Notes of the Death Penalty

So I spent the morning reading up on the death penalty. I read this story about a young man who may have confessed to a crime he might not have committed. I couldn't believe some of the details of this story: a man killed his possibly cheating wife, stuffed her in a car and then drove around to show people. I can't believe people say there is gender equality when things like this happen.
And then I read up on what John Paul Stevens, the former Supreme Court justice, thinks about the death penalty in reference to a particular book on the subject. There were lots of good facts in here too. Michigan (!) apparently made the revolutionary decision to outlaw the death penalty for everything except treason in 1846. And then after that, they decided that the state had to wait fifteen years before killing someone. And that 130 people have been set free (mostly from DNA evidence) since 1973.

Only in New York

So, reading up on history today, and apparently there was a mayor of New York who tried to have George Washington killed. Yes, that George Washington.
I tend to tell my friends stories from history a fair amount of the time. I think some of them think I'm making them up, which is why I can't tell them this story because it is way too crazy. There are too many details that sound made up, like the fact that this idea was planned out in a tavern. The moment that came out of my mouth everyone would think this was a tall tale. Me? I think it's the sort of thing that could only happen in New York.

Harry Potter Ruined My Life

Today I happened to read this article called "Regrets of a Semiprofessional Potterphile." The author discusses how it was a relief that Harry Potter is officially over. No more new movies or books.
I remember when the last book came out, Sam said something to me about what a relief it would be to finally be done with the story. That word "relief" stuck in my head. I didn't remember feeling relief but maybe a little bit of closure. And, moreover, the best kind of closure, the kind that makes you look back fondly but still with a sense of wondering what happened afterward.
Reading this article and reflecting back on some of the negative things people have said about their Harry Potter experiences have made me grateful my experience was mostly positive. Most of the negative things about my own experience happened early on with the cultural dominance of the series and not later on. I'm wondering if my ability to pull back from the books and get obsessed with other things (school in general, history, Robert Sean Leonard, Lost) was good for me. (And maybe what didn't happen to everyone, though I can't obviously speak for themselves.)
Hilariously enough, my obsession probably ended around the time when the fifth book came out, which, considering how long ago that way and how long this thing lasted, seems early. I saw some of the movies (often soured on what I thought was poor depictions of the books) and I read the books the moment they came out, but that was sort of it. I didn't read much fanfiction or talk anymore on Internet chat forums. And when I did chat about the series, it was usually because someone would bring it up. For me, the series was done before it really was done, and maybe that's made a big difference in my reaction to it. Honestly, seeing the last movie actually made me a little nostalgic (in the good way I mentioned before, the look-back-and-think-fondly) and want to go back to Hogwarts for a weekend or two.

Gay Bar History

I spent part of today reading up on the history of gay bars.  The worst thing about reading this kind of stuff is how much it makes me want to actually go to some of these places.
I really want to check out The Atlantic House, even though I can't imagine a reason why I would ever be in Massachusetts.  It sounds like a really fascinating history: it's existed since the 18th century and it was a regular haunt of artists like Tennessee Williams, Eugene O'Neill and Andy Warhol.  
(As a sidenote: will I know that I have made it as a writer when people are aware of where my regular haunt is?  And is it a problem I don't currently have one?)
One of the worst things about reading this article is I found myself thinking about how much I would love an excuse to go to these places.  
And as a last note: How disappointing is it to hear The Double Header isn't much of a gay bar anymore? 

Latinos and Latinas in Hollywood

Reviewing an article on actors who "you didn't know were Latino" today, and finding myself sort of worried about the things said in the article. 

First, I'm always bothered when actors "pass" as white, because it sends the message that their actual race or races is unacceptable.  Raquel Welch, Jamie-Lynn Sigler, members of Jersey Shore and especially Alexis Bledel have all made careers out of playing white or coded as white characters.  Bledel played one of the white main characters in a alarmingly white town of Gilmore Girls and the Greek American character in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.  Fergie may or may not be passing, depending on who you ask.  I suspect most of my friends think she's white, but she's made a point of working with other people of color. 
Benjamin Bratt is quoted in the article as being disappointed at the lack of roles that Latino men have, which is part of what makes passing so bothersome.  Passing as white often just marginalizes people of color more than they already were, and in a world were they are always being marginalized, this is problematic. 
The other thing about this article is that it reveals the complicated nature of identity.  Harry Shum, Jr., despite being coded as Asian, was both from Chinese parents in Mexico. 
As a last note, I don't feel comfortable about the statements made some of the actors.  At one point, they mention a particular singer got his talent from being Honduran.  This kind of stuff is based on stereotypes, and even a positive stereotype can have a negative effect on people. 

Busked

Read this article on busks, which were one of the many devices used, mostly by women, to make their clothing stiff. 
I realize this is a totally historically accurate thing, but when I read stuff like this it makes me want to throw up.  I complain all the time about my jeans being tight; when I see women wore things like this I think "there's no way I could handle that." 
There's mention in this article that one busk has a love message on it.  It might make an interesting detail of a romance story.

Minute to Win It with Grandma

Went to visit my Grandma.  She was excited to see my Mom and me.  And she was reading a sports magazine when we found her.  Among other things, it had an article about next year's Final Four.  They postulated that next year it would be the traditionally good at basketball schools, including MSU, which was on the cover.  (They were also big fans of North Carolina.)  I read bits and pieces of the article after she abandoned it, including anything on MSU and Butler.  Paul, Jimmy, Nate and Danny talk sports a lot, and I always feel lame for not knowing as much as they do.  (Though I honestly don't know if anyone knows as much as Danny does.)  So I try to keep up with the basics. 

Grandma wanted to watch this show called Minute to Win It, which I've never seen before.  I have to say, it's not really my kind of show.  I tend not to watch game shows, and when I do, the ones I like are trivia games, which is why Paul and I once had a standing Jeopardy watching date on Mondays.  (I still watch it occasionally, and I like to play along, because blurting out stuff and using my brain are both my cups of tea.) 
Anyway, the show is mostly silly and strange things, involving household items, like stacking cups in a certain way or throwing ping pong balls.  I wasn't really impressed, but I feel like the stuff on the show would make fun games to play with friends at a party.  Possibly they'd be even more fun with alcohol. 
The show had a young male teacher and an older Mom, and they were pretty cute together.  Then the next contestants were an older Dad (who looked weirdly German) and a cheerleader for some Atlanta team.  The cheerleader reminded me vaguely of Amanda.  The guy was kind of creepy.  A lot of the energy felt false and contrived and there was something about most of the contestants that mostly made me think they just wanted to get on tv. 

Hanging with Jon

Jon and I hung out.  We went to this courtyard where we use to brainstorm ideas and talked about things going on in our lives. 
Jon has recently gotten engaged, which was the big news.  He told me about how he and his fiancee are planning their wedding. 
He also showed me some art he's been working on.  Apparently something he and his fiancee do.  It actually looked like stuff similar to the stuff my Mom likes to make. 
While we were sitting there, Nate and Sam walked by.  Nate complained that I hadn't been by to spend time with him enough.  It was a surprising thing to say, because I don't usually feel needed by anyone, and sometimes I get the distinct feeling people want me to go away. 
Which is not to say I mind.  Years ago, I complained about boys being too needy, but I don't feel that way about Nate.  It might be because he's not a needy person, or it could be that I like the Nate's neediness.  It makes me feel needed but not like I'm under emotional siege.  (Which was the problem, back then.  That and he was never very giving, in all senses of the word.) 
Jon and I continued our talk, and I gave him a gift.  Jon's been complaining about having writer's block, so I collected some cool quotes from writers and gave them to him.  He thanked me. 
I also saw one of my favorite conversational friends, but he was on the phone and just waved at me. 
Jon and I went into one of the buildings nearby and dropped in on an art gallery party.  Just because.  They had these really bizarre mini rolls.  They were like spring rolls, but smaller, and covered in this clear, kind of squishy film.  It sort of made me imagine the larvae of some science fiction alien monster, which meant that I wasn't really into them.  I felt like they should have been trying to move out of my hand as I ate them. 
Afterward, the party ended and we dropped in on a poetry reading.  I was mostly going because I had some friends who were going to be there and two who were reading, so I wanted to go to see what would happen. 
Bobby and his girlfriend were there.  I've actually never met his girlfriend before.  Unfortunately, I didn't really get a chance to talk to her.  But Bobby seemed good. 
Bobby also formerly introduced me to his best friend, Cory.  I actually met Cory last year, though I don't think he remembered me. 
A couple of different teachers introduced the reading.  Lia read first.  She read poems mostly in the style of Mary Oliver, who, if I'm remembering correctly, she likes.  She had one poem about shopping the grocery store late at night.  There was something about it that was very calm, very dreamy.  If I was writing that poem, it would be more scary or, at the least, fraught with a sense of how strange being under florescent lights late at night in a desolate place. 
Then Cory read.  Cory was more formal in delivery.  He felt more like listening to a professor.  He talked about his girlfriend, and how they didn't get along right away.  The poem he read that sticks out the most in my mind was about a pistachio.  No kidding.  It made me brainstorm another poem for myself about a similar subject. 
This is one of the many things I like about poetry readings: they always manage to make me want to write more. 
There were more people reading, but Jon and I had to leave because we had to go to Virginia's concert. 
(Like I've said I've been super busy.  Three events in one night.)
Virginia plays harp.  The night before, I had proofread her list of songs.  I'm embarrassed to say that, since she was playing mostly classical songs, I didn't recognize much that was on there. 
The concert had a lot of friends that I hadn't seen in a while: Dean, Jane, Marguerite, Erin, and Amanda were all there.  Jon sat with his fiancee.  I think I briefly shook her hand.  Marguerite was reading a sample of poems I sent her and complained that I didn't need to send sixteen pages.
"Yeah, but there was only five poems," I said in reply, which made people laugh. 
Virginia's parents and old teachers were there, which was nice to see.  Virginia's Dad was older than I imagined and Virginia's Mom looked more like a typical Mom than I imagined.  I sort of imagined that Virginia's Mom would look more like a hippie than she did.  Her teacher there seemed like a sweet old lady. 
Despite knowing Virginia for years now, I had never seen her play.  It was really nice.  I've always had a soft spot for harps.  When I was little, my favorite instrument was a harp.  I had a computer encyclopedia program and I would play their samples of harp music all the time.  (I also played the violin, piano and guitar samples a lot, which I guess is pretty telling too, in terms of my musical tastes now.  I love violin, especially when it's used in with a heavy beat, since that's uncommon.) 
Harp is such an impressive instrument, partly because of its size but also because of the detailed finger work one has to use.  Virginia also had a piano player accompany her and then later on, another harp player.  Erin and Marguerite really wanted pictures of this. 
During the intermission, I turned to everyone and said "I don't mean to brag guys, but I'm going home tonight with the musician."  This got laughs from people.  Obviously, since I was living with Virginia, I was literally going home with her, but the implication I was making about sleeping with her was false.  Virginia luckily thought this was funny, and she laughed and put her arm around me. 

Hemingway

Reading up on Hemingway today.  I always associate him with a certain type of misogyny: one that's big on display but really has nothing substantial to support itself. 
But I learned some interesting facts from this article, including:
-George Orwell actually fought in Spain, until Hemingway. 
-Hemingway's dispatches were mostly fictional. 
-He wrote a play years later where he clearly puts himself in the place of a hunky spy pretending to be a war correspondent. 
As to the mystery of why Hemingway killed himself: he collapsed under his own ego.  I see this so often with men who paint themselves as larger than life, but there's nothing about them that his large.  All there is just facade, there's nothing even so wonderful behind it.
I would also note it's pretty telling that Hemingway's father killed himself.  Suicides have an unfortunate habit of running in families (Kurt Cobain, the infamous musician, was the fifth suicide in his family.) 

Poetry Reading

So, picking up where I left off on my last little story, I went to the poetry reading and did manage to surprise this professor.  It was sort of a relief to finally have achieved this surprise without too much ruining it. 
There is always this table in the back to the theatre where they sell poetry books and sometimes other stuff, and I was back there talking to Stephanie and Lia.  At one point they both looked over my shoulders and said "hey Mark!"
I turned around and, indeed there he was.  When I saw him last, his hair was a light blonde and it was close shaven.  Now he had grown his hair out, it seemed darker, it was highlighted, and he had a goatee.  I was kind of surprised by this change of look, because he had changed his look not that long ago. 
"Hi," I said, a big grin spreading across my face.  I was very happy to see him.  "You're looking very Renaissance." 
I mean, obviously he wasn't wearing the tights and those poofy pants that Shakespeare rocked so well, but I think he understood and took it as a compliment. 
Mark was surprised to see me as well, which was unintentional, since I wasn't even sure if he was going to be around tonight.  But I was glad he was.  We got to talking, shuffling off to the side to let people in.  We did the usual small chat and then talked about a teacher we had together.  I had seen this teacher recently and I reported to Mark that said teacher remembered him. 
This was not the whole story, but I was reluctant to tell him the whole thing.  When I saw this particular teacher, he had asked about Mark and I.  And by asked, he simply said "So, how are you and Mark?"  There was this terribly awful pause and then I realized this teacher thought we were dating. 
We aren't. 
The truly bad thing is that this is not the first person or even the first teacher to comment on Mark and I, which makes me a bit uncomfortable.  It's one thing when your friends know you like someone.  That's normal, especially when you make your preferences to them known.  But it's another thing entirely when it's just people you work with or teachers.  My feelings aren't meant to be so obviously to the world. 
As Mark and I were talking, Lia came over to commend us for not talking so loudly.  This was a problem I had last year.  (Actually, it's been a problem I've had forever, but it became of particular issue last year.) 
Derek came by, and it was my turn to be surprised.  Derek graduated ages ago, and although it wasn't a complete surprise to see him, it hadn't crossed my mind that I would.  He sort of looked at the two of us strangely and I realized that he was probably thinking the same thing as everyone else. 
I guess it's a good thing I didn't pursue a career in acting?
Mark and I decided to sit together.  We walked down to some seats near the stage.  As I sat down, I noticed another teacher from a few years back sit down.  He was surprised to see me, and I nicely waved at him. 
On a whim, I turned to Mark and said "So, how's your girlfriend?"  I couldn't remember her name, though I remembered she was a redhead, very pretty, and very slim. 
Mark looked a bit surprised and uncomfortable, but he said "We're not dating anymore."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
This was sort of a lie.  On one hand, I've had enough bad breakups that I know it hurts like hell, and can actually make things between other friends miserable.  (And has gotten to the point where I'm usually apathetic towards dating.  It takes a lot to get me interested in a guy to the point where I want to date him, and frankly, liking him isn't enough for me anymore.  I have to trust him, and the vast majority of guys I like never pass into trustable.) 
On the other hand, I do like Mark, and she was the reason I didn't pursue him earlier.  He was already dating her when I met him.  It was sort of a disappointment, but I promised myself years ago that I would never encourage a couple to break up.  If the guy really does like me, he'll realize it isn't fair to date someone else, and he'll do the breaking up on his own, regardless of whether or not he knows I'm willing to date an unattached version of him. 
The reading was starting up, so I didn't question Mark further.  I don't know if there would be that much to say either.  I think I would have just graciously offered to hear Mark out if he needed someone to talk to (always something I've needed post-breakup) but then also make clear he was under no requirement to talk to me if he didn't want to. 
The reading went okay.  I really like this professor, and the poetry she has been writing the last few years has been super intense and Wallace Stevens like.  I've been very impressed by it, especially since it was such a departure from her earlier work. 
Which is why I was kind of disappointed that she read her less challenging poetry.  She read more of prose stuff, not her deep image stuff.  She read one poem about sheep blocking a road, and I thought about how that was the sort of poem that would please non-poetry people. 

After the reading, I introduced Mark to Derek.  Mark and Derek both happen to be big fans of Arrested Development.  I told Mark about how Derek and I use to refer to one another as "Hey Hermano," which is a reference to the show.  (There's actually a slightly longer story there, but one I won't bore you with.)
Mark and I continued talking, slightly in the corner.  I told him about my roommate fiasco from a few months ago.  I told him about how I was raised by a master of passive aggressiveness, who was also raised by a master of passive aggressiveness, so really, I was quite good at being that way. 
"I can make anything sound passive aggressive," I said.  "Even something like 'yeah, okay.'"  I emphasized the words so that they sounded the opposite of "yeah" and "okay."

The Wild Side

In my last post I mentioned I read Urban Fantasy.  And then today I found this amazing cover of a new Urban Fantasy novel.
Can I just say how much I love it?  I don't know exactly what it is, but I really love it when a woman holds a gun.  I especially like it when the man doesn't have one either. 

I Am a Failure at Surprises

One of my old professors was giving a poetry reading, and obviously I wanted to go.  She hadn't seen me in a while, so I decided I should try to surprise her. 
The problem with me trying to surprise someone is that it often gets ruined. 
I decided to go that afternoon to a study room to do some reading and writing.  I frequent this particular study room, and it's usually pretty quiet on weekday afternoons.  At most, I've seen one person in there at this time of day, and even then, it's usually someone who just looks in and then walks away. 
I went in and, for about an hour, worked.  And then Chelsea walked in. 

I hadn't seen Chelsea in a long time either.  I was trying to remember the last conversation I had with her.  I vaguely remembered talking to her about four years ago about a book series we both liked.  I remembered this conversation because I didn't really know a lot of people who read this series; my best friend had introduced me to them years previous to that, and I had only spoken about the series with a man in a library once who read The Dresden Files, which I was also familiar with and was similar.  I think during that conversation Chelsea also mentioned that she was really good at interviewing for jobs and that's why she was always employed.  At the time this had impressed me because I had always felt like my interviewing skills were terrible.  (I am happy to report now that I've learned better interviewing techniques and that I think I've even impressed some people.)
But Chelsea didn't really acknowledge me.  She just sat down and read something.  Oh, I thought.  She must not remember me. 
Not that she really should remember me.  We were really friends of friends and I mean, I'm sure there have been more important people out there. 
We sat in silence for another half hour, I continuing with my work.  Then she looked up at me. 

"Have you ever read Foucault?" she asked. 
I had, but it had been a long time ago.  And because I had found him frustratingly difficult in English, I had looked up a passage in the original French.  It had been easier to understand, but that was all I remembered. 
Chelsea talked to me about some of Foucault's ideas.  She mentioned being in a particular class, which Kristina was also in.  (And had mentioned I should come to just to see what it was like.) 
Chelsea, as a fellow feminist, was not so sure she liked the ideas of Foucault.  He said some problematic things about women. 
"I always interpreted Foucault to be saying simply what is and not how things should be.  I don't think his statements are meant to be interpreted as him endorsing that view, just observing it." 
She nodded her head, looking far away.  "That sounds like something Foucault would say."
I smiled.  Now that was a compliment.  Alex had liked Foucault.  It was one of the things we had talked about in the interview.  Alex had said how beautiful she found his writing. 
I suddenly realized that I had a question for Chelsea.  "Are you one of the people from that feminist organization that recently formed?"
"I'm not really part of it.  That's Bianca." 
That surprised me.  Bianca and I had been in a class together last year.  She had been relatively quiet.  Despite this, it had been obvious to me she was thoughtful and way cooler than I am (though, I would argue pretty much everyone is cooler than me.) 
I made a mental note, if I ran into Bianca anytime soon, that I should tell her how much I had admired her work.  Erin had told me all about it. 
"Are you going to the poetry reading tonight?"  So Chelsea must have known more about me than I anticipated, because she remembered that I worked with that professor. 
"I am, but she doesn't know I'm coming, so don't tell anyone I'm here.  It's a surprise." 
Seeing Chelsea was really nice, but I had to go over to Nate's to get some stuff and to have dinner, so I said goodbye and left.  I was turning the corner on the stairway, thinking merrily of how much I liked Chelsea and how I was going to get to see people tonight at this reading, when I was startled to see Stephanie, three steps down from me, staring up at me.  Her eyes went wide.
And this wasn't just Stephanie my friend.  She was also Stephanie, the assistant to this professor. 
She hadn't seen me in a long time either. 
Oh shit, I thought. 
"Don't tell her I'm here!" I said, slightly loud.  "I don't want her to know I'm coming tonight!  I'm trying to surprise her!"
See what I mean about surprises?  Hours before the surprise, I manage to run into two people who actually could blow it.  This was especially annoying considering how long I'd been planning this. 
Stephanie sort of laughed at me and was happy to see me.  She gave me this great big hug that made me feel great.  (Oh, to have a thousand friend hugs that I could store in a chest somewhere.)  She wanted to hear what I was up to, and we talked briefly before both of us had to be elsewhere. 
I went over to Nate's.  It had been his birthday recently, and he had all sorts of coupons for free food.  That night, he was taking me out for pizza. 

Human Rights and the State

Reading this post today about how Syria has recently gotten itself onto the Humans Rights Council.  While I agree that Syria isn't a good candidate for Humans Rights, considering they recently arrested a bunch of kids, all under the age of seventeen, for criticizing the government through street art, I don't think we as Americans should pretend we are better.  The government and the military violate laws and rights all the time.  (The war on terror has a bunch of examples were the U.S. violates the rights of its own citizens as well as combantants and civilians, digging a legal black hole around their recent designation of "citizen combantant.") 
The problem isn't even really one or several or even most countries.  It's the state as an institution.  States are always going to be interested in maintaining power; they'll do it at anyone's expense, and they're not above breaking their own laws to make it happen.  If anything, having states policing themselves is stupid, because inevitably they'll avert their eyes to other council member's violations, especially if money or other deals can be made. 

Advertisement

I have been reading lots of poetry lately, and this cool poem struck my eye.  There's so much amazing imagery here.   I really love the line about cushioning someone's misfortune with sleep. 

Marilyn Hacker Poem

I was reading some poems today, and I came across this great bits by Marilyn Hacker:
"You did say, need me less and I’ll want you more.
I’m still shellshocked at needing anyone,
used to being used to it on my own.
It won’t be me out on the tiles till four-
thirty, while you’re in bed, willing the door
open with your need. You wanted her then,
more. Because you need to, I woke alone
in what’s not yet our room, strewn, though, with your
guitar, shoes, notebook, socks, trousers enjambed
with mine. Half the world was sleeping it off
in every other bed under my roof.
I wish I had a roof over my bed
to pull down on my head when I feel damned
by wanting you so much it looks like need."
Ruth likes to tell me "be mean, keep them keen," and I've already mentioned why I dislike that entire life philosophy and how I think it's a little one-sided.  (Boys are far less likely to put up with a mean girl than the opposite.) 
I love the last bit of imagery, with the roof being pulled down. 

In Cold Blood

A couple of nights ago I was reading part of In Cold Blood, which is really a thrilling, fascinating, and sometimes even funny read.  There's something about it that seems to perfectly capture the American West. 
The way African Americans are depicted is interesting.  They are not an important part of the story, but that's nothing new, as they're usually relegated to the margins of society and art.  But they do come up occasionally.  At one point, one of the killers carries on about how something pays, saying that it's not enough for "a white man could live off."  Wow, basically implying that whites are more deserving of better pay, based solely on their skin.  Great.  Well, they are serial killers, there's no reason to expect that they're going to be enlightened in any other way.  And since serial killers exist because they have a psychological need for power, there's no way to hope they would be thoughtful about privilege and power the way other people might be able to be. 
At one point, they also talk about how the killers came across "a pair of Negro prizefighters driving a lavender Cadillac."  I was happy to be reminded that some African Americans were successful, even in an age where it was probably so hard. 

(Also, can I just say that I love Cadillacs and would probably love a lavender colored one?  I think I would have to come up with a clever name for it.  Maybe Lavender Brown, in reference to the Harry Potter character.) 
Women are interesting too.  At one point, this woman landlord goes on and on to an investigator, telling him that she's "just a dizzy blonde."  She goes on, telling him that she believes him, but that she "wouldn't tell that tale to any brunettes."  I found this weirdly funny.  She sounded like so many female characters in all those old movies.   
The psychology of the serial killers is another thing that is cool to see in the piece.  The narrator comments that a potential victim's laugh reminds one of the killers of his father.  The piece doesn't really talk about what that means, but anyone thoughtful enough can start coming up with theories. 
It's so well written!  At one point, the narrator describes a word as "ominous."  The word?  "OOM."  I usually don't think of "words" like that, but it is.  It even made me think of the Ood in Doctor Who. 
The other thing I found myself thinking as I was reading this was about how Lee Pace played one of the killers in the movie version of the story that came out some years ago.  As I've mentioned here before, I'm a huge fan of Pace, though I haven't seen this movie yet.  I think there's really no choice in the matter now: I'm going to have to. 

Ropke Quote

Doing some reading today, I came across this great quote from Wilhelm Ropke: “The market economy is not everything. The supporters of the market economy do it the worst service by not observing its limits.”
I'm surprised to read this quote from someone famously a conservative, but to me that makes it all the more obvious that the market economy is not some God that people worship. 

Dean's Mom's Younger Self

At work today I was reading when I had an idea for a poem, and then off I was, writing one instead of working on what I was meant to be doing.  This is becoming rather typical of me. 
It was mostly a work of nostalgia.  During the Superbowl a few days ago, I was thinking about when Dean and I went to a party together for it (this was back before I was a regular attendee at things at Casa Paul).  We had to walk on this giant sheet of ice to get there.  I remember slipping and sliding.  "Here Dear," Dean said, and he let me take his arm.  Dean says dear to me a lot, and it's one of those little things I like about him.  We had only recently become friends, but it was one of those friendships that immediately took off and it was like we knew each other. 
As we walked, I realized how much he sounded like another old friend, and it was strange, realizing that I was gravitating to the same types of people over and over again. 
And then I thought about when we were sitting in the cafeteria, talking about Doctor Who, when Dean turned suddenly and said "You look exactly like my Mom did when you were her age."  We were sitting with a bunch of other friends then, and Matt was all "Way to be creepy."  We decided as a group that Dean's current Mom had gone back in time to get her younger self, bring her younger self back to the present to watch Dean.  And, obviously, I was Dean's Mom's Younger Self. 
And then I thought about a dance I went to with that group of friends, and how much great music they played, especially techno.
So, basically, I was working off of nostalgia.  And not doing my real work. 

Book Porn

Alexander gave me this huge book catelog today.  As I leafed through it, I realized how many of the books being advertised were things I would read.  Then it occurred to me: this catalog is like porn to me.  (Or, at the very least, a Victoria's Secret magazine.) 
I spent about a hour today making a big list of books I'd like to read. 

Because I Don't Have Enough to Do

Reading this cute article about Korean dramas.  Ashley has mentioned in the past that she likes this, and now, I guess, reading this, I will one day have to try one.  You know, in that free time I have so much of.