Sleep and Dream Peacefully: My Last Night in Canada.

It's my last night in Montreal. Tomorrow, I will be on a plane to Chicago to stay until Friday. There I will visit my mother, put some flowers on her grave, and enjoy the solace of the city . . . the tall buildings and busy streets . . . the foodstuffs . . . the noise. Oh, how I love the noise.

Now, however, I'm going to enjoy my time . . . listen to some great music . . . drink and eat the delights of French-Canada . . . and sleep peacefully in the wonderfully plush bed here at the inn.

Walking the Alleys and Picking of Loads of Literature: The Status of My Travels.

I suppose I should first write that Montreal is beautiful. I've been busy since I got here, exploring the city . . . walking down the hidden alleyways . . . devouring the most delicious cuisine I've tasted in a long while. I met up with an old friend yesterday and spent the whole day speaking French and being shown the city's wondrous nooks. Additionally, Septimus has yet to show up, so I get to spend a little bit of me time, which is kind of what I wanted out of this trip. Hopefully, I'll get the same alone time in Chicago when I leave here for there on Saturday.

In other news, I've shopped to my fill. I picked up all these old books on philosophical theory . . . plus, a little fiction (in French) . . . you know, a little bit of Henri Bergson, Andre Gide, Denis Diderot, Gustave Flaubert. I think when I finally finish travelling for the holidays, I am going to hole up at home with all my literature and read for days.

Well, I'm off now . . . I'm going to pick up lunch at the cafe down the street from the inn I'm staying in. Writing makes me hungry . . . or maybe I was hungry to begin with? Either way, I'm going to enjoy these few days of self and introspection before I meet up with John and all of his relatives next Saturday.

The Oxford Illustrated History of Western Philosophy: I've Read It Before.

I'm in the airport waiting for my flight thirty minutes. I'm watching all the other people . . . walking around . . . standing around . . . chasing after their out-of-control children. The guy sitting next to me is reading a book on Western Philosophy. He's on the section entitled "Descartes to Kant" and is currently reading the about Leibniz and his logic as it relates to free will. I was reading over his shoulder . . . kind of creepy, I know . . . but really, airports are kind of creepy places. 

Catching a Flight to Montreal After Late Night Exams: Why I Love Travel.

I just got back from administering a final exam. It was one of the late night exams scheduled from 7-10 pm. Thankfully, the exam was one of those "150 multiple choice questions" kind of tests, so all the students got finished earlier than the allotted time, thus making it so I got to leave sooner. I'm also double thankful for the multiple choice exam, because it means I don't have to spend the next week trying to pull myself through grading 60 exams manually over my holiday, which actually will be starting tomorrow. 

I have office hours in the morning which I'm obliged to make an appearance for, but when they end I will then be off to the airport to catch my flight to Montreal . . . well, my flight to Chicago where I have an overnight layover and a flight to Montreal the next morning. I have a feeling it's going to be a little hectic. Just writing about layovers and flights and destinations . . . makes me feel flustered . . . but in a good way (if that is possible). I suppose I love to fly. You know, seeing the world through that tiny window, so far away, but still there. Maybe it's just the nerd in me but I like to identify landforms as we pass over them in the plane . . . synclines, bajadas, drumlin fields, whatever. 

Anyways, I should stop writing and go double check my suitcase . . . so I don't have to worry about wondering if I packed enough pairs of socks in the morning . . . and I should find my plane ticket . . . and pack a sack lunch for the wait at the airport.

Oh, I almost forgot . . .the most important thing: my travel playlist. I needed to upload it to my ipod before I leave. It would be a shame to leave without remembering to bring the music essentials. 

Did I Mention I Went Exploring Today?

In light of the fact that I wasn't able to get my daily breathe of fresh air in the usual manner today, I took a walk. Adventured around the property . . . something that I hadn't yet been able to do since moving here. Everything was pretty much covered in snow, but visually it was quite appealing. I mean, who doesn't like hazy pictures of frosty snow laden landscapes? They're more captivating than the alternative . . . pictures of the forest covered in detritus, leaves, accumulations of organic matter and trash, all brought to light by the heat of the sun and the tilt of the Earth's axis. But snow, well, it covers all this up. 

Despite the chill, it was nice to get outside though . . . experience a world outside that of my house, work, and educational obligations. Plus, I haven't had a reason to put my all-weather waterproofed hiking boots on since . . . well, forever (I had thought I would get the chance in Alaska . . . but that didn't pan out for me). I guess I didn't really need them since it's not exactly like I needed traction climbing any steep inclines on our property, but I couldn't decide whether it would be better to wear gollashes or hiking boots. Obviously, I went with the boot . . . and it wasn't a bad idea. 

When I got inside, I made cocoa and sat in front of the fireplace to thaw. It was comforting. Reminded me of being a child again . . . except I never sat in front of the fireplace as a child drinking cocoa . . . I didn't drink cocoa. My mother was allergic to chocolate, so she didn't allow any chocolate byproducts into the house. I guess she was afraid I might inadvertently kill her. 

Well, all this speak of family reminds me that I got a call from Septimus, my brother, today. He's meeting me in Montreal. Says we should fly to Chicago together. I don't exactly know how he found out that I was heading to Montreal this Friday (though I suspect John might have been partially to blame . . . I think he writes him letters, suspicious), but he did and said he was catching a plane there. Says he has most exuberant finds and that he'd be bringing them with him to Montreal . . . which most definitely means he's bringing some more philosophical propaganda and mixtapes . . . so he doesn't have to mail them to me. 

Anyways, it will be good to see my brother. He's relaxing. Mellow. Always so calm. Adores John because they both "understand" jazz . . . whatever that means. I expect that he'll want to go and visit my mother with me. It's the real motive. Weirdo. 

Maybe I'll Go Exploring.

I get to stay home today. No office hours. No appointments. No finals. No lab work. No reason to go to campus. I hope I fill the day with something productive. Maybe I'll go exploring. 

Early Day, Mood Off, and A Little Bit of Retrospection: Why I Started This Day With Apple Pancakes.

Today. Day one of finals week, and obviously my office hours were filled with students questioning everything. I've got a review session tomorrow night . . . to answer most of the same questions. I don't know. After office hours I got to go home, there was no reason to stay there. I finished all of my laboratory tests for work, now I've just got data entry left . . . which is b-o-r-i-n-g . . . and I can do it at home, rather than being in office. 

It was 9 degrees today . . . and naturally I had a 20 minutes hike down the hill to where I parked my vehicle. It was . . . a chilly walk spent in retrospection for my obviously unwise decision to forgo searching for a knitted hat this morning. When I got home, thankfully the fire had not yet extinguished itself, so the house was warm enough. This was at about 12:30 (amazingly early, I know) . . . so I made some apple pancakes . . . with kiwi (a little unseasonal, I know, but it fit) . . . and of course topped with vanilla ice cream.  

Oh, and I thought I'd add the manicotti from last evening as well. It turned out nicely. 

Anyways, I've been in a funk . . . music-wise. I was able to pick anything out this afternoon once I got home . . . unusual, I know. I ended up having to put the library on shuffle . . . it was awful. I usually have such a clear picture in my head of what mood I'm in. I ended up having to start my way a Belle & Sebastian and working my way through the following "B's." I don't think I'm going to follow that schematic ever again. It threw the entire rest of the day off. Oh, and I've written up all of the artists below, excluding ones I've written about before like Belle & Sebastian . . . Maybe you'll be able to associate your mood . . . unlike me. 

Black Star: Let's Take a Bath!

Black Star. Well, I can tell you it's just about the worse thing in the world to switch from Billy Bragg to Black Star. I like them though when they're not placed so abruptly on the playlist. Of course, you'll find that I like most of the music in my library . . . otherwise, it wouldn't be in my library. It just has to be placed in the right mood when listened to. 

I listen to Black Star, not going to lie, when I take a bath. Not showering . . . because showering fits the more Camera Obscura kind of mood, but bathing . . . it fits. Sitting in a pool of warm water. Overflowing with bubbles. Soap. The smell of lavender and vanilla shampoo. Black Star in the background. It just lets you loosen up. Or at least it lets me loosen up . . . pulls muscles out of knots . . . but has that definite edge so that you won't loosen up too much and fall asleep in the tub.  

You know, now that I'm writing about it . . . I think I'll be taking a bath tonight. Wash everything off of me. You know, like a ritual cleaning . . . but minus the ritual part. 

Billy Bragg: The Best Moment Ever.

Billy Bragg. I only have Mermaid Avenue Vol I & II which are the collaborations between Bragg and Wilco . . . done using the works of Woody Guthrie songs. It's nice . . . kind of folky, kind of country . . . it's a good mix of both, and well, his voice is so low and soulful. Of course, since the album is partially full of Wilco performing the songs . . . It's kind of hard to situate just the Billy Bragg half. So I won't. Here's the mood:

Between 9 and 11 am when the sun has risen, but it's still technically morning. Cloudless sky. Wind. Lots of wind. Sometime in April, maybe March. The music is playing on the inside . . . but I'm outside and can still hear it. I have socks on. And a long T-shirt. No pants. It has rain recently, as in the last week, but not too recently so that the pavement on the streets is still wet. There is a big puddle of mud in the back lawn. I hop off the patio into it. Socks are still on. It splashes up, water and mud, onto my legs. Seeps into the white socks. Stains them brown. It's time to run. Everywhere. Around the trees. Hopping from puddle to puddle. Getting sufficiently dirty. I hear somebody waking up on the inside of the house. All motion stops. They peek their out the window. Questioning. I shrug my shoulders. Scene ends. 

I have to say: best moment ever. 

Beulah: A Sign That It's Been a Good Day.

Beulah. I'm a fan. Not a big fan . . . but still a fan. I have three of their albums: When Your Heartstrings Break, The Coast is Never Clear, and Yoko. They're what I associate with good days. Those days when everything falls into the right place. Of course, naturally you never know if the day has meshed correctly and fallen where it should until it's almost over. The solution to this problem is to have one of the above mentioned days . . . realize it right before you go to bed . . . put some Beulah on . . . and it's a good day complete. Of course, don't fall asleep with the Beulah on, because it's not exactly suited for sleeping moods . . . and then would therein, ruin the good day. 

Of course, there is one other situation that I find Beulah fitting for. In-office parties. It fits because the group isn't totally out there so that people wonder what the hell is on the party play list . . . but it's good enough so that you don't have to tolerate a night full of bad mixed songs from pop culture with unbearable beats . . . trust me, I've experienced this first hand. 

Bowties and Alfredo: My Progression Through the Works of Hesse.

I sat around all day again. Finished Demian. Started Der Steppenwolf. In the original German text. By tomorrow I'll be onto Das Glasperlenspiel. I feel like I'm reading through these too quickly. Maybe I am. Maybe not. 

Oh, and the noodles I was feeling last night turned out to be bowties. Topped with stuffed chicken pieces. It looks great . . . and tastes great. Win-Win. Tonight I'm feeling manicotti and cheese. We'll see how it turns out. 

Hesse, Noodles, Existentialism: What Sounds Like a Great Saturday Night.

I don't have much to write. I just feel like I've been on hiatus for awhile. I spent all afternoon reading Hesse. It was nice to get into a little German existentialism for the day . . . made me feel . . . secure? I also had the music of I'm From Barcelona on all day as well. It was nice, fit the mood, you know? I'll write something up about them sometime soon . . . for now I think I'll go and indulge myself in a nighttime snack. I'm feeling noodles . . . and we'll see where it leads. 

New Haircut: Let the Beat Roll Over.

Ah! I got a new haircut today! It was getting a little long . . . and hard to deal with. So cut-cut. Of course now I can't pull it up into a mop on the back on head when I'm tired . . . but I guess I'll deal. 

In other news, I've got to go. I'll write something else tomorrow. I don't know. I'm listening to the Thermals for the day . . . even though I sadi I was going to go all folk this week. I needed some . . . encouragement . . . with life . . . oh, and a little female power trio, because I listened to Sleater-Kinney all morning. What can I say, I'm not resolute with my listening choices?

What Do You Know About the Soils of Your Region? Or More Importantly, What Don't You Know About Them?

I need a drink. Badly. 

From the title, you might be able to assume I know nothing about the soils of my region. Well, okay, truthfully, I know a little bit about the some soils . . . but not from my region . . . and I don't really know what to do with what I do know. 

The reason for my lack of knowledge? I don't care enough. 

The reason for my predicament? You know all that "work" I've been doing . . . the work other than my job (which is already too much) . . . it's been devoted towards, my soils knowledge. Let's just say that I took a plunge this year . . . I wanted to gain a better understanding of other areas outside my line of expertise (ecological biodiversity in the fields of marine biology and entomology) so I decided to take a course in something land based . . . Pedology (soils for the layman). Quite frankly, it's killing me. 

I suppose I should say . . . I'm not actually have trouble understanding the concepts and the reason behind my research. I'm just having trouble putting it all into words . . . or at least enough words to meet the minimum page requirement for the length of text (that's what it basically is) that I'm being required to write. Everything I have so far . . . well, it's bile. 

Thankfully, I do not have to deal with John being home tonight, so I have the music on loud, switching between Cat Power and Bonnie "Prince" Billy. Thankfully, today was a Tuesday so I only worked till eleven . . . then I was able to come home, nap for about an hour, and then work out a little tension via baking the most delicious sponge roll I've ever produced. The cream filling is to die for . . . it's a vanilla passion fruit (homegrown from the vine over this summer) combo . . . and it's all topped with a little powdered sugar and raspberries. Yum. 

The music just switched over to The Hold Steady . . . which I should go and fix immediately. It's throwing off the mood. Completely. I also think I'll go and whip up a dinner that is a little more healthy than sponge roll . . . maybe something like Mediterranean . . . like mojadara, yum. 

Well first, I think I'll go get that drink before anything else. I'm going to need it. 

Polyphonic Spree, Grilled Cheese, and a Busy Schedule: What I Can See in My Future.

It's the last week of classes before finals week. I have to say that I'm glad. Then it's off to Montreal. I'm staying there for a week, catching a plane back to Chicago staying there for a few days, renting an automobile to drive down to St. Louis to meet up with John and his family there (I'm really looking forward to it again! As if the grandmother who didn't speak English wasn't confused last year about why we dating or getting married . . . she'll be even more puzzled we she finds out we're living together, ha), then I'll be riding back home with John. Ah, all the travel I'm going to be doing, in such a short time . . . It's wonderful. 

Anyways, this week is going be all about, you know . . . calming down, feeling my inner zen, and I don't know making great soup and grilled cheeses sandwiches (that's what I do before every finals week). To do this, I'm going to be reverting back to some good, wholesome, folk music . . . well, maybe it won't all be folk music . . . but it will be soothing, low key . . . and very melodious. 

I'm not going all out folk today . . . actually I'm not even entering into the genre (but wait for it, tomorrow I'll totally be bringing out the Cat Power) . . . Tonight, I putting on the Polyphonic Spree. You know, the good kind of music that uplifts the soul and brings in the sunshine. They've got that edge of instrumental that I'm craving but at the same time the reverberation of choir and song. Plus, I can't stress this enough, they wear uniforms. Which sells the whole deal. I saw them for their New Year's Eve Concert with Grandaddy . . . robes and all. Best night of my life. Best show of my life, as well. Now really have to go turn the music up . . . loud.

Montreal: It's Where I'm Heading.

Je voyage à Montréal dans deux semaines. Peut-être je pourrai pratiquer mon français. Peut-être pas. C'est toujours agréable sortit du pays un peu. Même si pour seulement quelques jours. 

The Blue Room: It Not Only Hosts Jazz on the Weekends, But Also Provides Ample Ground For Me to Splay My "Work."

We're going out again tonight, John and I. More jazz. It's kind of soothing really. It used to play jazz . . . saxophone, tenor. Of course, I also used to play french horn. This was all back when I was an undergraduate in Chicago . . . I was in a couple ensembles. This was also back when I thought I was going to devote my life to the arts and soft sciences, when I a linguistic anthropology major. Obviously, that didn't work out for me. 

Anyways, I felt a little lackluster about what I had written earlier, so I decided to write some more. I finished spinning the wool. I think I'll hand it off to someone else to use . . . I just don't have it in me. After that, I worked. Did a little bit of dribble writing for some closure on some research and then took a shower. I had to wash off feel that my body coats itself with after sitting around on my bed with about twenty books surrounding me, Manila folders full of paper and copies and charts and graphs, and my laptop at the center of it, shining one of those haloed lights on everything else . . . It just makes me feel . . . grimy. I think I need to start moving these little "work" sessions to a desk or table. 

Well, I should go. I can hear John coming down the stairs, ready for a night jazz, drinks, and merriness. Hmm . . . that sounded kind of lame. 

Big Band Jazz Makes For a Late Morning: Why I Need a Cup of Strong Black Tea.

It doesn't feel like my sort of day. I woke up late . . . which keeps throwing me off. John and I went to the Jazz Club downtown last night, and I still have the sound of piano mixed with a little trombone echoing in my head. When I woke up, he was already downstairs spreading marmalade on toast, which I remember thinking was odd because he hates marmalade and I'm always out on a jog before he even wakes up. Told you the day was off. 

I did make it to the market though, ended up getting some honey and boysenberry jam (I had since found that we were out . . . hence John using marmalade). After returning home, I relit in the fire, to warm the house back up from where it was lingering, 48 degrees F and chilly. While waiting for the feel to return to my fingers, I began starting up a side-project that hade been sitting on the back burner since last winter . . . spinning some alpaca wool that I finished dying last year, but never got around to spinning . . . maybe next year I'll actaully get around to making a sweater out of it. Maybe not. 

Anyways, I think I need to go and drink more tea . . . the sounds of big band jazz are coming back in my head. Or maybe it's John putting some music on . . . well, atleast he had the sense to put the tea kettle on as well, I can hear it boiling. Hmmm, maybe not. I think I need a nap. 

Panna Cotta and a Four Berry Blend.

Thought I would give a little taste of what I had for breakfast this morning. I whipped it up last night as a tasty dessert . . . until realizing that I had to let it chill for eight or more hours. So, welcome breakfast treat . . . after much shuffling of frozen fruit I found the four berries: raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, and strawberries to put on this morning. They really made the dish. John's going to use the remaining berries to make a berry blended pie this afternoon.

However, my secret trick that made this breakfast better: a handful of raspberries in a water glass with a splash of vodka . . . it made four in the morning a tad bit easier. 

A Round Trip From Chicago to Arizona in a Volvo Wagon: Why I Started Listening to Tortoise.

Alas! I feel like a posting wizard today . . . I just keep writing and writing and writing. Obviously, from the title, you can see this post is about Tortoise, of whom I hold a special place in my heart. I first listened to Tortoise . . . well, many years ago . . . like seven years ago, actually. I was still an undergraduate at Northwestern University . . .  and my then roommate and friend, Will, and I had embarked on a trip over the winter holidays, because neither of us had anywhere to go for the break . . . and for some reason we decidedly put our minds and money towards a road trip from Chicago all the way to Arizona (don’t ask me why . . . maybe for the warmth).

The whole way driving there in my old Volvo Wagon, through the snow and ice and sleet, we listened to Tortoise. It just fit that mood, you know, for going on an adventure with just a road map and an automobile to get you wherever on the map you wanted. Personally, I had only started listening to them because of their association with The Sea and Cake, which at the time I listened to nonstop . . . but after those couple days of driving through the night . . . day . . . and then night again listening to Tortoise, I became addicted. They just have that sort of nuance associated with them, which makes them easy to travel to, whether it is by car, plane, train, or bus. You can just put on the headphones, pull out your copy of The Western Lands by Burroughs . . . and well, actually understand what is happening in the book (I did this once while riding the Amtrak to D.C . . . I don’t whether it was Tortoise bringing me clarity or if it was just a good day). 

However, despite the clarity Tortoise gives me when traveling . . . somehow for other situations, it just doesn't work. Like to prep myself to write these passages, I put some on, you know, as a refresher to get the sounds back into my head . . . it didn't work. Maybe my mood was completely off . . . or something, but I was not feeling it . . . at all. I had to wipe the slate off and switch over to something completely different, Grandaddy, to get back into the writing feel. 

Anyways . . . I suspect on the flight to France in May I'll have a sufficient amount of Tortoise on the playlist, to get by. For now I think I will give pause and stop writing for the day. I'm going to put on another sweater I think, while I wait for the fire to warm up the house . . . and I'm probably . . . no wait, I am going to go russle up something in the kitchen for a dessert, I'm feeling kind of peckish, like I want to try everything sweet and fruity all at once. I think I have some frozen strawberries and blackberries leftover from the summer . . . maybe I'll whip something up with them. Yum.

Stir-Fry, Winter Melon Soup, and The Swell Maps: What I Use to Medicate Frustration.

I feel a little old. I just ate “dinner” at five in the afternoon, which for some reason as has signaled to me the sign of old age . . . early dinners, long naps, waking up at five in the morning to grab the newspaper. At least I still feel sprite. I have to give my defense tomorrow to be accepted into the “grant money program” for my doctoral research . . . otherwise, no France over the summer . . . and it would be such a shame for me to throw in the cards now after I’ve put so much time into perfecting my French (total lie).

Anyways the dinner was fabulous! As mentioned earlier I started out making a winter melon soup . . . I thought that that would be filling enough and end that gnawing hankering I was having for Chinese cuisine. I ended supporting that with some stir-fry . . . which turned out quite nicely. 

Onto the purpose of this article, I pulled out the Swell Maps a couple weeks ago. They’re one of those British rock bands from the 1970’s . . . and fittingly enough were influenced by other groups like Can (see prior post).  They’re basically you’re fitting punk rock group . . . that you bop along to when you’re in need of one of those uplifting kind of beats that’s not too intense . . . but at the same time has enough push to get everything moving. When I was still in high school I would, pop the Swell Maps on after those painful days in the public school education system . . . now I pop the Swell Maps on after those painful days . . . at work, when I’m expected to complete piles of paper and readings and research and well, everything else.

My brother was a huge fan . . . he’s into that kind of stuff though . . . you know, the whole punk mainstream thing. Which in being, seems kind of . . . against his . . . docile, mellow nature, but I suppose he surprise the most of us with his quirky kind of tastes. Hmmm . . . I suppose I should write some more . . . describe more, but I haven’t really any more words in me. 

Hmmm, come to think of it . . . I could use a little bit of The Swell Maps right now, to loosen up a little bit. I’ll post more later, when I feel a bit less strained. 

Summer, Sunscreen, and the Joys of Can: Why I Spent My Summer Holidays Running Extension Cords Across the Lawn.

As promised I’m going to start posting all these writings that I’ve been storing up for the past months. Here goes:

I’m going to start out with the music of my childhood, Can. Not going to lie, Tago Mago was the first album I ever bought . . . I remember being thirteen and my brother giving me fifteen dollars to go buy myself something nice. I came back with Can. Not going to lie I don’t remember much else about the incident, other than that I spent the rest of the summer with the music on loud, running the player from a series of extension cords going through the window of my bedroom, the roses in the garden outside, into the lawn, and past it into the fallow field that lie

 beyond our house. There I could run, dig, pretend, burn the skin on my shoulder and back while still listening to those beated, semi-psychedelic tones.

I guess the entire push of this article is that Can is the music of summer, the summer of children, when running and playing is all one can ever think about. It’s reminiscent of the smell of sunscreen applied in liberal amounts because everyday you have to deal with parents ranting about how “Skin Cancer Kills!” and reminds a person of skinned knees, fresh strawberries and cut watermelon. I suppose this musing, about how Can makes me feel and the setting in which it should be listened, might be only due my close tie to it and narrow mindedness to branch out my listening to other situations.

Whichever, I think I’m going to slice up some winter melon . . . I’m making a winter melon soup for dinner, since it has gotten so chilly here as of late. Thankfully, I pulled my winter clothing out of storage in the closet last weekend . . . or I would have had to shuffle groggily this morning to find my gloves and coat (not that they helped . . . I forgot to go out and start the car earlier than normal, so I had to sit in it, freezing while it warmed up). 

An After Thought.

Oh, I've written up some . . . dribble . . . about the musicians on the electronica mix. I'll post it soon . . . not to mention, some writings on Can, Tortoise, and my favorite The Swell Maps. 

Recap: Life.

I haven't slept in 38 hours. John tells me this is probably a . . . bad thing? I keep telling myself that I'm too . . . wired to sleep . . . too on edge to drift off into that foggy slumber. The even weirder half of this whole ordeal (other than myself trying to stay awake) is that I had an entire day full of meetings . . . boring, lackluster meetings since 7 in the morning and I felt no urge to drift off during any of them. There must be something wrong with my tea. 

In other news, I finished John's birthday electronica mix . . . and did away with the whole Swedish thing because I really wanted to include some Burial on is and well . . . that didn't fit with the theme. But I did get lots of The Knife, Johan Fotmeijer, Adam Beyer, Emmon . . . you know, the usual. Upon finishing, I started to think that maybe I had went . . . I don't know . . . a little overboard, but now, looking back I think it'll go over quite well.

Just Somthing Else I Don't Have Time For: Why I'm Writing This When I Should Be "Working."

I'm really tired. I've come to the realization that I do way too much in my life. I mean my schedule is quite . . . obscene really . . . and well, never ending. I spent the holidays (even though it was not like I was going to celebrate them anyways) dividing my time between work (even though I wasn't supposed to be working), committees, focus groups, volunteer fundraising, and on Sunday night I was able to throw in two hours of studying my French. For once, I just want to be able to sit down and not think about . . . anything. You know, have a cup of milk and some scone-like treat, while not having to devote my time to any one particular task. 

So, in spite of my obviously bad time management skills, I decided to throw into the mix, well . . . throwing a party for John's birthday next week. It's going to be one of those "Swedish-Electronica-Themed-Parties" (even though he's not Swedish) complete with punch and all the delicious goodies. I'm a little excited . . . because not only do I get to make "punch and all the delicious goodies" but I get to mix all this delightful electronica music . . . which is such a pleasure. It also gives me a reason to not worry about work and research and work and people and obligations . . . did I say work? 

I think I'm going to mix mainly some Hot Chip and well, whatever else. I've got to mull over my choices for awhile.