killing time: what I’m reading, what customers talk about when they’re trying to sound smart, what I fall asleep when reading. And what I’m eating.

So… expect more posts now that I’m back in school.  Inspiration strikes hardest when my attention is supposed to be elsewhere: for example, right now I’m trying really hard to focus on “The Revolutions of Heavenly Bodies” but all I can think about is how there’s a pun in there somewhere about naked girls.  This is after falling asleep multiple times when trying to read the text for my mandatory science class–four years and I’m just now taking it. I feel really good about the past four years of history, literature, and almost nothing else, and the bitterness I felt about having to take art history–which at least had some awesome pictures, including this picture:

petra_jordan
(which my friend recognized from the last Indiana Jones movie, exciting because it’s real! I always figured it was a set.) is nothing compared to the quiet bitterness of having screwed myself so that my last term is eaten up with this dullness.  I might take a class on colonialism and imperialism in the middle east winter term just to make up for this.
But mandatory science–okay, it’s one of two non-science science courses, the other being science through science fiction[1], and both are in high demand from all the history/liberal arts majors who can’t be arsed to do actual science or math–is that a harsh judgment?  I’m extrapolating from my own situation, which is driven by sheer lack of interest–this mandatory science class (I like calling it that and think I will for the rest of term) is taught by a very kind, very dull instructor who has already promised us lots of group work and given me a talking to a bout using a laptop to take notes. Which is fair because it was actually an email to a friend in which I complained about everything that was happening in class in real time.  I haven’t sent it yet, but I’m sure she’ll be stoked.
So here I am: falling asleep over Woman[2], which is the text for mandatory science, and which is something like if Jeanette Winterson immediately followed Written On the Body with a sort of 90s update to Our Bodies, Ourselves.  Or something.  It’s indescribable, and yes, it is entertaining, if at times entertainingly self indulgent. I read a line which I really wish I’d managed to underline and dogear before accidentally falling asleep–it was ten or fifteen word sentence with three interior rhymes. And she keeps doing that!  I haven’t found that one again but here’s this example:
“Estrone alone for the merry crone.”(203)
or this:
photo-1
(201)
“Until we cry aunt and have the uterus abolished.” I don’t even know what I want to italicise more in that sentence, it might actually be cry aunt. 
There’s also a nice reference to Heloise and Abelard, which I appreciated.  I think if Heloise had been able to express herself in hair metal lyrics, she would have written No One Like You 800 years before the Scorpions got to it.
Which reminds me that one night a few weeks ago I let my smile slip and a customer asked me what was wrong.
“I’m bored,” I answered, being candid since I’d made enough to be impervious to their money.
His friend took offense at this and asked me what kind of intellectual stimulus I needed. “Do you need to talk about Abelard?  What do you think of his misfortunes?” It’s like when someone aims a ball at your head expecting to hit you but it turns out either it’s nerf or maybe you’ve got better coordination than they thought.
“I think it’s a real bummer that Fulbert castrated him,” I answered.  “What did you think of his ideas about intentionality and sin?”
“Not much.”
We laughed.
This has been brought to you by the best batch of chocolate chip cookies I’ve ever made, and I’m not sure what I did different this time.  Which clearly means I’ll need to do it a bunch more until I have isolated and memorized the difference.  I think it might be running out of baking soda (or powder, I can’t tell the difference, but I didn’t use either one because I was out) and they’re so amazingly delicious and chewy.  Also extra vanilla because you can’t have too much of a good thing?  That’s not true.
photo-2
PS
the inscription on this book (I know, I should stop bitching about it and just read it, except I already read it what! what I’m avoiding right now is Copernicus, hello) is so awesome(ly bad) it’s almost worth the (second hand) cover price!
photo-3
why is “us” “WOMAN” singular?  Why would you say that?
I wonder if Ivy enjoyed it.

_______________________________________

1-which a different friend highly recommended, but only from a certain instructor,  and this term it’s offered but by someone other than the person my friend liked and I think it would take someone really amazing to make me focus my eyes on a combination of science and scifi, cause I’m strictly a fantasy nerd and can’t get into scifi no matter how hard I try,  although I did just finish Embassytown and really enjoyed it, so that could, maybe, change at some date in the future, with a lot of work.  But with so much awesome fantasy why bother with scifi? so I opted for Science of Women’s bodies instead, and here I am. Plus I ‘m a Capricorn, myself, so I like a known quantity,  I digress)
2-which has the most embarrassing title/reductive cover design ever.  I had to buy another copy of Sarah Rees Brennan’s book (which I already own but miss since loaning it out) and The Diviners just to justify going to the register with such an unspeakably women’s studies book.  I know I started this blog as a queer feminist stripper dyed in the wool fantasy geek and I’m still a bunch of those things but I will never not be embarrassed by bad design that is essentially a vulva–no, it’s not even a vulva, it’s definitely just a crotch[3], or maybe a martini glass. The martini glass makes me happy so let’s go with that.
3-A word that Regan hates when I use, “because it’s terrible!”–as in “Move over, crotch hog,” because I’m tired of smilingly entertaining the customer’s gaze during a lapdance and I want to give my face a break but she’s hogging the prime territory of his lap, which allows you to avert your face in a number of ways.
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