Speaking in generalities...

...I'm kind of tired of my job already, four months into it. The people are great - I couldn't ask for nicer bosses and co-workers (mostly) and the workload is beyond manageable. But, it's not my career. It is, however, a great place to pay off debt and tuck money away for rainier days.

So, I'm starting to look ahead, a little. We went hiking on Mt. Tam with our friend, Sarah, who just finished up her master's degree this spring. She's flirting with the idea of pursuing her PhD, which automatically got my own wheels spinning. I have to admit, I'm in the perfect position to start down that path (and a long, slow path it will be). This job demands little of me, so I have energy and time leftover to study; it's also a college campus - a damn fine one - with limitless resources available to me. For example, if I run short on references, I can take a class here for free. I've even gone so far as to lay out a plan in my head. There are the GRE's: both the regular ones (my last set of score expired this year, I think) and the subject test in Literature (which means priming myself on Western Literature, as a whole). And I'll need to polish up a paper to submit. Gleaming, it must gleam and blind oncoming traffic.

And then there's the whole where to apply thing. I'm picky about where I'll live - red states, land-locked states, southern states... all out of the question. And I plan to study Modern American Lit, so studying abroad is downright silly.

Decisions, decisions. So, I'm facing a lot of work (the test prep alone is quite daunting), but I'm in the perfect position to be doing so - I have the time and the funding (two things that are not easily happened upon simultaneously). To truly feel comfortable embarking on the application process, I'll want to bone up on my critical theory, reconnect with British Literature and then practice taking that dastardly general exam (algebra, ahoy).

I think I need a nap.

Frank goes prime time?

I guess if people do not find Frank O'Hara via other poets, bookstores or the academy, the TV Machine isn't a terrible alternative...

from Freakonomics: http://freakonomics.blogs.nytimes.com
July 28, 2008, 10:37 am

Publishers: Get Your Books in Don Draper’s Hands

By Stephen J. Dubner

Last night was the second-season premiere of the TV series Mad Men. I watched the series devoutly last year; this year, it has gotten such a huge press buildup that I was almost sick of it before it aired.

Last night’s episode didn’t push the storylines forward too much, since it needed to reacclimate viewers to where the characters stand. But there was one significant theme: Don Draper, at 36, is feeling older. He seems prepped, mentally and physically, for a midlife crisis. So when he’s having lunch in a bar and sees the fellow next to him reading Meditations in an Emergency, a collection of Frank O’Hara’s poems, it makes an impression. Later in the show we see a beauty shot of the book’s cover as Draper himself reads it intently.

I clicked over to Amazon to check the book’s sales rank a few minutes after Draper read the book. A rather mediocre No. 15,565. This morning, at 8:30 a.m., the book was ranked No. 161. That probably represents only 50 or 100 copies sold, but it’s a pretty fantastic leap for a 50-year-old book of poems. Since Mad Men is set in the early 1960’s, publishers are obviously limited in their product-placement opportunities. But I’m sure all of you can think of some good books to get in the hands of some current TV characters.

I think it's done...

Letter Head

Should we call me a cat’s toy
poor tired mouse? Wound,
rewound, rusty key wrench
thumb flat on my
back back back. Click
grind. How we see
me… that’s not quite
it – a double-breasted bauble
a mailbox slit rammed with
letters, ink seeps
from my nose and collects
spreading over plains
to pool between our legs. We
won’t extend one finger,
probe an envelope licking line
on a brief paper kick – not for old
time’s sake or even a bubble of gas,
a laugh. We, fog of loose’d pages
a sigh, leaves that never hit
the ground. Wet boats sink
paper melts from our mouth.
We are the page, slicing
each pad of the fingers I own.
I the whole hand open
wide (ever willing)
and grope.

Funny shite

Die Kaiser Permanente, Die!

I miss United Health, I really do. I had this great ob/gyn, she was Finnish and quick and thorough. Exactly what counts in a good gynecologist. Well, at least the latter two. And I could call her office and schedule appointments with her receptionist. Who sat in the next room.

But right now I am stuck with this sub-standard, conveyor belt health provider that is supposedly the bastion of innovative health care. My ass. Kaiser's approach is to centralize their care around cash registers and give you minimal physical access to you actual doctor. To make an appointment you call a cube-farm and they tell you can't get an appointment for another two months and no, you can't see another doctor. It's an inconvenience for me - but what really gets on my tits are all the poor and obviously very sick old people I see stumbling in and out of their facilities whenever I manage a 20 min appointment with my doctors. How do they manage? I'm young and have the resources (and patience) to work around the system - I also have access to the internet, which helps because they're obviously trying to move their client services away from phone-based help. And their ad campaigns? Downright maddening. They say cheery things like "get out and walk 20 minutes a day, it's good for you! Thrive!" This translates, in my mind to - "take care of yourself, lard-ass, because we sure as shit aren't going to help you if you get sick."

Two phone calls and visit to the website and I'm still without an appointment. I finally asked them to have my doctor call me for a referral - I hate to bug her, but the customer "care" people were highly unhelpful. I even had an argument with one about what does and does not count as part of a woman's menstrual cycle.

Oh yes, I can feel the thriving already.

I guess it goes without saying that I have no immediate plans to seek medical consult about my most definitely broken toe. I'm ashamed to say I Googled "broken toe" last night to check out the usual symptoms. Ungodly purple color? Check. Pain and stiffness? Check. Since my nail is relatively unaffected, the toes isn't bend at any weird angles and nothing down there is numb (if only!), I figure there's nothing they can do for me anyway. To help it along I "buddy taped" it to the nearest toe and will avoid yoga poses such as "the toe stand."

Guess it's time for lunch. Going to a happy place...

Aren't baby elephants cute? I think so.

Fuckin' meow... fuckin' meow*

I'm confident that I broke my toe this morning - I stubbed it full force on a rocking chair. God, I could have at least injured myself doing something cool (cat juggling?) or noble (delousing orphans?). Guess I'll have to sit out a couple of poses in yoga for the next month. Rats.

Sean and I went to the Palo Alto Farmer's Market this morning, our first visit. It wasn't huge, but had some gorgeous produce and was just packed with children - almost everyone there had kids or appeared to be pregnant. There were a lot of dogs there, too.

Speaking of shopping, kind of, I've joined Wasabe.com, an online budgeting site that downloads your banking transactions and helps you figure out exactly where your money is going. I figure that if we're going to spend a whole month is Europe in 2010 it's going to take some organization... I'm going to assume that the exchange rate will still suck and try to put away more that we'll probably need. (I credit Get Rich Slowly with leading me to Wasabe.)

OK, I'm off to wash my in-laws' windows.

*George Carlin reference - what cats say in private, behind the couch, after hurting themselves.

Closer still

Rest assured, it's great to come home to a mailbox jammed with mail. Even though most of it is crap, there were two magazines, a Netflix movie I can't wait to see and a notice from Alaska Advantage stating that our respective student loan interest rates will be dropping by 3%.

Fuck, yeah.

But, it gets BETTER. My snail mail cache also included a very familiar SASE I'd included in one of my poetry submissions. Well, it's true that when you get such a letter, they've rejected you. And they did. BUT, there was a handwritten note at the bottom saying that one of my poems almost made it and to try again soon.

In the poetry world, this is very, very good. I've yet to actually publish, but this is my second "not now" note. High five.