Zugenia's Procrastination Salon

D: Are you drinking ginger beer first thing in the morning?
Me: We don't have any juice.
D: I don't think those two things are analogous.
Me: What? Ginger is ... kind of a fruit.
D: ...

Conversation had some time in the last few weeks:

D: Baby, you know the phrase is "I want to go to there."
Me: I thought it was "I want to go there."
D: I know; I've seen you use that online a few times. It's "I want to go to there." That's why it's funny.
Me: Liz Lemon doesn't say, "I want to go there"?
D: No. "I want to go to there." You've been misusing a current catch-phrase.
Me: Because I'm old.
D: Yes, but it's okay.

Me to students, as I pass out final exams:

Sorry I'm late, guys. Copier issues. You can have an extra 5 minutes at the end of class time if you need it. But you shouldn't. [pause] Which is not to say that if you do, you're stupid. [pause] I'm trying so hard today not to sound like an asshole.

D, last night, concluding some rant against something:

I guess the problem is really that I'm just an asshole.

Me: Is there any food in the house?
D: No.
Me: Do you want to go get some?
D: Well here's the thing: I don't have any pants.
Me: Oh.

My husband on Judd Apatow:

That's the thing: all of his movies are about gay panic. And it's not funny! All it makes you think is that Judd Apatow is probably gay! Which is fine, but it's not funny. It's mean to closeted gay people. That's what's wrong with our culture. Even gay people are mean to closeted gay people. Cut it out! It's not funny! It's mean! STOP BEING MEAN!

Me: Wouldn't it be amazing if we got home and the power was back on?

D: Well, that's going to keep being a possibility until it happens.

Me: When the power comes back on, can we watch tv for 24 hours straight?

D: If that's what you want to do.

Me: I'll watch anything just to keep watching it.

D: Baby, you would do that anyway.

Sounder has just begun on TCM.

Me: Is this movie going to make me cry?

D: For Christ's sake, baby, it's a movie about a dog. It's either going to play a sport or make you cry.

First day of classes. Lady Z, waiting in line for the office copy machine, attempts to make small talk with those standing around.

Lady Z: So D and I are on day two of the Abs Diet—we're trying to get hot for the wedding.

Secretary: How is that going?

Lady Z: The hardest thing for me is eating high-protein snacks regularly. I'm used to just drinking coffee all day and then wolfing down a plate of spaghetti at night. But now I have to eat protein all day long ...

[Student wanders into the office looking for administrative assistance.]

Lady Z: ... so, it's like, lately I'm shoving nuts in my face at every opportunity. It's exhausting.

[Student turns around and walks out.]

Lady Z: Hmmm. That's really not the kind of thing I should be declaring in the office, is it?

Secretary: No.

Remember in "I'm the One that I Want" when Margaret Cho says, "I save my mother's messages because my mother's messages are worth saving"? Well, I post my baby sister's emails for much the same reason.

Latest missive from Baby Sister, sent to all members of immediate family:

Dear Family,

I am concerned about 2 things:

1. I know more about what is going on in my sister's dog's life than
her own, because she does not get in touch with me but does update her
dog's blog regularly

2. I now know from the dog's blog that one of my parents is sending
mail (pretending to be the cat) to the dog

If all of you have so much time on your hands you should come visit me
in london.

(K is completely excluded from all ridicule as she not only came
to visit me in london but also calls and emails me more regularly than
anyone else)

Love,
E

Lady Z: I have the new Death Cab for Cutie...

D: Great. Are you driving your own car?

Lady Z: ...and Okkerville River...

D: So it's just all emo, all the time today, huh?

Lady Z: ...ooh! And the new Frightened Rabbit.

D: Awesome. How about Sad Kitten? Despondent Moppet?

Lady Z: Never mind.

Overheard from downstairs as I dressed upstairs:

"No! No! No, puppy, that's my shoe. I need to wear that to walk around in. Do you understand that? No, you don't, because you're a fucking dog."

Me: I can't believe I'm teaching Sade. It's like 600 pages of sodomy and incest.

D: Awesome. Sounds like the Bible.

The following are actual emails sent and conversations had in the halls and classrooms of my department.

Me to my "Satire and Humor of the 18th Century" class:

Dear class,

Our end-of-the-semester party is officially on. I have reserved the back room of Jose's on Dickson Street from 6-8 pm next WEDNESDAY, DEC. 5. You've demonstrated your ability to reckon with the greatest minds of the 18th-century literary scene; now show me you can take your peers in the karaoke face-off of the century. Dr. Collins: YOU'RE ON.

The event organizers make the following request: "Please make sure to have your students arrive a bit before 6pm to start selecting songs and get situated. I'd hate for them to not fully utilize the time frame." These people are clearly professionals. I would hate for us to waste precious karaoke minutes as well.

Drs. Gertz and Tucker: you and your students are also invited. Please join us, if you dare.

All best,
EZ, a.k.a. Lady Z, Karaoke Queen

Dr. Collins to her "African American Literature" class:

Dear class,
I told you earlier that Dr. Zuroski challenged us to, and I quote, a "karaoke face-off of the century." Well, she has reserved a time and a place for said event--the back room of Jose's on Dickson Street from 6-8 pm on WEDNESDAY, DEC. 5.

If you would like to join me as I teach her a thing or two, we will be glad to have you all. I include at the end of this message what Dr. Zuroski or as she refers to herself, EZ, a.k.a. Lady Z, Karaoke Queen, said to her class about us. She has clearly been reading too much 18th-century literature. So, if you are free, come prepared to get down with the get down.

According to Dr. Z, the event organizers make the following request: "Please make sure to have your students arrive a bit before 6pm to start selecting songs and get situated. I'd hate for them to not fully utilize the time frame."

Oh, and for those of you who are taking both of us this semester, you have no choice. YOU ARE ON MY TEAM!!!!!!

Dr. Z's challenge to her class:
"You've demonstrated your ability to reckon with the greatest minds of the 18th-century literary scene; now show me you can take your peers in the karaoke face-off of the century."

Yes, you should be insulted and ready to sing like you have never sang before. Do it for all of those oppressed, disenfranchised, invisible African Americans you read about this semester.

Student to me in class:

"I'm really sorry, but Dr. Collins said I needed to be on her team for the sake of invisible, disenfranchised African Americans."

Me to student in class:

"What? Who has more invisible, disenfranchised African Americans than the 18th Century? In fact, have you seen ANY African Americans at all in the literature in this class??"

Student:

"Um...no?"

Me:

"Exactly."

The girl at the Office Depot cash register, on my What Would Joan Jett Do? t-shirt:

"I love that shirt. I love it so much I'm seriously considering ripping it off your body and taking it."

And, appropriately, I believe that is exactly what J.J.W.D.

This morning, as I refilled my coffee cup at Common Grounds, I overhead this breakfasting middle-aged good ol' boy say to his wife, "The thing about the Yankees is that they simply have no sense of history," and I had no idea whether he was talking about my team or my people.

My apologies to those of you unable to tune into The Pop Tart last night—our internet stream was all messed up for some reason. I'll look into it and try my best to have it fixed ASAP. By the way, as long as you've got your KXUA feed set up in your computer, you should tune in Mondays from 6-8 (Central Standard Time) for Derek's show, Mystery Train, which features Blues, R&B, Rockabilly, & Doo Wop, and describes itself on the station website thus: "The Mystery Train came 'round the bend long about 1953, pulling behind it sixteen coaches of raunchy decadence and earthy heartache. Blind Derek Jenkins unpacks the musical load that gave birth to Rock & Roll every Monday night." Filthy boy!

I taught Swift's Tale of a Tub today—a feat which involved performative digressions on Britney's VMA debacle, the mere fact of Perez Hilton's career, my own sick penchant for E! news and catty celebrity-watch blogging, and the time I inadvertently dismantled a friend and colleague's newly hatched professional persona with an admirably Swiftian email—and I'm exhausted. Tonight Derek's giving a talk on the camp legacy of Irma Vep for TheatreSquared's production of "The Mystery of Irma Vep." I feel like I need a coffee just to get me through his schedule.

On the phone, from my 7th-floor office to SC's 2nd-floor office:

Me: Why is my office so cold? I'm freezing my ass off in here.
SC: I don't know.
Me: I turned the thermostat up to 76, and it's still freezing.
SC: I turned mine up to 86 and now it's okay. Didn't you bring a sweater or anything?
Me: No. It was so nice outside I left my sweater in the car.
SC: You want to borrow mine? I have one I leave in the office just for this kind of situation.
Me: Why are you so much smarter than I am?
SC: Because I'm black.
Me: Oh, right.

Overheard in line at the coffee shop this morning:

Sorority Girl 1: I cannot believe I have to take this ridiculous workshop. He said it would go until six in the evening...

Sorority Girl 2: Oh my gosh.

Sorority Girl 1: ...and then it went till seven.

Sorority Girl 2: Oh my gosh.

Sorority Girl 1: And there are all these tools all over, like hacksaws and, like, circular saws, and I don't know what, but it's really scary.

Sorority Girl 2: Oh my gosh, that's so scary.

Sorority Girl 1: And he was telling us all these horror stories, like about girls who got scalped because their hair got caught up in the gears when they were using the saw.

Sorority Girl 2: OH. MY. GOSH.

Sorority Girl 1: I'm gonna get a guy to do it for me.

(Who won this round? Cast your votes now!)

KL: Hey, are you awake?
Me: ...
KL: Your feet are twitching.
Me: It's a fun game.
KL: It should be a game.
Me: It is a game.
KL: How do you calculate the points?
Me: I don't know, but if we could, I'd be winning.
KL: We should figure out how the point system works.
Me: You get a point for each twitch.
KL: [laughs openly at the druggy Lady Z, as do the nurses eavesdropping on our conversation]
Me: But then we have to figure out the handicapping system, because some people are better at foot twitching than others.
KL: Yeah. Your feet are twitching a lot.
Me: I'm really good.
KL: So what about people with only one foot? Because they would be at a real disadvantage in this sport.
Me: They get their own Olympics, because they are actually handicapped. They compete in the Special Olympics of foot twitching.

[The above exchange is recreated from the report KL gave me later; I don't remember a thing, seeing as how I was stoned to the gills on whatever delightful concoction the nurses pumped into my veins. Incidentally, my colon is impeccably healthy, as well as ridiculously goddamn clean.]

It's Thanksgiving weekend and I'm staying with my sister K in her new house in Rochester. There's lots to say about Thanksgiving, obviously, but it basically all comes down to eating oneself silly with family, and then staying up late, finishing the wine and watching movies, while mutually engaging in such mentally stimulating philosophical quandries as the following:

K: So Arkansas is an hour behind?
Me: Yes.
K: So an 8 o'clock show is on...
Me: At 7.
K: When is the 11 o'clock news on?
Me: At 10.
K: But then what about Letterman?
Me: 10:30.
K: But...when are Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy?
Me: At 6.
K: But then when does the evening news come on?
Me: At 5.
...
K: I just don't understand where the missing hour goes.

To be fair, I mock, but K owns her own home. Which is newly painted in the living room region, and delightful.

Actual dialogue from this morning's class:

Student 1: I'd like to invite you all to come see the university orchestra perform next Monday. Tickets for students and their spouses are $1 each.

Me: What about faculty?

Student 1: Also $1.

Me: What about faculty spouses?

Student 1: Also $1.

Me: What about those of us without spouses? What about life partners? Why should married people get all the breaks?

Student 1: Ummm...

Me: In my experience, that usually works, actually. I can't tell you how many one-night "life partners" I've had.

Student 2: WHAT??

Me: No, not like that... [Students, overcome by collective hysteria, fail to heed feeble protest] ...never mind. See, this is why I should just never say anything in the classroom.

From last night's phone conversation:

Me: It seems like the producers of Snakes on a Plane really didn't know what they were onto for a long time. They wanted to call it Pacific Air 121.

Z: Yeah, they were probably imagining something like, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard Pacific Air 121 ... oh my god, the captain is DRUNK! And there's a SNAKE ON THE PLANE! And ... sweet Jesus, there's a TORNADO! This is the WORST FLIGHT EVER!!"

Me: Actually, I would see that movie if it were called Worst Flight Ever.

Incidentally, know what the French title of Snakes on a Plane is? Yep:

"I am rich in snot," he said. "I am a millionaire of snot."

At the Northside Tavern the other night:

Me: When you were in college, did everyone you know have those drunken smoking scars?
Z: ???
Me: You know, from when you're smoking a cigarette while trashed, and you go to take it out of your mouth but it sticks to your lip so your fingers slide down the cigarette and you get burnt on the insides of your middle and pointer fingers? Everyone I knew in college had those scars.
Z: That's why we wouldn't have you at Harvard.

Apparently, even the classiest of DVD runs (viewed over the past two weeks: The Lady Eve (1941), Operation Petticoat (1959), Murder on the Orient Express (1974), Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962), After the Thin Man (1936)) can, with the introduction of one silly robot movie (I, Robot (2004)), plummet straight into the very deepest depths of ignominy: Empire of the Ants (1977).

I think it's fair to say that the experience of watching this film resists representation. All you have to know is that it features Joan Collins and giant, radioactive ants, which are actually normal-sized, (probably) unradioactive ants filmed up close and then badly superimposed on the frame to create the cinematic illusion of giant radioactive antness. Now that's movie magic!

Plus, what with the bad sound, the '70s pantsuits, and the negligible acting, it really seemed like it was going to become porn any minute. But instead, some giant, radioactive ants would kill someone.

In the spirit of televised sports' Sounds of the Game, here are some of the things you would have overheard if you'd been there with us on the couch last night:

"They didn't do a good job of dumping that radioactive waste."

"[sigh]. Groups of people should never get on boats."

"I don't think they invented knee-in-the-balls until the late seventies."

"Who's that guy?" "He's just here for the porn."

"These ants aren't very good actors."

"Shouldn't this be called Empire of the Pants?"

"Get more eaten!"

And so on.

Lest you think our evening an entire waste, let me assure you that it inspired one of the Great Ideas of the New Millenium: a spin-off of the classic Tom Collins named—yes, you guessed it—the Joan Collins. We have not yet perfected the formula, but we suspect Tabasco may be involved.

Dear Whoever's In Charge,

I would like to discuss the awkward position in which you have placed me as an educator and scholar of American ethnic literature. Specifically, I would like to know whose idea it was to adopt the term "tossed salad" to describe a certain recreational activity, and why you allowed this coinage to catch on. This was a bad decision for several reasons. First of all, it doesn't make any sense. That particular phenomenon in no way resembles a "tossed salad" from any possible perspective. A tossed salad is leafy and crisp and doused in vinaigrette or possibly ranch dressing. Sometimes you find a cherry tomato or a crouton. The so-called "tossed salad" involves none of these things. Or maybe it does, and I'm aging myself by not being able to imagine how this is possible. If that is the case, I prefer to be ignorant.

Okay, I can imagine how vinaigrette or possibly ranch dressing might be involved, but like I said, I'd really rather not.

Secondly, and more importantly for my professional purposes, by allowing this term currency in the contemporary American lexicon, you have enabled the occurrance of such scenes as the following in my daily life.

Setting: My Asian American Literature class

[The class is discussing R. Zamora Linmark's Rolling the R's, which, incidentally, is a totally fantastic book that everyone should read. A student refers to a moment in the text that counters the image of America as a "melting pot" with the image of Hawai'i as a "volcano." I move to the chalkboard to offer a visual representation of how the volcano inverts and upsets the melting pot.]

Me: Now, you may recall that earlier in the semester we discussed the concept of the "melting pot" as a model of American diversity, and some of the critiques of that model.

Students: [Blank, somewhat sleepy stares.]

Me: For example, some proponents of multiculturalism in the late 20th century suggested that America was less of a "melting pot" than a "tossed salad." Which, unfortunately, is also the term for a certain other thing, which is dirty, so I won't explicate. But that's not what I'm talking about.

Students: [Big, wide-eyed, very awake stares.]

Me: What? You do know what a "tossed salad" is, right?

Students: [A few weak, frightened nods. Mostly more staring.]

Me: Good, because I'm not going to tell you. That's not my job.

Student: Is this really happening?

Me: Apparently it is. Look, I just want you to know that I know what is coming out of my mouth. It's not my fault. Now, back to the issue. First there was the "melting pot," then then there was the "tossed salad."

Student: You're not going to draw that, are you?

Me: No.

So no, it's not my fault, it's your fault that this is the kind of thing that happens to me when I'm simply trying to educate the youth. And, frankly, I would like to know how you're going to make it up to me.

Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,
Lady Z

Earlier today:

Me: None of you has seen the movie Mimic?
Students: [silence]
Me: But it's so good! It's about assimilation, and multicultural anxiety, and giant bugs eating people in the New York subway!
Student: Was it ever even out in theaters?
Me: Of course it was. It was popular. It came out when I was in college.
Student: ...so, like, in the mid-seventies, right?
Me: Oh look at that. You just failed my class.

In my Asian American literature class, with ten minutes to go:

Student says something intelligent about race.
Me: While you were talking, I thought of a good response to what you were saying, but then I got distracted by a thought about Alias.
Student: ...
Me: Yeah, I just started watching season four, and in the first two episodes there's this totally hot villain, and I was all excited, like, yay, Sidney's finally going to dump that boring-ass Vaughn guy have a hot evil boyfriend—
Student: What is going on? What are you talking about?
Me: No, see, it's relevant to our class. 'Cause the hot evil guy is Asian.
Student: You do have a Ph.D., right?
Me: Yes. Yes, I do.

Last night:
Me: Who do you think would play me in the made-for-TV movie of my life? One of the Olsen twins?
Z: Both of the Olsen twins.
Me: Yeah, each one could take a side of my very complex personality.
Z: Who would play me?
Me: A monkey.
Z: Could I do it with the Olsen twins?
Me: No, stupid. The monkey playing you would do it with the Olsen twins. You would do it with me.
Z: Are you twins?
Me: This conversation is over.

Me: How would one would make a Brokeback Martini?
sillygirl84: Well, it would have to be something really manly, but also, um...
Me: A little fruity?
sillygirl84:Yes.

Thus we shall be drinking something along the lines of a scotch-and-raspberry/cranberry cocktail. I also stocked up on Jake's Fault, a.k.a. the "I Wish I Knew How to Quit You" shiraz.

See you all at the other end of the red carpet.

( Update 1 )
( Update 2 )
( Update 3 )
( Update 4 )
( Update 5 )
( Final update )

Overheard at the Society Hill Hotel bar last evening:

Man: Well, it looks like we've done it all: lunch, breakfast, and now dinner.
Woman: Yes.
Man: What's next? Should we get married?
Woman: No.

In other news, I made a noteworthy integrated false pun sighting yesterday. In Philly's Suburban East Station, there exists a smoothie shop named ... (wait for it) ... The Enerjuicer.

In more encouraging news, my Sing that iTune! widget appears to know all the words to Public Enemy's "Cold Lampin' With Flavor." So that's something.

Things You Would Say Very Loudly During a Screening of Good Night, and Good Luck If You Were the Most Annoying Person in the World, or the Person Sitting Right Behind Me

Do they show previews?
They show previews.
Get ready for previews.
We get to see arty previews.
Arty, because we're in an art theater.
I don't get that.
I think something was lost in translation.
Don't you think it's a weird title?
It sounds weird to me. It must be Chinese.
Oh, Vertigo. That's very famous.
Isn't there a twist? She doesn't really die. Yes, that's it.
Okay, it's starting.
It's black and white.
There's Jeff Daniels.
Have we seen Clooney yet?
That's not Clooney.
That's not Clooney.
There's Clooney!
Who's that?
Who are these people?
What are they doing?
Oh, Murrow. Is that the man?
Yes, that must be him. He's talking.
What year is this? '58? How do you know? Oh, yes, it does say so. Hmm, '58.
Who is that?
Is that Murrow?
Is that Murrow?
Is that the same person? Is it Murrow?
This looks very classic. It's because it's in black and white.
Is that still Murrow, or the other guy?
Ha ha ha ha, Clooney.
What are they talking about?
That's the bad guy. Right, McCarthy.
Is that McCarthy? Where's McCarthy?
Murrow did that kind of show? He did? I didn't know.
Why are they doing that? [Companion explains that, in the previous scene, they had explained that they were going to do this.] Oh, they did? Was that in this movie?
Is that Murrow?
All those cigarettes. It's terrible.
Did this really happen?
Do we know who that is?
Oh, we're back to this part.
Is that really how you spell "Murrow"? I thought it was M-A-R-R-O.
Is it almost over?
I think it's over.
It's over.
It was good, but very hard to follow.

[Cell phone rings. I see it’s Z.]
Me: Hi!
[silence]
Me: Hello? Are you there? [Moves around trying to get the signal.]
[Call ends.]
[Cell phone rings. It’s Z again.]
Me: You hung up on me!
Z: No I didn’t.
Me: Yes you did. You called me up and then deliberately hung up on me.
Z: Well, no, I don’t think I did. I think you hung up on me.
Me: Whatever. I hate you. This conversation is already making me cranky.
Z: Well, me too.
Me: Whatever. So how was your day?
Z: What?
Me: [moves closer to window] Can you hear me now?
Z: Yes.
Me: I said, “How was your day.”
Z: Oh. Fine. How was yours?
Me: Okay. Class was fine, but I couldn’t get them excited about Milton…. [goes on at some length about the trials and tribulations of trying to get freshmen excited about Milton]
Z: Wait, I lost you. What did you say?
Me: When?
Z: The last thing.
Me: Well, what’s the last thing you heard?
Z: Something about Milton.
Me: That I couldn’t get my students excited?
Z: Yeah, I heard that. What did you say after that?
Me: More of the same, really. It doesn’t matter.
Z: What?
Me: [moving toward other window] I SAID IT DOESN’T MATTER.
Z: Oh. Okay.
[silence]
Me: You still there?
Z: [garbled]
Me: [waving phone around in the air looking for signal] Wait, I can’t hear you.
Z: Hello?
Me: Hi. What did you say?
Z: When?
Me: Just now. Whatever you said, I didn’t hear it.
Z: I asked if you could hear me.
Me: Oh. I couldn’t.
Z: I figured. [garbled]
Me: [sighs] This sucks.
Z: Yeah. I better let you go.
Me: Yeah. I’m pretty tired.
Z: Okay. Well, have a good night and… [garbled].
Me: What?
Z: I said I love you.
Me: Oh. I love you too.
Z: I’m going to assume you just said “I love you” and not “Fuck you.”
Me: Sure, whatever.
[Call ends.]