. I want to live, I want to die. I care, I don't care, i like small white men, i like big black cocks Time moves quickly, time moves slowly. I'm one thing and the other, at once. Talk about the ambivalence, one tells me. It feels like holding down the lid of an exploding bomb. It feels like a center tearing apart in every direction. Opposing forces. In every thing. Making one decision means I make the other decision in my mind. Always hovering over what I'm not, almost with glee, knowing it is also me, a possibility, flashing on and off, up and down, in and out, one and two, sensitive and numb, so that I am in permanent vaccillation, spiraling out of grasp, within whatever I grasp

Went on holiday from internet. Walked in woods and met with wise woman. I was right about the girl, my date. We drank and had amazing sushi. Fusion food. Wasabi bloody mary. There was a piano bar down an alley. Her boots were suede and complicated. She was more into me than I was into her. When I came home, I didn't want to think about it. I put on another movie. My goal is to watch every queer film from every video store in this town. Surprisingly there are a lot. I have been making requests too. So I'm in my boys' underwear realizing I'm buff! I'm hot! And I want someone else to tell me, a leader of my fan club. And then she calls to say "she had a really good time," blabla. I couldn't crush her. Not then. I did like her tattoo. A blue lotus between her big tits. She has a haunted painting. I want to see her artwork. She wants to tie me up. But I think it's time for me to seek out the pool-playing harley-riding butches. Or at least someone who knows how to select the right coat to wear on a cold night. Someone who can cross the street like me, regardless of lights, and someone I don't have to worry about getting hit by a car, someone who I know can make it across on her own. Attraction is mysterious. How do you do it?
okay, watch out, it's spring break, it's my birthday, rock: there's a concert on the one-year anniversary of the U.S. invasion of Iraq, March 20 -- which is, incidently, also my birthday (my cat has decided to mark the day by vomiting a hairball right where it says "Spring Begins.")

girl can't sleep, going out to shovel, with headphones. right now i'm listening to: la traviata, shaker songs, scarlatti arias, sea chanteys, pet shop boys