A Story, During a Slow Day

A conversation, in a Riverside bar.

"Did your ex ever tell you that he thought you were beautiful?"

I'm drinking PBR Tallboys with a friend and the question takes me by surprise. It's a rowdy bar, one we've come for an event, and I wasn't anticipating anything heavier than normal late-Saturday-night conversation. I think for a moment before answering. It's not really the kind of conversation you want to shout across a bar table.

"Nope. None of them have."

"Really?"

"I mean, they had parts of me that they liked to compliment, but yeah, really."

"Is that something that's important to you?"

I set my beer down and study her for a moment. If the question surprises me, the conversation that follows stuns me. This woman is one of my closer friends. God knows she's heard me spill my guts hundreds of times, and we've never had this conversation.

More than that, she's pretty.

Not pretty enough, not pretty-in-the-right-light. She's just pretty.

I would have never thought she would need reassurance.

***

A text, during the middle of a long work day.

"I've got an extra ticket to CHVRCHES tomorrow night and  I know you're bummed that it sold out before you could get a ticket. See you at First Ave at 7:00."

***

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about wants and needs lately.

The conversation in the Riverside bar doesn't exactly help. It's late, late, late when I get home, but I'm wound up and everyone else in the world is already in bed. I spend most of the rest of the evening up, journaling, and thinking about relationships. It leads me to thinking about what I want from a partner, the qualities I'd like him to find in me and the things I need from a romantic relationship. 

I make a list.  

There are the obvious, immediate things. I'd like my partner to think that I'm funny, bright, and interesting. Beautiful would be nice, but I'd rather have sexually desirable. Getting along with my best friend is a non-negotiable. A desire to continue to learn and a certain level of excitement over learning something new is incredibly important.

Then there are the less obvious things that are also important to me. Understanding why I love First Ave. so much or how there are certain songs I always have to hear to the end or I feel like I missed something. Knowing that after a really bad day I want to go for a run and then eat a bunch of gummi bears. Learning to run interference when I'm staying with my family so I can have a little time to myself. Leaving me to myself when I really do just want to stay in and read. Appreciating that the real way to my heart is bringing me coffee in bed on a slow Saturday morning. 

***

A phone call, late.

I squint at the number through my sleepiness and pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Kels?"

"Yeah, are you all right?"

"I thought your phone would be on silent! I'm sorry. I just called to tell you that I love you."

I smile through my sleepiness. "There's a rule on my phone to always ring for certain people. You're one of them."

"That's sweet. I love you. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

***

"Have you had the experience of talking about Us at work?"

I'm walking through South Minneapolis, holding the hands of two of the girls from the gang from the neighborhood. 

Let me back up. I have a group of friends I see, on average, three times a week. We have impromptu weeknight dinners together. We run together. We go to shows and one another's work events. I do my laundry at their houses and they have the keys to my apartment. I snuggle with them when my heart's broken. I plan my vacations with them. Most of us live within walking distance of one another in the same neighborhood in South Minneapolis. When something goes wrong or I've got news to celebrate, they're my first call. 

Anyway, I'm walking through South Minneapolis with two of these people. I'm talking about how the fact that I live in the Cities still hasn't gotten old, that I love being able to get together with them on a random Wednesday, and that it's good to have people to talk to over the course of the week. That sparks the question about whether or not I've talked about the gang at work. 

Of course I have. I already said that I spend all my free time with these people. They come up in my conversations with my coworkers frequently. But I know what's actually being asked, because it's an experience all of us have had. When you tell your coworkers that you spend all of your time not with your spouse or significant other but with a group of six-to-ten close friends, the reaction tends to be the same:

"That's not normal."

***

An email, on the bus ride home.

"We're running tonight. You're stressed and not dealing with it, so you're coming over, we're running, I'm making you dinner, and then we're going to snuggle up and watch House of Cards.

I have gummi bears."

***

It's pouring when I leave the bar. 

The walk back to the car is well-lit and not necessarily unsafe, but the guys in the neighborhood are inclined to catcall and my dress is not exactly modest. I ask one of my more broad-shouldered friends to walk me back. Despite his lack of an umbrella, he cheerfully accompanies me the six blocks or so. On the way I talk a little about how nice it was to get together tonight and thank him for being sweet enough to walk me back through the deluge. We're stopped at a crosswalk when he turns to me.

"You know I'd do anything for you, right? We all would."

It occurs to me then how lucky I am. Some of those more subtle needs, loving Metric's Synthetica album and realizing that sometimes my favorite way of being with people is to be in the same room reading separate things, are already being met. It is, I suspect, one of the reasons why I'm happy being single. 

***

A moment, outside a Riverside bar.

I give my broad-shouldered friend a lift back to the bar so he can catch up with the rest of the gang from the neighborhood. When I pull up, he hops out, shuts the door, and opens it and sticks his head back in.

"What's up?"

"I just wanted to tell you that I really like your dress. You look beautiful."

The 2013 Book Post

2013 was a bad year for reading for me. I don't mean to imply that I read bad books. I mean I didn't read much. Over the past few years I've averaged around 35 new books a year (I reread Jane Austen and Scott Fitzgerald a few times a year). Last year I didn't crack 30 (this is pretty embarrassing and I feel like a giant slacker). I can't quite remember why, but I read four books straight off in January and then, excepting John Scalzi's excellent Red Shirts, nothing until April. That long without finishing a new book is virtually unheard of in my life as a reader.

The other sort of, well, surprising thing regarding my reading last year was that I didn't read a single romance novel. Okay, before you get all judge-y (I know you people, you're book snobs) I've read some heavy shit in my lifetime. A Fine Balance. Anna Karenina. I've started Charles Dickens more times than I can count and it's so boring I want to rip my hair out. Last year I suffered through Lady Chatterly's Lover (which, I suppose, if we were just going for smut content could be considered a romance) and wanted to die the whole time I was reading it. Hand to God, sometimes the antidote to modern, single life is crass and immediate retreat into a really good regency romance.

2013 was heavy in science fiction. I read a few novels by Octavia Butler, discovered Sarah Pinborough, destroyed The Shining Girls (which is utterly brilliant and you should pick it up immediately). Writing this, I suddenly realize that in a genre dominated by male authors I managed to read primarily ladies. Wooo, feminism. Or something.

I read a couple fantastical books that I just adored. Mr. Penumbra's 24 Hour Bookstore is the runner-up for my favorite book in 2013. Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell is a holyshityoucouldknockarobberoutwiththis a book and it took me all summer to wind my way through it, but it was absolutely work reading.

Then there were the rip your heart out and do the tarentella on it books. The books that left me a sobbing, shaking mess. The Ocean at the End of the Lane (it seems impossible that this was not my favorite book this year, and I can't tell you exactly why it isn't, only that the other ones just are. I suppose we'll see which books stick with me over time). And then there was my favorite book of the year, Love Minus Eighty. Holy shit. It's based on a short story that appeared in Asimov's in 2006 called "Bridesicles." It is a gem of a book. It's funny, sad, oddly relatable. I think, ultimately, the reason that I loved it was it was a collision between science-fiction, and well, romance (the non-smutty kind). The writing is rock solid, and I completely over-identified with the character Veronika. It's the kind of book that I can't recommend to everyone (as I am doing with my favorite read thus far in 2014) but I know that there are at least a couple people in my life who will adore it. And I'll love them all the more for it.

2013 Reading

Garment of Shadows (Laurie R. King, Mystery, Mary Russell Series)
Wild Seed (Octavia E. Butler, Science Fiction, Patternmaster Series)
Lady Chatterly's Lover (D.H. Lawerence, Classics, Snoozefest)
Gone Girl (Gillian Flynn, Mystery)
Red Shirts (John Scalzi, Science Fiction)
Mind of My Mind (Octavia E. Butler, Science Fiction, Patternmaster Series)
Fledgling (Octavia E. Butler, Horror (?))
Ocean at the End of the Lane (Neil Gaiman, Fantasy, Cried so Hard my Eyes Swelled Up. Seriously)
Sharp Objects (Gillian Flynn, Mystery)
Kushiel's Dart (Jacqueline Carey, Fantasy, Romance (?), Oh My God, is it Warm in Here?)
Bring Up the Bodies (Hilary Mantel, Historical Fiction)
Mayhem (Sarah Pinborough, Historical Fiction, Horror)
Let's Explore Diabetes with Owls (David Sedaris, Memoir)
The Silent Wife (S.A. Harrison, Fiction, Forgettable)
A Matter of Blood (Sarah Pinoborough, Science Fiction, Mystery, Horror (?) Dog Faced God's Trilogy)
The Hangman's Daughter (Oliver Potzsch, Historical Fiction)
The Shadow of the Soul (Sarah Pinoborough Science Fiction, Mystery, Horror (?) Dog Faced God's Trilogy)
Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell (Suzanne Clark, Fantasy)
Help for the Haunted (John Searles, Fiction, Mystery, Damn you, Kindle)
The Shining Girls (Lauren Beukes, Science Fiction, Holy Shit, Go Buy this Immediately)
Oryx and Crake (Margaret Atwood, Science Fiction)
Beautiful Ruins (Jess Walters, Fiction)
Mr. Penumbra's 24 Hour Bookstore (Robin Sloane, Fiction Ohmygodsqueeeeee)
V for Vendetta (Alan Moore, Graphic Novel, I Can't Believe I'm Admitting to Never Having Read this Before Now)
Something Missing (Matthew Dicks, Fiction)
Persepolis (Marjane Satrapi, Graphic Novel)
Submergence (J.M. Ledgard, Fiction)
Love Minus Eighty (Will McIntosh, Science Fiction, It's Ok, I Wasn't Using My Heart Anyway)
Vn (Madeline Ashby, Science Fiction)

Best Of

I love Year In Review lists.

Over the course of the past day I've enthusiastically devoured "Best of 2013" lists for books, gaffes, quotes, music, film, tech, women, longform journalism, and trips, just to name a few.

Combined with my weird excitement over holidays that require us to be introspective, I really anticipated writing this post to be, well, easy. A few quick looks at blog stats, some meditation on my personal journal, and I'd have a few Zen sentences to drop in here before heading off to put on a short dress and dance with my friends until midnight.

How come these things never work out the way you want them to?

Part of it, I suspect, is because 2013 was (and here my flashy vocabulary is failing me).

2013 was the biggest emotional clusterfuck of my life.

I met my favorite author and discovered my nana had breast cancer and biked a 150 miles across the state of Minnesota. I had great sex and terrible sex and wondered if I was going to be single for forever and hoped that I wouldn't have to settle down any time soon. I traveled to St. Louis and D.C. and spent more than my usual amount of time thinking about freedom and self-determination. I went to weddings for the people I love most in the world. I danced to "Call Your Girlfriend" and "Get Lucky" more times than I can count, argued about whether or not "Blurred Lines" is rapey. I argued about women in science and listened to jazz in the oldest jazz club in the United States. I drank scotch in my apartment and argued about modern feminism.I argued a lot. I smoked cigars next to a fire in Northern Minnesota and looked at the stars and talked about the impossibility of our own existence. I fell for someone. I fell out with someone.  I changed jobs, changed cities, changed directions.

As I said, an emotional clusterfuck.

For as cliched and ridiculous as it sounds, I learned so much over the past year about myself and my relationships and my mental health. I think about how I when I toast the coming of the new year tonight, I will be a profoundly, deeply different woman than the one who rang in last New Year with a panic attack.

I am a different, better person than I was a year ago.

The problem, of course, is that all of those revelations turned out to be far more personal than I had intended. And the prospect of writing about them here is just  . . . too much. For the time being, they're best left in my journal and in my head, percolating for 2014.

That said, the one revelation I'm all right talking about is this: I am surrounded by some of the smartest, kindest, most loving people in the world.  Chances are strong that if you're reading this, I know you extremely well. Because of that, let me break the fourth wall for a moment and say, simply,

Thank you.

In a thousand small ways over the past year, you have changed and saved my life. There really aren't words for the kind of love and support I've received, and it would take less of a hack than I am to talk about my gratitude and love.

So instead just trust that in some small way, your love and friendship is reflected on my personal "Best of 2013" list.

Lists

My life is governed by  lists.

I make a to-do list every single day, whether I'm at work or hanging out around the house. I make them on the weekends. I make them when I go on vacations. I write them down on legal pads, on scrap paper, on checklists on my phone. I get an incredible feeling of satisfaction from crossing things off the lists. I am uneasy when that to-do list still has all of its items listed on it at the end of the day.

I make immense lists of the books I want to read, the historical sites I want to visit, the films I need to watch, the pieces of writing I'd like to do. I keep these lists on my desk at work, with a photo of them on my phone so that if, say, I'm at the library and I can't decide on a book to check out, I can whip the list out of my purse and think Oh yeah, I never did read The Glass Key. Or, Oh God, what was I thinking? I'm never going to read Moby Dick and I have to come to terms with it.

I love lists.

***

This week I crossed something off my bucket list.

I haven't been great about what's on my bucket list. There are the big things I want to achieve: write a book about the Scopes Trial, go to Gettysburg, see The Royal Shakespeare Company perform Hamlet. But as far as the smaller things, things like "Seeing the Dred Scott Courthouse Site" don't occur to me until afterward. I've always wanted to see General Sherman's graveside, but it was never on the bucket list. More than that, I put a ton of things on the list that don't actually matter to me, but are reflections of . . . the people I'm dating? The friends I've made? I don't know, but they don't belong there. So usually when I "cross something off my bucket list" it's because I've decided that it shouldn't have been there in the first place.

This was not one of those. This was an actual ohmygodIcan'tbelievethatactuallyhappened moments. I'm pleased there's photographic evidence of it happening because I'd be tempted to think that I dreamed it otherwise.

I met my favorite author.

I've met a number of authors that I admire throughout the course of my life. It's the gift of going to a college that takes bringing in writers to talk about writing very seriously. I remember all of the questions I asked them, what they said to me as they signed my books. Sarah Vowell and I talked about the Kennedy assassination. I told Billy Collins my mother hated my poetry but loved his. I laughed so loudly from the second row of a David Sedaris reading that he shot me a look. 

This was different. It was, simply, too intense to describe. I can't even remember what this man said to me when I said hello and told him what I had to tell him. I can say that he was very, very kind to a sweaty, shaky, stuttery, earnest young woman. And that when I made it back out to my car I cried. And I walked away deeply grateful for this man and his work. 

When I got back to my bucket list on Tuesday afternoon I looked at it for a long moment before reaching out to scratch the item off. 

***

I feel like a failure. 

This week has been a messy, emotional one for me. In the space of seven days, I flew to St. Louis, attended one of my good friend's wedding, spent the 4th of July at the site where Dred Scott was tried, visited a ton of Civil War graves, flew back to Minnesota, met this author, came back up to the North Country and packed the rest of my house. I'm not complaining. It was a really good week.

But now that my entire life is in boxes, now that the internet has been disconnected, and my clothes have been sorted into vacation, second vacation, need after first move, can be stored until after second move suitcases, now that I've read literally all the books left in my house I find myself with a little too much time on my hands. 

Of course I would use that time for unproductive self-reflection. 

I feel like a failure. 

I confide this to exactly one person during the course of the week in a moment of profound vulnerability that I hate myself for later. 

***

I'm slinking out of the North Country.

I'll admit it. This place whupped me. The winters were too dark, too cold, too snowy. The summers (ha!) were brief and cool. The people were (with a few notable exceptions) distant. The goddamn roads have potholes that could take off your front wheel. 

When I moved here two years ago, I didn't know if it was permanent, but I anticipated leaving with some indications of success. A boyfriend (or at least, a relationship that lasted longer than my normal six months), a hugely successful professional tenure, I was going to write my book, figure out how to be a spiritually fulfilled adult without being Catholic, finally learn to play my harmonica . . .

I did not succeed here.

More than that, I suspect I could have succeeded here. I could have made this city work, these people open up to me. I could have adapted to snow and darkness and cold. I could have done it. I could have done it if I had gone to see a therapist earlier. I could have done it if I had started taking anti-depressants. I could have done it if I just learned how to be happy. 

But I didn't. I didn't accomplish any of those things on my North Country list. And now instead of leaving amid tearful going away parties, poetic break-ups, and enormously lucrative counter-offers, I am sneaking out of town with as little fanfare as possible. 

***

I feel like a failure. 

I feel like even more of a failure for opening up the way I did this week. For getting shaky and struggling not to cry while I said "This book saved my life." For admitting that this part of the country pushed me right up to the brink and left me mess that I've been slowly sorting out. For saying out loud "I couldn't make this work."

***

Somehow, despite never having added "Surround yourself with kind people" to a list, that is exactly what I've managed to do. When I stutter out what I want to say to the author he pauses and reaches out for my hand and lets me give him a hug. While I'm mentally slapping myself for admitting to failing here in the North, I receive a thoughtful, insightful response that burns me with its compassion.

I'm never going to be able to shake the habit of writing out lists for myself, like I'll never be able to stop measuring success by what I've managed to cross off. But I hope that I've finally managed to learn to put the right things on the list. 

Busily working my way through my summer reading. Since the end of April (the end of the semester, completion of comps, ergo the beginning of reading for leisure), I've managed to complete the following:

1. Too Much Happiness: Alice Munro
2. The God of the Hive: Laurie R. King
3. Await Your Reply: Dan Chaon
4. Evidence: Mary Oliver
5. Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned: Wells Tower
6. The Solitude of Prime Numbers: Paolo Giordano
7. When You Are Engulfed in Flames: David Sedaris
8. Lolita: Vladimir Nabokov
9. The Glass Room: Simon Mawer

I always forget the sheer and unadulterated joy that comes from reading fiction. It is, perhaps, a little escapist of me to spend so much of my time with my head in a book, but it is a pleasure I am unwilling to forgo. I am currently wrapping up Paul Auster's Invisible, a rather peculiar little book, and am considering rereading The Great Gatsby for the sheer gorgeousness of the text. I'd love suggestions for other summer reading--I prefer fiction to non-fiction and LOVE short stories, but am willing to make an exception for a really finely wrought bit of memoir or book of essays.

TAL

I love This American Life.

By "I love This American Life" I mean I have a list of favorite episodes I can listen to over and over again. I make TAL references in daily conversation. I give to their pledge drive every time they ask for money. I've considered the "Radio By Mail" subscription to the program so that I can listen to the shows forever at my own leisure. I often tell friends which episodes they should listen to and why I think they'd love them. I have been known to tell whole stories from the show in an attempt to get people to try it. My dream is to one day be a contributor (although, I don't write particularly good non-fiction or short stories, so I'm not sure how that's going to work).

A friend asked recently for a list of my favorite episodes. Believe it or not, this is the short list. If you have a roadtrip ahead of you, it's worth downloading them (.99 a piece) and taking them along.

Testosterone

Act V

Giant Pool of Money

#1 Party School

Pray

Return to the Scene of the Crime

Allure of a Mean Friend

You Are So Beautiful...To Me

What is This Thing?

Valentine's Day 2008

Birthdays Anniversaries Milestones

Infidelity

Office Politics

A Very Special Sedaris Christmas

What I Learned from Television

Ruining it for the Rest of Us

Fear of Sleep

Summer Reading

As I'm staring down the barrel of comprehensive exams (5 weeks, 10 books to read, 6 topic questions to write) one of the things that's inspiring me to keep going is the knowledge that once I get to the month of May, I will have a month off of reading systematic theology. If I'm accepted to the Th.M. program at Saint John's, I'll have a summer course in Fundamental Moral Theology, but that won't start until June. I have some papers to finish up, and should do a little work for my thesis defense in August, but given the intensity of this semester I've decided that it's necessary for my sanity to take a little break from thinking about dogma, doctrine, and thinking about God. I'll finish my papers and then spend some much needed time on the beach.

I miss reading fiction. The last new novel I managed to finish was most recent in the Mary Russell series The Language of Bees in August(?). That's eight months without completing a new piece of fiction or memoir or something other than systematic/scriptural theology. For a life-long English major, this is perhaps one of the most frustrating aspects of being a graduate student. As a coping mechanism for the stress of this semester, I've started devising my summer reading list. I decided that I wanted it to be nothing except fiction and short stories, and because I'm painfully disconnected from modern fiction, I was going to read only books published in 2009 (deep breath, Lauren. This is personal reading, not book club reading). Because I am a colossal snob and read both Slate and the New York Times book reviews obsessively, my list comes from their Best of 2009 picks. If you read something (fiction or short stories--I could be persuaded for memoir, but it'll take a little nudging) that you think I should pick up, please let me know.

Until then, the start of my summer reading list (any of the following would make a lovely graduation gift):

1. Await Your Reply: Dan Chaon
2. Both Ways Is the Only Way I Want It: Maile Meloy
3. Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned: Wells Tower
4. Family Album: Penelope Lively
5. Invisible: Paul Auster
6. Nothing Right: Antonya Nelson
7. Endpoint: John Updike
8. Too Much Happiness: Alice Munro

Words, words, words

As a recovering English major I'm often expected to be a kind of pseudo-expert when it comes to grammar. Those who are actually familiar with my writing (or who have read this blog's title) know that I'm not. I hate grammar. I do. I hate it. I can't tell you what a gerund is, can't diagram a sentence, am an awful speller, and have never used a semi-colon correctly.

That said, there's another recovering-English-major trait (or, I suppose, lover of the English language trait) to which I subscribe in its entirety. I make long lists of words I love and hate.

The lists below are by no means exhaustive. Simply a way to get started blogging (one of the hated words) again.

Words I Love:

(Or: Words I Love and Never Have an Opportunity to Use)

Apropos

Incorporeal

Pedantic

Bamboozled

Juggernaut

Bombastic

Rhetoric

Chaotic

Penchant

Eschaton

Transcendental

Tangential

Misanthrope/Misanthropic

Vacillate

Oscillate

Equivocate

Voracious

Undulate

Vilify

Words I Hate:

Squinch

Squelch

Ketchup/Catsup

Panties

Lube

Pork Loin

Loin

Comps

Blog/Blogger/Blogging

Bowels

Dredges

What came first, the music or the misery?

What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?--High Fidelity

About a month ago, my friend John was browsing through my itunes playlist Top 25 Songs.

“Holy crap.” He said.

“Wait! I can explain the Beyonce! I listen to her while I’m stretching before a run.”

“No. It’s not that. Although, I call bullshit on that. Do you realize you’ve played the song “Crown” by Mason Jennings 300 times?”

“Uhhh. Yup.”

I am, at 25, becoming something of a connoisseur of break-up songs. I think heartbreak and misery are just functions of being in your 20s, much like financial and personal instability and the inability to live in the same apartment for more than a year. They’re part of a person’s first tentative steps into adulthood and understanding yourself and what you want out of your life and your partnerships. Thankfully, while I’m a self-described Romantic I do have a strong dose of Prosen family pragmatism. I don’t believe in destiny, fate, soul-mates, or “the One” for a variety of reasons (which is a whole different post). This, I think, has made dealing with the whole dating/breaking up aspect of my adult life exponentially easier. I never have second thoughts about someone being the one person out of billions for whom I was meant. If we clicked really well, it was just a testament of chemistry, and I’ll have equal or greater chemistry and attraction to another person soon enough.

I don’t want to come across as heartless here. Breakups, regardless of belief in destiny or fate are still wrenching and leave me feeling discombobulated and wondering if a future full of cats and stacks of old newspapers isn’t really that far off. Like many people, I have my list of go-to’s when a break-up happens. The girlfriend who’s always your wingwoman, the bottle of bourbon on hand for drowning your sorrows, the dress that makes you feel like a million dollars, the guy who reminds you that you’re stunning, brilliant, and hilarious. More importantly, however, I have the go-to list of songs that inevitably make me feel better.

5. Crown: Mason Jennnings

What can I say, really? It has 300+ plays on my itunes and has been the soundtrack to one of the more complicated and difficult relationships of my adult life. Mason understands love and falling into and out of it better than many other songwriters I’ve heard.

Favorite lyric(s): It just kind of happened or so she said/she was drinkin’ and lonely/you know now the rest/he was nothing/he was happenstance/she says she loves me still/wants a second chance

4. Jolene: Ray LaMontagne

This is my favorite feeling-sorry-for-myself breakup song. Something about Ray’s voice gets me every time. The song is so wistful and self-loathing it pretty much sums up the gigantic puddle of self-pity/self-destructive behaviors that I seem to indulge in every freakin' time a relationship ends.

Favorite lyric: I still don’t know what love means

3. Don’t Think Twice: Bob Dylan

I’m not talking about the later, wistful “I wish my love wouldn’t have left me" recording. In one of the earlier recordings, Bob is straight up pissed and rightfully so—it’s as though he’s talking to every person who’s ever strung you along in some kind of emotional purgatory. I love it because it gets at the self-absorption of so many of us in our failed relationships. Thank you, Bob.

Favorite lyric(s): Well, I ain’t sayin’ you treated me unkind/you could have done better but I don’t mind/you just kinda wasted my precious time/but don’t think twice, it’s all right

2. For Emma: Bon Iver

Lyrically sparse and absolutely beautiful, this may be one of my all-time favorite songs. It may be because I knew the story behind For Emma, Forever Ago before I actually heard the album, but this song is so loaded with emotion, it’s incredible. Additionally, I just think it’s pretty.

Favorite lyric(s) Go find another lover/to bring-a/to string a-long/for all your lies/you’re still very loveable.

1. Leavin’ On Your Mind: Patsy Cline

Every time I’ve had an actual broken heart, the remedy for the first night freshly single is a glass of bourbon and my Patsy Cline greatest hits album. I grew up on Patsy, and I still think that she conveys the conflicting feelings you seem to inevitably have for your ex better than anyone. This is one of my two favorite Patsy songs (the other is “She’s Got You”). I love this one particularly because I feel like everyone’s been in the situation of knowing someone’s getting ready to leave you but lacking the guts to end it before they can hurt you. Oh man. It doesn’t get much better than Patsy.

Favorite lyric: Hurt me now, get it over/I may learn to love again.

Honorable mention:

She’s Got You: Patsy Cline

For all of the aforementioned great Patsy characteristics, except this song is about looking at all of your ex’s stuff and realizing that he’s happy without his favorite things as long as he has his new girl.

Favorites: I’ve got your picture and it’s signed with love/ just like it used to be/the only thing different, the only thing new/I’ve got your picture/she’s got you

Resolutions

2010 Resolutions

1. Visit Kevin in NYC

2. Visit Michelle in London

3. Publish poems outside of SOT forums

4. Publish a theological article

5. Pass comps (with honors)

6. Complete thesis

7. See Springsteen live

8. Run a marathon

9. Start saving for a down payment on the farm

10. Take a class at North House Folks School

11. Write one successful grant

12. Learn how to successfully (and articulately) communicate my faith to people who ask about it.

I miss making mix tapes.

I was a mix-tape master while I was in high school. I made them for friends, my signif, my mother, anyone I knew who had a cassette player got a mix tape from me. I loved the process involved in making a tape—selecting the songs, putting them in just the right order, getting the spacing between them perfect—and then handing the tape over to the person. Most of my tapes had themes, whether it was girl bands, emo-licious, or my brief and ill-advised foray into bands like Slipknot (what was I thinking?), I poured tons of effort into those tapes. I guess making mix cds is similar, but I miss the fuss involved with making a tape.

Somewhat recently my ipod had an impromptu encounter with the washing machine. The score is: Washing Machine: 1, Ipod: 0. As my Pontiac is a 2000, it still has a cassette deck rather than a cd player. I can’t afford a new ipod for myself, so I’ve been investing in tapes found at Saver’s or thrift stores. But I keep thinking about making new mix tapes.

In conjunction with all of this, I’ve noticed that I’ve had a few icky mornings in a row. I haven’t been able to get up and get moving as quickly as I normally do. While talking to Michelle this morning I asked for her five favorite songs to get moving in the morning, particularly on days when you know it’s going to be a long, bad day (i.e., eight hours of class and working half a day). Her list got me to thinking about mix tapes and what I would put on my bad-day commute to work tape. The songs (and their justifications) are as follows (in no particular order).



1. Think: Aretha Franklin
Mother Prosen brought us up on Patsy Cline and Motown. While I love my Patsy Cline records when I’m feeling heartbroken and want to crawl into a bottle of Rye, nothing beats the Aretha when I’m feeling a little low energy and down about life. “Think” is easily one of her most upbeat and self-affirming songs.
Best Lyric:I ain't no psychiatrist/I ain't no doctor with degree/It don't take too much IQ to see what you're doing to me

2. When Doves Cry: Prince
I would have Prince’s babies if the opportunity arose. When an artist can be around for as long as Prince and STILL sell out a concert in eleven minutes, you have to give them props. The Purple Rain album is, I know, one of his most touted. But with definite reason (if I have not already pledged my undying love and devotion to you, presenting me with this album will secure it.) “When Doves Cry” is the song I usually choose for my private dance-parties, a must when I’m trying to get my sea-legs on a bad morning.
Best Lyric: Dig if you will the picture/of you and I engaged in a kiss/the sweat of your body covers me/can you my darlin’/can you picture this?

3. Wagon Wheel: OCMS
One of the fondest memories of my life involves this song, spoons and a cutting board used as percussion, harmonicas, and a pair of guitars. And a tiny kitchen in Grand Marais. And copious amounts of wine. Enough said.
Best lyric: I gotta get a move on before the sun/ I hear my baby callin’ my name/ and I know that she’s the only one/If I die in Raleigh/At least I will die free

4. Take It Easy: The Eagles
If Mother Prosen was going to raise us on weepy country music and classic Motown, Pa was going to raise us on Rock n’Roll. The Doors, Pink Floyd, Led Zepplin, and Bruce Springsteen are all associated with Dad working on cars, cleaning the garage, waxing his old Ford Bronco. A song about a down-on-his-luck gypsy hounded by love-gone-wrong who still wants to be freewheelin’? How can that not be on a bad-day playlist?
Best Lyric: Come on baby/don’t say maybe/I’ve gotta know if your sweet love is gonna save me.

5. Criminal: Fiona Apple
Every feminist theologian has a maneater (or womeneater) deep inside. Thank you, Fiona Apple for helping me get in touch with mine. Additionally, this song sounds great with your windows down, cranked way, way up.
Best Lyric: It’s a sad, sad world/when a girl will break a boy/just because she can

6. Poses: Rufus Wainwright
A friend once described dear old Rufus as the “modern day Judy Garland.” While I may not go that far, I love singing along with this particular song. Best belted out as if you are Judy Garland. Particularly at stopped lights in Stearns County.
Best lyric: “I did go from wanting to be someone/now I’m drunk and wearing flip flops on 5th Ave.”

7. Crown: Mason Jennings
Let’s be honest. Some terrible days are perpetrated by love gone awry. Mason Jennings is (in my mind) the uncontested king of love-gone-wrong songs. This is (again, in my opinion) the best of his best break-up songs. Putting a fresh spin on the same old thing (Long-distance relationship, missing someone, alcohol, infidelity) Mason makes my heart explode. And have I mentioned the awesome harmonica?
Best lyric: “I always feared that you’d be true/true to yourself/to the bitter end”

8. Rocket Man: Elton John
I actually have no even moderately compelling reason why I love this song so much. It just pulls me out of the dumps. And I love Elton John.
Best Lyric: And all this science/I don’t understand/it’s just my job/five days a week

9. We Get On: Kate Nash
Oh, Kate Nash. I fell in love with you the first time I heard your Cockney accent on “Foundations.” Song synopsis: Girl meets boy. Girl much to shy to do anything about it. Crushes. Attempts to make a move. Finds boy at party making out with other girl. Girl cries, gets loaded, and locks herself in the bathroom. Keeps crushing despite his involvement with other girl. The end. Combined with a great pop sound, the song manages to talk about heartbreak and still be upbeat.
Best lyric: I don’t ever dream/about you and me/I don’t ever make-up/stuff about us/ that could be classed as insanity/I just think we could get on.

10. First Day of My Life: Bright Eyes
What with all the “done me wrong” songs on this list, I need to have something that reminds me that sometimes, things do work out. Who better to share some cautious optimism than the veritable prince of relationship angst? Cautiously optimistic and heart-wrenchingly sweet, I remember that if Connor Oberst can find something positive in gigantic mess of romantic relationships, I can do it as well.
BONUS: If it’s a particularly bad morning, I’ll watch the video that goes along with the song.
Best lyric: So if you want to be with me/With these things there’s no telling/we’ll just have to wait and see/ But I’d rather be working for a paycheck/then waiting to win the lottery

Summer Reading

For posterity and because of my strange obsession with making lists. If I get ambitious, there might be reviews of the books I find particularly interesting (I can already promise one on The Purity Myth--just in case you haven't heard me raving about it).

1. Breakfast at Tiffany's (Capote) (X)
2. Fear and Trembling (Kierkegaard)
3. Either/Or (Kierkegaard)
4. Quest for the Living God: Mapping Frontiers in Theology (Johnson)
5. The Purity Myth: How America's Obsession with Virginity is Hurting Young Women (Valenti) (X)
6. The Stranger (Camus)
7. Mrs. Dalloway (Woolf)
8. The New Kings of Nonfiction (Glass, ed)
9. Crucified God (Moltmann)
10. Good Omens (Prachett, Gaiman)
11. Lord of the Flies (Golding)
12. Why is Sex Fun? The Evolution of Human Sexuality (Diamond)
13. The Name of the Rose (Ecco)
14. Yes Means Yes: Visions of Female Sexual Power and a World Without Rape (Friedman, Valenti)

The Unoffical List of Sweet Things I'm Going to Do Over Fall Break

1. Build things: In a few short hours I will head over to Couderay, WI for the annual fall work weekend. I’ll rendezvous with Mother and Father Prosen, Pumpkin, cousins and an uncle. We’ll drink PBR (Hamms if I’m really lucky) and spend tomorrow digging out and building a retaining wall.

2. Read Von Balthasar’s Love Alone is Credible: I am so excited for this book I can barely speak. Theological Aesthetics generally makes my heart explode. This book comes highly recommended from someone much smarter than I am. It’s probably going to be an intellectual reach for me, but I can’t wait to start soaking it in.

3. Watch Ebert's Top Ten of 2007: I’ve only seen Atonement and you can be sure that I’m going to watch it again next week. If the other movies are half as moving and beautiful, it’s likely that I’ll die from an actual heart explosion. This seems like a good way to die.

4. Attend the SOT’s Oktoberfest: Free beer and silly hats—does life get any better?

5. Training runs: I’ve been fighting a wicked case of shin splints for the past three weeks. I “ran” two miles on Tuesday only to spend the rest of the week getting yelled at by my PT and icing and elevating my legs. I have the all clear to give a training run a go on Sunday. 7 miles, here I come!

6. Stew in a Pumpkin:

7. Long Arboretum Walks

8. Learn to Make Mead

9: Finally Get Enough Sleep

10. Read Rahner’s Happiness Through Prayer: If Rahner were alive and had groupies, I would be their queen.

11. Outline My Theological Aesthetics Paper: This requires reading most of what Mary Oliver and Wendell Berry have written while writing poems in their respective styles—I love being able to do an English paper and call it Theology.

I’m willing to take suggestions for other awesomeness that should commence next week.

Five Realizations During the First Week in Collegeville

1. The Catholic Church isn't what it used to be.

And I don't mean that we've left the Inquisition behind. An old professor of Krista's who teaches at the SOT told her recently "The grad students aren't like you." When she passed this along to me, I became more than a little concerned. Apparently even the SOT is attracting more conservative students which is, I think, reflective of the Church as a whole. People from my generation seem to think that Vatican II went a little too far in one direction and we need to swing things back to the way they used to be. This isn't to say that everyone I meet is for Latin Masses, but the overwhelming sense seems to be that we need to readjust ourselves to get back in line with tradition. I'm pro-tradition, to an extent. If it means that we're heading back to the days where I have to wear a chapel veil and am not allowed to speak because of one misunderstood line in Paul (vs 33-36) I might, in my mother's words, pitch a fit. As one of the professors who recommended me to the SOT wrote later: "Be sure to shake them up! I know you will."

2. Theology is hard.

Even without reconciling the aforementioned issue to my faith life, theology, as a discipline, sucks. I love it to bits, don't get me wrong, but it's so hard that I can't even describe it to you. The best analogy that I've been able to come up with so far is the following. Imagine you're a scientist working on a life or death issue. You have a hypothesis you have to test, but there's no real way of testing it. You don't have the equipment you need because the equipment you need is more advanced than anything we have to date. In fact, it's more advanced than anything you can even begin to fathom. So the absolute best thing that you can do is test it against a bunch of other similar hypotheses and argue about which one is better and why without ever knowing (or even having the hope of one day knowing which is right.) Now imagine that you can be graded on this, that we say some theology is good and some theology is bad an we have a whole rubric for evaluating the relative truth of something that we're just assuming exists.

Shit.

3. This ain't your momma's grad program.

Let's face it. I didn't work very hard in college, particularly in my major programs. I didn't work very hard and I got very good grades. My professors seemed to like me (hooray for charm!), I like writing, and read unusually quickly. I wasn't terribly concerned about starting a grad program until I had a conversation with a friend who's a year ahead of me in the exact same program. We chatted about professors, books, standard reading, and what the grade scale was like. He groaned and said: "I didn't get As in any of my classes." Have I mentioned that THIS IS ONE OF THE SMARTEST PEOPLE I KNOW? The guy runs intellectual circles around me and is struggling in his classes (albeit, loves them, but isn't getting the grades he's used to.) In addition to never working very hard in college, I also had a fit whenever I was graded lower than an A (I know, I'm that girl and cringing a little bit) and on one very memorable occasion, cried after getting a B. I had every intention of graduating from the SOT wearing one of those obnoxious red robes that signifies high honors and I'm slowly watching that spin out of sight.

4. I love fundraising.

I mean, I really love fundraising. I began work in Anna Marie's development office and I'm so excited it should be criminal. I love chatting with donors. I love networking. I love writing appeal and thank you letters. I'm excited to dive into grant writing and I can't believe I'm working for a small non profit loaded with radical feminists. I can't believe I don't have to justify things to my health insurance company because I work for the archdiocese (I mean. . .). I love the staff's dedication (many of them have been there 10+ years) to women's issues in central Minnesota.

Pffffft.

5. Stucco Sucks

The new chapel. Stucco, in CENTRAL MINNESOTA? What were they smoking when they decided that one?

In other news, the Brewers are still behind the Cubs and I'm really into the band Big Star lately.

Here I Come

Courses for Fall '08

Theological Aesthetics
A seminar course on the theological tradition as it intersects with philosophical aesthetics. Focused readings in philosophical aesthetics (analysis, interpretation of human perception in and through various artistic media) and the larger theological tradition.
Case studies and readings focused around poetry, visual arts, music, liturgical prayer, and fine arts performances.


THY 402 Introduction to the Christian Tradition
An introductory survey of theology employing representative texts from major theological
figures (e.g. Augustine, Luther) that address major theological questions (e.g. nature and
grace, faith and works). Figures and issues selected from various historical periods.


DOCT 406 Christology
Understandings of the person, presence and mission of Christ in scripture, in doctrine and
dogma, and in contemporary theology.

I'm super pumped for the Christology and Theological Aesthetics courses. They sound like they're going to be great. I think Intro is something I'll just have to slog on through.

42 days. . .

music

No real post.



Just a list of songs that have been on my Itunes repeat lately.



Gotta Have You: The Weepies

O Valencia!: The Decemberists

The Crane Wife 3: The Decemberists

Number 1: Goldfrappe

Black Panther: Mason Jennings

Delicate: Damien Rice

Jurassic 5: Quality Control

Lloyd, I'm Ready to be Heartbroken: Camera Obscura

Sweet Carolina: Ryan Adams

In My Time of Need: Ryan Adams

Eve, Apple of My Eye: Bell X1

Twilight: Elliott Smith

The Sea & The Rhythm: Iron and Wine

California: Mason Jennings

Your Smile is a Drug: Patrick Park

Starfish and Coffee: Prince

I have an unhealthy love for writing lists.

Additionally, I'm not sure if it's sad, slightly disturbing, or awesome that I can see the final panel of this comic as something I say in the near future. I hope the response is the same as it is here.

Life

In the fall of 2005 I took a riverboat trip down the Yangtze River. Living in extremely confined quarters with a group of 28 college students for a week was often trying and occasionally rewarding. While on the trip, a friend and I sat down with our journals and decided that we were going to begin our lists of things we wanted to accomplish with our lives. The idea started when Tom heard a NPR story about a man who had passed away somewhat recently. Early in his life, he made a list of things he wanted to accomplish before his death. During his wake, his family hung the list in the funeral home and every single item on his list was checked off.

After two and a half years, it seems like time to make the list public. I'm happy to say that I've accomplished some of the items, added to the list, and removed things that don't make sense. The things on this list range from academic to personal and from enormous trips to learning carpentry. I'm glad I took the time to write this in 2005 and even happier that I finally took a chance to revisit it now.

The Life Goals List
Bethlehem for Christmas
Cairo
Trans-Siberian Express
Visit the Church of San Giovanni in Laterano in Rome. Climb the stairs on your knees.
Trekking in Bhutan
Week at the monastery in Taize
Learn (or make the best attempt to learn) Biblical Hebrew and New Testament Greek (x)
Biblical Schloar: Gospel of John or Pentateuch
Ph. D.
MA Theology
Complete a book of short stories
Complete a poetry manuscript
Children's fantasy novel
Publish an essay on Sin & Redemption in Tolkien
Spend a week in Thomas Merton's monastery
Backpack the Pacific Crest Trail
Ironwoman
Learn carpentry
Touch all the continents
Be in Mexico for the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe
Kayak around the arctic circle
See Carmen in France
Hug a redwood in California (x)
See the Mississippi Headwaters (x)

Addicted to You

I have a problem.

Last night I went to the St. Joseph the Worker Fundraiser. I managed to arrive in time for the "fill a paper bag with second-hand books for four dollars!" part of the evening.

Uh-oh. In the twenty-four hours previous I had been strongly encouraged to apply for a MA in systematics for the fall of '08. An hour previous I had a lovely dinner and drinks with two long-lost friends. Now I was suddenly offered the chance to go crazy with second hand books for the the rock-bottom price of four dollars. AND I could tell myself that I was really supporting a volunteer program in The Cities. Needless to say, I was feeling pretty wonderful.

Forty some odd books and two ripped paper bags later, I found myself trying to categorize my purchases. I had one truly phenomenal find, some good finds, and some books I thought others would love. The books all fall in to one of four categories.

1. Theology (sub categories will be noted)
4: Literary Theory/Non-Fiction
5. Fiction/Drama
6. Books purchased for others

Because I think that bookshelves are a pretty good indication of how well you can get along with another person (and because I have a sick, sick obsession with making lists), I thought it might be interesting to share the new additions to my already over-stocked shelves.

Enjoy this little look into my Psyche.

Theology (Spirituality)
C.S. Lewis A Grief Observed
Henri Nouwen: Can You Drink The Cup?
Joan Chittister, OSB: Wisdom Distilled from the Daily: Living the Rule of Benedict Today
Henri Nouwen: The Inner Voice of Love: A Journey Through Anguish to Freedom

Theology (Biblical Studies)
Synopsis of the Four Gospels
Jerome Biblical Commentary
Literary Interpretations of Biblical Narratives Vol II

Theology (Liberation, also including Sex & Gender)
Helen M. Luke: Women, Earth, and Spirit: The Feminine in Symbol and Myth
Richard A. Norris, Jr. (ed): The Christological Controversy
William G Rusch (ed): The Trinitarian Controversy
Robert Blair Kaiser: The Politics of Sex and Religion
Human Sexuality: New Directions in American Catholic Thought
Karen Kennelly, C.S.J. (ed): American Catholic Women: A Historical Exploration
Gustavo Gutierrez: We Drink From Our Own Wells: The Spiritual Journey of a People
Gustavo Gutierrez: A Theology of Liberation

Lit Theory/Non-Fiction
Fredrick Engels: The Condition of the Working Class in England
Susan Brownmiller: Against Our Will: Men, Women, and Rape
Henry David Thoreau: Walden and Civil Disobedience
Kitty Ferguson: Stephen Hawking: Quest for a Theory of Everything
Barbara Ehrenreich: Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting By in America
Richard L. McGuire: Passionate Attention: An Introduction to Literary Study
Arundhati Roy: War Talk
New French Feminisms: Writings by Simone de Beauvoir, Helen Cixous, Annie Leclerc, and others
Stanley Fish: Is There a Text in This Class? The Authority of Interpretive Communities

Fiction/Drama
Vergil: The Aeneid
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: The Complete Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
Antoine de Saint Exupery: The Little Prince
Yann Martel: The Life of Pi
Jane Austen: Persuasion
Madeline L'Engle: A Live Coal In The Sea
Toni Morrison: Love
John Steinbeck: The Pearl; The Red Pony
Jack Kerouac: The Subterraneans
Six Great Modern Short Novels (The Dead: Joyce; Billy Budd: Melville; Noon Wine: Porter; The Overcoat: Gogol; The Pilgrim Hawk: Wescott; The Bear: Faulkner)
Hannah Green: I Never Promised You a Rose Garden
Carl Sandberg: The Fiery Trial
Alice Walker: The Temple of My Familiar
Lorraine Hansberry: A Raisin in the Sun
Shakespeare: The Taming of the Shrew

Books for Others
Bob and Jenna Torres: Vegan Freak: Being Vegan in a Non-Vegan World (For Krista's roommate, Katy)
Steven Spielberg: Close Encounters of the Third Kind (I actually have no idea how this ended up in my bag)
Lee Iacocca: Where Have All the Leaders Gone? (Father Prosen cannot stop talking about how much he wants to read this book)