Zugenia's Procrastination Salon

Things that are wrong right now:

1. D and Daisy Mae are out of town for a few days and I am going through puppy withdrawal.

2. It is six am and I am awake.

3. One of the reasons I am awake is because I cut my finger on broken glass last night and it hurt so much I couldn't sleep, which is a lot, because, as you may recall, I'm the girl who slept quite soundly two nights in a row before discovering she had a broken wrist.

4. Back in my one-time hometown, Bon Jovi are playing a free concert in Central Park and I can't go, not that I would, but if I still lived in New York at least I could.

As my closest friends know, and as NKB can confirm following her recent Arkansan adventure, I have a severe addiction to bath and body product, and minty ones in particular. I recently stocked up on old favorites and made some new discoveries, so I thought I'd share.

Minty bath products are fantastic year-round. In the summer they cool you off; in the winter, they relieve the perennial head-cold. I also swear by an extended minty shower as hangover treatment. I particularly recommend the following:

Dr. Bronner's Peppermint Liquid Soap: This classic Dr. B's is a staple of my shower stock. We always have a bottle in there. D won't wash with anything else since I introduced him to it. Dr. B's is great for travel, too, because you can use it as a shampoo, hand wash laundry detergent, and surface cleaner as well. I will add that some people find Dr. B's Peppermint a little intense for more intimate personal cleansing, so unless you're up for some kinky clean, proceed with caution.

Stress Relief Sugar Scrub in Tranquil Mint: part of Bath & Body Works' aromatherapy line, this scrub is possibly the best thing B&B Works has ever done. The essential oils base is deeply minty and leaves you feeling tingly and fresh. I also like the Body Wash and Lotion in this scent, which is refreshing without being medicinal.

C. O. Bigelow Mentha Hair Mint-Infused Invigorating Shampoo and Conditioner: C. O. Bigelow's classic apothecary in New York's West Village is one of my favorite hometown indulgences, and I was delighted when B&B Works started carrying their signature line in their stores. Minty shampoo is a necessary everyday luxury.

Aveda Rosemary Mint Shampoo and Conditioner: my staple hair care products before Bigelow joined the minty hair industry. These products smell so delicious you will want to eat them. I do not recommend that, but they are fantastic for hair washing.

A list of Things I've Said This Week That I Probably Never Would Have Said Ever If I Hadn't Gotten A Puppy:

1. "'Cat food' means 'food for cats.' Are you a cat?"

2. "What part of 'I'm on the toilet' do you not understand?"

3. "That better not be poop in your mouth."

4. "That is poop in your mouth, isn't it?"

5. "Why don't you go chew on a duck or something?"

6. "Please get your nose out of kitty's butt while she's eating."

7. "Are you really that attached to my fiance's underpants?"


And now, a shorter list of Things I've Said To Puppy Today That It's Possible I've Said Before, Not To Puppy:

1. "Give me back my panties, NOW."

2. "Just because you're cute doesn't mean you get to come in bed."

3. "You are such a dog."

Of course the week that I'm supernaturally prepared for work started off with a snow day. I couldn't be more delighted. Not only did I not have to put on pants today, but by lifting nary a finger, I'm now fully prepared through the first half of next week.


Also:

1. I ate leftover pizza for breakfast at 1pm.

2. I'm teaching porn on Thursday.

3. In twenty-four hours I should be free of the wretched cast.

As a blue-haired boy once said, "Everything's coming up Millhouse."

Every once in a while, as I make my way through this, our world of spectacle and misinformation, I like to reestablish the basic boundaries of truth by consulting Doug Erickson's Implausible Claims Made by Vanilla Ice in His 1990 No. 1 Hit "Ice Ice Baby":

"Ice is back with my brand-new invention."

"Turn off the lights and I'll glow."

"I rock a mike like a vandal."

"I'm killin' your brain like a poisonous mushroom."

"I'm cooking MCs like a pound of bacon."

"I go crazy when I hear a cymbal and a high hat."

"I grabbed my nine."

"I'm a lyrical poet."

"My style's like a chemical spill."

"If my rhyme was a drug, I'd sell it by the gram."

"If there was a problem, yo, I'll solve it."

Happy Friday, folks.

1. I love Avril Lavigne's "Girlfriend."

2. I'm glad I'm rocking out to it instead of using my brain for some more noble purpose.

3. Yes: some days, 2:30pm is "morning."

I slept too much last night and haven't had enough caffeine yet today and it's made me cranky cranky cranky. I know I'm experiencing a crankiness of epic proportions because I've begun a mental list of all the things that are Obviously Intolerable, and even from within my grouch-addled brain I can tell that there is something emotionally unbalanced about some of the items. But whatever. Here's a sample of the things maliciously oppressing me today, in no particular order:

- The price of gas

- The price of bottled water

- My lack of interesting mail

- Product packaging with no discernible mechanism for removing the product from said packaging

- Other people in the elevator

- Other people in the elevator stopping at floors between where I get on and where I get off

- Other people in the elevator who push one floor and then begin to get off at every floor the elevator stops at even though it isn't the floor they pushed so someone else in the elevator has to say, "This is 4, not 6" and "This is 5, not 6" and each time someone points this out they look around and say, "It is?" as if maybe we're lying to them about how elevators work

- The fact that my coffee cup is empty, again

- The fact that my hair will never be as pretty as Neko Case's

- My personal service staff's continued insistence on not existing

- Forms

- Work

- Life, the universe, and everything

What sucked: When I started the day by tossing my keys into the dumpster along with the trash.

What was cool: When a colleague complimented me on my "Lorelai Gilmore pants."

What is slightly disconcerting: The group of construction workers currently taking pictures of the cracks in the walls of my 7th-floor office, who assure me that even if the walls of the building collapse, the floor will probably remain partially intact.

What remains to be seen: Whether I can get all my shit together by sundown.

1. Wake up.

2. Wake up again.

3. Distinguish reality from dream in which my enormous dog ate a child's face off and two guys stole my DVD player.

4. COFFEE.

5. Grade papers.

6. Pay rent.

7. Find way to purchase food and Christmas presents (legal or otherwise).

8. Write letter to Barnes & Noble urging them to consider NASCAR sponsorship.

9. Write article on the "racial anomaly" in The Matrix.

10. Get someone to make me food?

11. Make Christmas presents?

12. Steal Christmas presents?

13. More papers.

14. Petition government to officially change the United States national anthem to Journey's "Don't Stop Believing."

15. Design line of NASCAR-themed lingerie.

16. More coffee.

17. Law & Order rerun.

18. Advise students on final papers; collect them; grade them.

19. Devise plot outline for NASCAR-themed holiday romantic murder mystery.

20. Final exams.

21. Something with bourbon in it.

22. Whatever comes next.

Remember when I used to read books? I do, vaguely. I haven't completed a non-work-related book that contains more words than pictures in who knows how long. But I'm almost done with several, including The End of the Series of Unfortunate Events, so I'll be back to reviewage soon.


The last book I purchased, however, needs no review, as its hilarity is self- and fully evident. I speak of the new, bound collection of McSweeney's Lists, Mountain Man Dance Moves. Yes, of course you can read all of these lists online for free. But there is something sublime about flipping through pages upon pages of such demented tomfoolery, without the white frame of cyberspace, the lag of a lazy wireless connection, tempering the experience of each. It feels, truly, like gorging oneself to the point of illness at a smorgasbord of lunacy. I laughed so hard at this one my stomach hurt the next morning:

Popular Songs Renamed Along the Lines of the Cattlemen's Beef Board Ad Campaign "Beef, It's What's for Dinner."

BY GEOFF SMITH
- - - -

Me, It's What's for Leaning On

Wu-Tang Clan, It's What Ain't Nothing Ta Fuck Wit

Back, It's What Baby Got

The House, It's What's Burning Down

Alles, It's What California's Über

The Street, It's What's for Dancing In

Penis, It's What's Detachable

Dead, It's What Ed Is

The Dust, It's What Another One Bites

Hellhound, It's What's on My Trail

The Bong, It's What Hits Are From

U, It's What I Would Die 4

London, It's What's Calling

Brooklyn, It's What There's No Sleep Till

Fault, It's What's Nobody's but Mine

Thang, It's What's Nothin' but a "G"

The Volume, It's What's Pumped Up

Bigger, It's What Some Girls Are Than Others

Behavior, It's What's Human

- - - -
So, yes. You should buy this book. And while I'm on the topic of book consumption, I should mention that the next time you go internet book shopping, you should stop by BooksPrice.com, my new favorite price comparison engine. I used not to make a move toward online book purchases without consulting addall.com, but I find BooksPrice much easier to use. (They actually sent me a book to say something nice about them here, but it truly is a good site, so I have no qualms about selling out to them. Plus they sent me Snow by Orhan Pamuk, so they seem like my kind of people.)

And no, I haven't forgotten about the NASCAR post.

Some things I've learned during my time in Arkansas:

1. If a friend mails you a package decorated in art that proclaims "SATAN IS A LESBIAN," you will not receive it.

2. There is a world of difference between working for Wal-Mart and working at Wal-Mart, and it is best to respect this distinction when meeting, say, the spouses of new colleagues.

3. It is inadvisable to match an employee of the U.S. Air Force round for round in Jager shots at the karaoke bar in exchange for his singing "Every Rose Has Its Thorn," even though it obviously seems like a fair deal at the time, because you will inevitably reach that tragic moment of clarity in which you realize that in exactly 30 seconds or so, you will not be able to stand, you will not be able to speak, and you will not be able to extricate yourself from the karaoke bar and return to your place of residence without major assistance, so you must, before the impending loss of all motor skills including those involved in the operation of a cellular phone, send out some form of distress signal, so that some local hero will come to your rescue, namely your trusty friend KL, not to be confused with that other guy Kal-El, because not even the Man of Steel would perform the feat KL does in retrieving you and carrying you home as you, when not saying inexcusable things about his mother, engage him in the following philosophical conversation:

You: Hey, is the "air force" a thing?
KL: ???
You: Like if I say, "the air force," does that mean something?
KL: Yes.
You: Huh.

See? I teach the people of Arkansas, and they teach me right back.

Why did I not know about this feature of the NYTimes Online?

Keywords most frequently searched by NYTimes.com readers [in the last 24 hours]:

1. immigration
2. iran
3. colbert
4. china
5. india
6. bush
7. education
8. gay
9. iraq war
10. mexico

I'm sure there's much to be said about this little snapshot of the American mind, but I haven't had nearly enough coffee to take it on just yet. Please, talk amongst yourselves.

Happy birthday to Mozart, Donna Reed, André the Giant, and my sister Kathryn.

Happy 136th anniversary to Kappa Alpha Theta, the first college sorority, founded at a college at which I will be giving an on-campus interview in two weeks.

Happy commemoration of the Paris Peace Accord, which ended the Vietnam War in 1973.

Happy belated Australia Day.

Happy Friday.

ETA: As grendel1031 points out, it is also the birthday of Colette, sexy French author of GiGi and the wonderful Claudine novels. And, I have just discovered, it is also the birthday our beloved Bitch Ph.D. Damn, busy day.

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.

1. You know you truly grew up in the '80s when, upon listening to "1985" by Bowling for Soup, you say, "Blondie was technically over by 1985." That wasn't me, that was Z.

2. All Bob Dylan really wants to do is baby, be friends with you. All I really wanna do is learn the dance to *NSYNC's "Bye Bye Bye."

3. The Pixies were right. Where is my mind?

Stop the presses:

P. Diddy Shortens Name to Diddy

Rap mogul Sean 'P. Diddy' Combs has unveiled his new stage moniker - he wants to be called just Diddy. Combs - who changed his name from Puff Daddy and Puffy before adopting the name P. Diddy in 2001 - announced his moniker change in New York City yesterday. He tells MTV News, "It's five letters, one word. The name is changed. We made it simpler. We removed the P. The P was getting in between us. We're entering the age of Diddy. A lot of my peeps in music been calling me Diddy, so it's not a drastic change for them. But people around the world didn't know what to call me. We was at (Madison Square Garden) rocking with Jay-Z. The last time I was there, half the crowd was chanting 'P Diddy', half the crowd chanting 'Diddy'. We gonna stop the confusion. 'Diddy. Diddy, Diddy!' Simple. To the point and it sounds strong. It sounds like something is about to happen. It sounds like something is about to go down in history." Combs plans a special "unveiling of Diddy" ceremony when he hosts the MTV Video Music Awards in Miami on August 28. He adds, "You gonna see that in the entrance. You gonna see that swagger. You gonna see how I'm gonna navigate you through the journey." [courtesy of IMDb Celebrity News]

I find the statement "We removed the P. The P was getting in between us" too challenging for my barely caffeinated brain. It would make more sense to me if his moniker had been "DiPddy."

After spending yesterday ruthlessly taking the piss out of Providence, today the pre-emptive nostalgia is starting to set in. I've been living in Providence for seven years, which is the longest I've lived in any one place since leaving home to go to college. When I moved here from New York, I loved living in a small city—low rent, a cool arthouse movie theater you could actually get into on weekend nights, and the day-to-day diversion of getting to know a new home. After a few years (three, to be exact), I began to gripe that Providence was making me feel claustrophobic, that everything was tired, that all the interesting movies never came here, so why even bother going to the arthouse theater, no wonder you can always get in, but the truth is that I probably would have felt that way after 3 years anywhere. I was young; I had The Wanderlust. I had broken up with my British boyfriend two years earlier and had no excuse to go to Europe twice a year anymore. And I was in grad school, which will make anyone tired and cranky, even in the Funnest Place on Earth, wherever that is.

I neglected to mention the items I considered for my list yesterday but omitted because I will miss them genuinely and unconditionally:
( Things I Really and Truly Love About Living in Providence, and Will Miss when I'm Gone )

I leave on Saturday. (fsr44, we must meet before then!) Of course, I'll be back. Z is staying for the year, and holding all of my belongings hostage to make sure I return.

Things I Learned by Tuning into the 11:00 News Tonight

1. A local town has a cockroach problem.

2. A plane from Philadelphia landed just fine at T. F. Green Airport today.

3. Rhode Island is not experiencing a drought. (Just less rain than usual.)

And with that, I bring this particular rip-roaring Tuesday to a close. See y'all tomorrow.

I blame McSweeney's Lists, which I've been reading somewhat obsessively lately. Some of them are truly pee-on-yourself funny, like Obscenities Uttered by Jesus Christ, Discarded Titles for Toni Braxton's 1996 Hit "Unbreak My Heart", and Chris Monks's Alien Vs. Predator.

So as I was walking around today, I generated this list:

Ten Things I Could Learn to Miss About Providence Once I Forget What It’s Like Actually To Live Here

1. The fact that, according to both a recent CNN report and my own observations and experiences, “The state of Rhode Island leads the nation in driver cluelessness.”

2. The weird abundance of beauty salons, especially those with unfortunate names like Hairoglyphics and Spadyssey (actual local establishments).

3. The comfort of knowing that there’s always a Dunkin’ Donuts within ten paces.

4. The fact that street signage, particularly signs indicating the names of streets and One Way streets, is entirely optional. And that all the parallel streets eventually intersect.

5. How any time you get lost on the way somewhere (which is quite often—see #4) you end up accidentally leaving the state.

6. The house on my walk home that is painted, with upsetting accuracy, the exact shade of grape-flavored Bubble Yum.

7. That the former Mayor, in addition to being called “Buddy” in his professional life, had to leave office to go to prison for kidnapping and torturing a man who was screwing his wife, and resumed the position after being enthusiastically re-elected upon his release, until he had to step down again to go back to prison for racketeering. And that, when he was Mayor the second time, he lived in the penthouse at the downtown Biltmore. And that you can still buy jars of The Mayor’s Own Marinara Sauce with his photo on the label at local supermarkets.

8. The nihilistic nightlife sustained by the knowledge that as soon as everyone is having a good time, it will be last call.

9. That sinking feeling you get every time you realize you’re out of beer and it’s Sunday.

10. Knowing that although you’re three hours away from New York, NY, you’re quite close to Rhode Island, RI.

1. I have an uncanny ability to channel Paula Abdul.

2. Gay men love it when a straight chick sings John Cougar Mellencamp, but not nearly as much as gay women do.

3. "We Built This City (on Rock 'n' Roll)" is a really good song.

I am bored and hot and not doing any work at all. Instead, since my last post, I have:

1. Finished Piratica by Tanith Lee, which was cool.

2. Subscribed to a bunch of podcasts on iTunes (a new feature), which all turned out to be boring, except for the BBC news in snippets read by robots, which was immensely disturbing.

3. Added a bunch of stuff to my Amazon wish list I don't even really want. Amazon pressured me with its whole "recommendations" apparatus.

4. Made my first ever Amazon Listmania list. I now have a whole new way to waste time online.

5. Consumed several cups of coffee, two glasses of water, one large tub of leftover spaghetti with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, two black bean burritos, a bowl of homemade guacamole, and a slice of lemon. Not all at once, but close.

6. Spent a lot of money on DVD box sets at B&N.com. There was a sale.

7. Sat around thinking evil thoughts about my dissertation director.

8. Sat around being hot and not thinking about anything at all.

9. Been to the nearby branch of the local public library, where I realized I would really rather buy books than borrow them. I was about to head to the nearby bookstore, but then I realized that I already own most of the books I was about to consider buying.

10. Returned home to read some of these books; sat myself down in front of the computer to complain about being bored instead.

Yesterday, Z and I went to Myopic Books to trade stuff in. I came away with the following:

The Diary of John Evelyn
John Cleland, Memoirs of a Coxcomb
Richard Hakluyt, Voyages and Discoveries
Virginia Woolf, The Haunted House and Other Short Stories
Richard Powers, Plowing the Dark
Richard Brautigan, Trout Fishing in America/The Pill versus the Springhill Mine Disaster/In Watermelon Sugar

I also grabbed David Foster Wallace's Brief Interviews with Hideous Men and Oliver Sacks's The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat from Z's stack of books-to-sell before he could give them away. Hehehe.

I realized, as I was typing, that I never provided lists of Books Purchased and Otherwise Acquired for the months of March and April. So here they are:

( March's Bounty )

( April's Bounty )

I may have forgotten some, as I've done a bad job of keeping track of anything except my dissertation and job applications for the last couple of months. Also, please note that most of these titles were received through BookCrossing, or in used bookstore exchanges, or as gifts. I wouldn't want you to think I'm maxing out my credit cards in sacrifice to Mt. TBR any more than I really am. Please feel free, however, to reflect on the insanity of my accumulating so many books I don't need when I'm on the verge of moving out of my apartment. I do, frequently.

Today is rainy and cold. I've been in sweatpants and under the blankets with a book (Secrecy by Eliza Fenwick) for most of the day. I have two very ripe mangos sitting on the kitchen counter and I'm just waiting for it to be late enough in the day for me to puree them with rum in the blender, a neat trick I learned from a guy at a daiquiri stand in the Bahamas last spring. If it were sunny, I'd have done it at 3:00, but since it's rainy, I feel I have to wait till 5:00. I do not understand my own brain sometimes.

My parents sent me flowers to congratulate me on the job. They're so awesome. My parents, that is. Well, the flowers too, actually.

One last note: my LJ has been officially added to Bust Magazine's Girl Wide Web directory. If you're reading this, of course, you already know how to get here, and don't need to consult the directory. But there are thousands of links to other sites and blogs, and, if you feel so inclined, you can rate Zugenia's Dissertation Procrastination Journal on a scale of 1 to 10. Base it on physical attractiveness, native wittiness, or total arbitrariness—whatever you wish. Here's the easy way: Rate me!

Sometime between 3 and 4 this morning, I woke up with one of these nighttime migranes I get from time to time. This one was exceptionally bad—nauseatingly, blindingly painful. I groped my way to the bathroom for Tylenol, then tried to lie still while the meds kicked in, but I could feel the imaginary vice tightening its grip, and every time I shifted or turned my head I felt exponentially more ill. Eventually I made my downstairs and found the cold face mask I bought a couple of years ago as part of an abortive attempt to transform my apartment into a luxury spa, and which has lived in the refrigerator ever since, and collapsed into a reverie of pain with the mask numbing the top half of my face. My head hurt so much it transported me to an entirely new realm of experience; it was as close to a religious moment as anything I've ever had. And since I was raised Catholic, as I drifted out of my mind and into a full-blown world of pain I began listing all the recent transgressions for which I was likely being punished:

1. All those hours spent putting naughty words on virtual NFL jerseys yesterday.
2. The particular enjoyment I took in the term ASS BAGGER yesterday.
3. The fact that I haven't thought about the eighteenth century even once this week since sending off my writing sample.
4. Deciding, in defiance of my academic calling, to read the Weetzie Bat books on the plane to LA tonight instead of, say Tom Jones or something by Fanny Burney.
5. Comparing She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed to a brontosaurus the other night.
6. Confusing whatever deity is in charge of punishing me with migranes with the earthly authority of She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed in assuming that the deity would give a crap about what prehistoric creatures I compare my dissertation director to, or, for that matter, what I decide to read on a plane.
7. Liking Law and Order:SVU so much, even when it sucks.
8. Eating salsa out of the jar with a spoon last week because I ran out of chips.
9. Continuing to misunderstand the concept of a "moral transgression."
10. Wishing the god responsible for this headache would show his measly face so I could kick him in it.

And so on.

So, yes, tonight I am going to LA, where a friend of mine is getting married this weekend. I still have to wash all my clothes and then pack some of them. I also have to decide if I'm going to drag along some long-ass eighteenth-century novels that I'm not actually going to read. This decision entails deciding if I will feel guiltier staring at their unopened forms all weekend, or imagining them lying unopened and abandoned in the dissertation office at home. I go through this every time I go away. I have a severely unhealthy relationship with my undone work.

But I am looking forward to a weekend in a warmer clime, and seeing my friend Peter (not getting married; with whom Z and I are staying), and going to the chinoiserie exhibit at the Getty Museum, and reading Weetzie Bat on the plane, and leaving Providence to its grim and grimy self for a few days.