don't need a weatherman to tell which way the wind blows
04.21.04 @ 5:20 p.m.
Today I'm trying to draw a picture of Robert Johnson, something artsy, to make into a birthday card for my dad. It's his birthday. I also plan on going home (again) next weekend so I can be there (hopefully) when the pups are born and to go to the Ceramics Showcase to see my ever-so-influential high school art teacher, Mr. Hackenbruck. Amy and Andrew will probably go with me, if Andrew doesn't flake. To my knowledge, Amy has never ignored a prior commitment, but Andrew seems to have a far more relaxed attitude to things like "stuff I said I would do" and "places I said I'd be." Don't even get me started on "what time I say I'll be there."
So that should be fun.
Folklore was shockingly boring today. We watched a video on urban vodou. It's mostly stuff I already know, there, having read, well, most of Mama Lola: A Vodou Priestss in Brooklyn in Anthropology last year. A brief "WTF?" moment arose when my teacher possibly called me "Pat." I have no idea what exactly he said or why on earth he would think my name is "Pat." I'm thinking of slapping one of my "Property of Ellen" stickers from my extreme youth (I still have a sheet full of them! Though some of the colors faded, even though they've been kept in various desk drawers for years upon years) on my notebook. Why I feel it necessary that he know who I am, I don't know. I guess so I get credit for all the lovely participation I do (which I don't usually do in any class -- Either I've changed, or dude is not as awe inspiring as Professor Awesome, whose class I did not speak up in).
Monday Prof. W. got sidetracked severely enough that we didn't really get to the topic of the day, Children's Folklore. All the fun stuff. Well, we did go over some bizarre things like songs and jumprope rhymes that are mostly gross-out stuff. Also, I don't think I had ever before considered the Freudian connotations of "Cinderella dressed in Yellow" ("kissed a snake"). Eh.
I'm feeling extremely "Eh" toward a lot of things in my life. Chaucer class is okay, not deadly dull but not staggeringly fantastic, either. Italian is much the same way. I'm impressed that I understood most of Mussolini's declaration of war, but I still don't really want to go to class or anything. Long story short, I am not enthused about anything except sitting around listening to music or reading novels like Road to Wellville (and even that gets boring after a while). I want to work on writing something, but I'm... not inspired to write anything on the early part of "Sea and Sand/I Can't Reach You" except to change Johannes' name to Rob and then Julian.
I'm cold. It's fucking pouring rain all the time, which is more like normal. March was really kind of a drought, but mother nature shouldn't fuck with me like that. Now the sun is out. If I were, I dunno, smart or motivated, I'd go out to the store and get the things I put off buying on Monday night. (Namely cereal. And more milk.)
Title is one of my favorite lyrics, a Bob Dylan one if you're not familiar with "Subterranean Homesick Blues." I really wanted to see the movie The Weather Underground, about the terrorist/activist seventies group, the Weathermen, when I saw a trailer for it last summer, I think. Whenever I went to go see Bubba Ho-Tep with my mom.
I think I might watch Best In Show tonight. Get me in the right mood to start writing my event observation paper (which I get to do from memory after chatting with the prof after class on Monday).
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
