1) I was accepted to Wisconsin.
2) I found my camera cord. Here are some posts that you have to look forward to:
- a much belated Superbowl post (not sure how much I remember
at this point)
- something centered on t-shirt yarn; I am slightly obsessed
3) Adele's new album came out! I have not listened to it yet, but am very excited to! I always enjoy good music.
That's all for now. Look for new stuff in a few days.
2.25.2011
2.17.2011
You LISTEN to this stuff? Voluntarily!?
Welp, it's 11:30 at night, and my brain is refusing to shut down.
Blogging! It's fun!
Earlier today, I heard a cover of David Bowie's "Heroes" on the radio. It was one of the most awful things my brain has ever had to process. (The reason why it is rebelling now, perhaps?) Seriously, if you sound like an anemic emo kid, don't touch Bowie. Don't think about Bowie. Don't even look at an album cover; like the Ark of the Covenant in Raiders, it will melt your brain with sheer awesomeness.
You rock those stripes, DB.
After flipping through all of my preset channels to find nothing except for diamond store commercials, I resigned myself to listening to the whiny kid with black fingernails. I almost switched to a Kessler ad. Almost. I thought to myself, "Why do people redo awesome songs? Most of the time they make me want to stab myself with a rusty nail."
Like Lenny Kravitz's remake of "American Woman." Awful. Just... fucking awful. The original, boys and girls, was by a band called The Guess Who. Listen to the original and marvel at its non-suckfulness.
I love the beginning.
Another memorable one was Limp Bizket's sad imitation of "Behind Blue Eyes." One: you cut out the amazing bridge in the middle of the song and replaced it with some synthesized voice. Two: you fail at life.
AND the original in all its Who-ness and glory.
Bonus points for it being live and rocking way more than synthesizers. And for the fringe.
And whoever did that remix with "Breakfast in America." Gross. For those of you who don't know, "Breakfast in America" is a Supertramp song. Supertramp was also the group responsible for "Give a Little Bit," not the Goo Goo Dolls, though they did it justice.
To be fair, there are some non-crapful remakes out there. Zoo Sarah and I had a lot of discussions about music, and I tend to agree with her opinion on remakes. If you are going to redo a song, make it your own, because if you try to imitate the original it will fall short. Be original, dammit, and put your own spin on it. Every college cover band knows how to play "Wonderwall," but how many bands out there play an Irish punk version of it?
That was just an example, by the way. But I would be interested to hear any Oasis song done with a bodhran. Or bagpipes.
Because I'd prefer to end on a positive note, here are some songs NOT performed by their original artist that I sort of like. There's even a song by David in there.
Credit for the drawings go to Allie Brosh and her blog Hyperbole and a Half which is amazing and makes me silent-cry-laugh every time I read it.
Edit: The remake of "American Pie" by Madonna was also an act of heinous fuckery. I'm adding one more item to my list of rules for doing a decent remake: DON'T CUT OUT HALF THE SONG, especially when the lyrics are all meaningful and fantastic. Who gives a flying fart in space if it's long? Do they play the original by Don McLean? You betcha.
Blogging! It's fun!
Earlier today, I heard a cover of David Bowie's "Heroes" on the radio. It was one of the most awful things my brain has ever had to process. (The reason why it is rebelling now, perhaps?) Seriously, if you sound like an anemic emo kid, don't touch Bowie. Don't think about Bowie. Don't even look at an album cover; like the Ark of the Covenant in Raiders, it will melt your brain with sheer awesomeness.
You rock those stripes, DB.
After flipping through all of my preset channels to find nothing except for diamond store commercials, I resigned myself to listening to the whiny kid with black fingernails. I almost switched to a Kessler ad. Almost. I thought to myself, "Why do people redo awesome songs? Most of the time they make me want to stab myself with a rusty nail."
Like Lenny Kravitz's remake of "American Woman." Awful. Just... fucking awful. The original, boys and girls, was by a band called The Guess Who. Listen to the original and marvel at its non-suckfulness.
I love the beginning.
Another memorable one was Limp Bizket's sad imitation of "Behind Blue Eyes." One: you cut out the amazing bridge in the middle of the song and replaced it with some synthesized voice. Two: you fail at life.
AND the original in all its Who-ness and glory.
Bonus points for it being live and rocking way more than synthesizers. And for the fringe.
And whoever did that remix with "Breakfast in America." Gross. For those of you who don't know, "Breakfast in America" is a Supertramp song. Supertramp was also the group responsible for "Give a Little Bit," not the Goo Goo Dolls, though they did it justice.
To be fair, there are some non-crapful remakes out there. Zoo Sarah and I had a lot of discussions about music, and I tend to agree with her opinion on remakes. If you are going to redo a song, make it your own, because if you try to imitate the original it will fall short. Be original, dammit, and put your own spin on it. Every college cover band knows how to play "Wonderwall," but how many bands out there play an Irish punk version of it?
That was just an example, by the way. But I would be interested to hear any Oasis song done with a bodhran. Or bagpipes.
Because I'd prefer to end on a positive note, here are some songs NOT performed by their original artist that I sort of like. There's even a song by David in there.
Credit for the drawings go to Allie Brosh and her blog Hyperbole and a Half which is amazing and makes me silent-cry-laugh every time I read it.
Edit: The remake of "American Pie" by Madonna was also an act of heinous fuckery. I'm adding one more item to my list of rules for doing a decent remake: DON'T CUT OUT HALF THE SONG, especially when the lyrics are all meaningful and fantastic. Who gives a flying fart in space if it's long? Do they play the original by Don McLean? You betcha.
2.15.2011
2.14.2011
Just give me the chocolate and back away slowly.
Valentine's Day. Meh.
For lack of anything better to post (and because I'm still unable to locate my camera cord - boo), I decided to post an excerpt from a paper I wrote for a creative nonfiction writing class I took in college. I stumbled across it whilst cleaning out my closet. I think the assignment was to write something informational, but still make it accessible and entertaining.
Here it is, boys and girls; proof that I could once write my way out of a paper bag:
I remember the first time that I saw Disney’s “Alice in Wonderland.” I was entranced by the speaking flowers and amused by the caterpillar who had such wonderful diction. Then came the appearance of the Queen of Hearts. “Off with their heads!” she cried, and why? Because her roses were white and not red like she wished, despite the efforts of her card lackeys. I’ve often wondered why the Queen was so opposed to white roses. I would certainly have been satisfied with them. Is it because of their significance? Did she despise the sympathy that they represented? Or perhaps, despite her rough exterior, the Queen of Hearts was a hopeless romantic, so wanted the red rose of amorous love. Would she have been as upset with yellow roses? After all, friendship is something everyone needs, and I would think with her tendency to lop off everyone’s head the Queen would need as many friends as possible.
There is another famous fairy tale rose; the enchanted rose under the glass in “Beauty and the Beast.” Yes, it was a perfect specimen, the corolla of its petal perfect, but it was sterile and cold. No one can smell through glass. Juliet understood the importance of scent to a flower: “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Granted, she was speaking more of lovers and feuding families and less of flowers, but a rose’s scent is its unique signature, the geraniol alcohols and rose camphor rising from the flower center to the nose a way of saying, “I’m here! Marvel at my magnificence!” Women throughout history have tried to steal that uniqueness. About 30,000 rose petals are pressed and steamed to make a single ounce of attar of roses, an oil to be dabbled behind the ears and a little on the pulse points of the wrists. That’s probably why it is one of the most expensive perfume ingredients. Just think of all the poor roses that sacrificed their petals! I imagine that there is an atavistic thrill when wearing rose scent in China – possession of rose oil resulted in execution in feudal times.
Death threats and price aside, who wouldn’t want to – pardon the cliché – smell like a rose? It’s the flower of Aphrodite; presented to her son, Eros, and thus it became a symbol of love. Eros then passed it to Harpocrates, the god of silence, entreating him not to speak to anyone of his mother’s nightly wanderings and subsequent trysts. Poor Eros – to be a dutiful son he had to give away the symbol of love his mother gave him. It’s also ironic that he had to bribe the god of silence to keep his mouth shut.
You know, if I were stuck in a giant paper bag, I wouldn't write my way out of it. I don't think that the paper bag is going to give a hang about a strongly-worded letter. Scissors, yes. A knife or saw, certainly. Words, probably not so much.
To continue (?) with the VD theme, I heard this song on the Bob and Tom Show this morning. I was drinking coffee at the time, which I promptly relocated to my sinus cavities.
Pins and Christopher Walken aside, I had an interview at the University of Minnesota this weekend. I was a bit put out because I wasn't actually interviewed by any of the faculty (my interviewers were a woman from administrative services and the director of the library), but there was a conference this weekend so it was understandable. Minnesota had a lot of the same things going for it that KSU did. I'll be "informed of my status" at the end of the month, so we'll see what happens.
For lack of anything better to post (and because I'm still unable to locate my camera cord - boo), I decided to post an excerpt from a paper I wrote for a creative nonfiction writing class I took in college. I stumbled across it whilst cleaning out my closet. I think the assignment was to write something informational, but still make it accessible and entertaining.
Here it is, boys and girls; proof that I could once write my way out of a paper bag:
There is another famous fairy tale rose; the enchanted rose under the glass in “Beauty and the Beast.” Yes, it was a perfect specimen, the corolla of its petal perfect, but it was sterile and cold. No one can smell through glass. Juliet understood the importance of scent to a flower: “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Granted, she was speaking more of lovers and feuding families and less of flowers, but a rose’s scent is its unique signature, the geraniol alcohols and rose camphor rising from the flower center to the nose a way of saying, “I’m here! Marvel at my magnificence!” Women throughout history have tried to steal that uniqueness. About 30,000 rose petals are pressed and steamed to make a single ounce of attar of roses, an oil to be dabbled behind the ears and a little on the pulse points of the wrists. That’s probably why it is one of the most expensive perfume ingredients. Just think of all the poor roses that sacrificed their petals! I imagine that there is an atavistic thrill when wearing rose scent in China – possession of rose oil resulted in execution in feudal times.
Death threats and price aside, who wouldn’t want to – pardon the cliché – smell like a rose? It’s the flower of Aphrodite; presented to her son, Eros, and thus it became a symbol of love. Eros then passed it to Harpocrates, the god of silence, entreating him not to speak to anyone of his mother’s nightly wanderings and subsequent trysts. Poor Eros – to be a dutiful son he had to give away the symbol of love his mother gave him. It’s also ironic that he had to bribe the god of silence to keep his mouth shut.
You know, if I were stuck in a giant paper bag, I wouldn't write my way out of it. I don't think that the paper bag is going to give a hang about a strongly-worded letter. Scissors, yes. A knife or saw, certainly. Words, probably not so much.
To continue (?) with the VD theme, I heard this song on the Bob and Tom Show this morning. I was drinking coffee at the time, which I promptly relocated to my sinus cavities.
Pins and Christopher Walken aside, I had an interview at the University of Minnesota this weekend. I was a bit put out because I wasn't actually interviewed by any of the faculty (my interviewers were a woman from administrative services and the director of the library), but there was a conference this weekend so it was understandable. Minnesota had a lot of the same things going for it that KSU did. I'll be "informed of my status" at the end of the month, so we'll see what happens.
2.07.2011
Royal purple? Perhaps.
I was planning on writing a post about the Superbowl tonight (FOOTBALL! YEAH!), but more pressing matters presented themselves.
As you may have read, I've been expecting a letter from KSU for the last week and have been getting progressively more neurotic as the days pass. Today, I actually did not check the mail after I brought it in; I think things had progressed to the point where my mind was blanking out that the US Postal Service existed.
After work today, I went to pick up the little dogs from the vet's office (they had their teeth cleaned). En route I realized that I HADN'T LOOKED FOR A LETTER TODAY.
I went into fight-or-flight mode. Sweaty palms, shaky hands, the works. I kept it together while picking up the dogs, then sped home. I picked up the bundle of mail, and flipped through the envelopes.
Nothing.
I resigned myself to another day of ridiculous worrying. I began to sort through the magazin- wait! A manilla envelope? Addressed to me?! From Kansas State?!? I ripped it open, read the first sentence, then emitted a sound that was an odd melding of a squeal, scream, and tortoise-in-coitus noise that went something like this:
EEEEEEEEAAUGGHHHHHOOOWWAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
Then I cried a little bit. And called my sister.
I'm in!
As you may have read, I've been expecting a letter from KSU for the last week and have been getting progressively more neurotic as the days pass. Today, I actually did not check the mail after I brought it in; I think things had progressed to the point where my mind was blanking out that the US Postal Service existed.
After work today, I went to pick up the little dogs from the vet's office (they had their teeth cleaned). En route I realized that I HADN'T LOOKED FOR A LETTER TODAY.
I went into fight-or-flight mode. Sweaty palms, shaky hands, the works. I kept it together while picking up the dogs, then sped home. I picked up the bundle of mail, and flipped through the envelopes.
Nothing.
I resigned myself to another day of ridiculous worrying. I began to sort through the magazin- wait! A manilla envelope? Addressed to me?! From Kansas State?!? I ripped it open, read the first sentence, then emitted a sound that was an odd melding of a squeal, scream, and tortoise-in-coitus noise that went something like this:
EEEEEEEEAAUGGHHHHHOOOWWAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
Then I cried a little bit. And called my sister.
I'm in!
2.03.2011
Whoa. Slow down girl.
I know what you're thinking: "This is barely twelve hours after your last post, Katy. I don't know if my brain can handle this much awesomeness." *snicker*
Not to inundate you folks with posts, but it's a quarter after eleven, I've maxed myself out on Doctor Who, I don't feel like reading, and I am wide awake. What else is a girl supposed to do but blog? Just a warning that this post will most likely have no point and be pretty free flowing. Aaaand action.
Inundate: it's a five dollar word, isn't it?
I'm currently listening to Fitz & the Tantrums. Fantastic band with an amazing sound (it's sort of old Mo Town-esque) and a name that makes me smile. Always a plus in my book. YouTube "Money Grabber." Actually, scratch that. I'll add a video:
You can thank me later.
I made brownies earlier tonight. I tried a new recipe, and all I can say is eff you, Martha Stewart. The last three baked good recipes I've tried have been from her Cookie Book, and none of them have worked out very well. I consider myself to be a decent baker. I expect to occasionally not have a recipe or two work out for me, but three in a row? The recipes are obviously defective.
Keeping up? I warned you about the whole "free flow" thing. Which is an awesome song by the Beach Boys (really the only one I like, really).
Here 'tis:
Edit: When I was going back through, I realized that the song is "Feel Flows," not "Free Flows." I feel a bit like a doofus right now.
Before I decided to write a completely pointless blog post, I was poking about on my sister's friend's blog, called Polk & 2nd. It is AMAZING. I am impressed by people who are actually talented with crafty things and genuinely creative, instead of half-assedly making an Oscar the Grouch costume out of a shit ton of safety pins, green fabric, a sweatshirt, and some styrofoam balls. She has a page on Etsy as well which I made the mistake of going to. I covet all of her felt bracelets like a Packer fan wants a Superbowl victory. And I am going to thin out my t-shirt collection and make some t-shirt yarn, Huzzah for Tuesday tutorials!
As much fun as this free form writing is, I am slightly worried that if I continue this will turn into a monster. Or people will think I'm more nuts than I am. Or both. Anyway.
I find out about KSU sometime this week or next week. I should be getting my letter any day now. I really hope it comes soon; I'm starting to get obsessive and pretty soon I'm going to start sitting on the mailbox like a vulture (a la Snoopy) every afternoon. I think that might weird out the mailman.
Not to inundate you folks with posts, but it's a quarter after eleven, I've maxed myself out on Doctor Who, I don't feel like reading, and I am wide awake. What else is a girl supposed to do but blog? Just a warning that this post will most likely have no point and be pretty free flowing. Aaaand action.
Inundate: it's a five dollar word, isn't it?
I'm currently listening to Fitz & the Tantrums. Fantastic band with an amazing sound (it's sort of old Mo Town-esque) and a name that makes me smile. Always a plus in my book. YouTube "Money Grabber." Actually, scratch that. I'll add a video:
You can thank me later.
I made brownies earlier tonight. I tried a new recipe, and all I can say is eff you, Martha Stewart. The last three baked good recipes I've tried have been from her Cookie Book, and none of them have worked out very well. I consider myself to be a decent baker. I expect to occasionally not have a recipe or two work out for me, but three in a row? The recipes are obviously defective.
Keeping up? I warned you about the whole "free flow" thing. Which is an awesome song by the Beach Boys (really the only one I like, really).
Here 'tis:
Edit: When I was going back through, I realized that the song is "Feel Flows," not "Free Flows." I feel a bit like a doofus right now.
Before I decided to write a completely pointless blog post, I was poking about on my sister's friend's blog, called Polk & 2nd. It is AMAZING. I am impressed by people who are actually talented with crafty things and genuinely creative, instead of half-assedly making an Oscar the Grouch costume out of a shit ton of safety pins, green fabric, a sweatshirt, and some styrofoam balls. She has a page on Etsy as well which I made the mistake of going to. I covet all of her felt bracelets like a Packer fan wants a Superbowl victory. And I am going to thin out my t-shirt collection and make some t-shirt yarn, Huzzah for Tuesday tutorials!
As much fun as this free form writing is, I am slightly worried that if I continue this will turn into a monster. Or people will think I'm more nuts than I am. Or both. Anyway.
I find out about KSU sometime this week or next week. I should be getting my letter any day now. I really hope it comes soon; I'm starting to get obsessive and pretty soon I'm going to start sitting on the mailbox like a vulture (a la Snoopy) every afternoon. I think that might weird out the mailman.
Laaaaaazy.
Last week, Borders closed up; my last day of work was Wednesday. While I still am working for the after school program, I find myself with a lot of free time.
So, what do I do with myself from the time that I wake up to the time that I go off to work at 3:00? Here's a general overview of a typical day this week:
6:00 AM: Alarm goes off. Hit snooze.
6:08 AM: Alarm goes off again. Hit snooze.
6:16 AM: Alarm goes off. Turn it off, determined to get out of bed.
6:55 AM: Wake up again (damn you polar fleece sheets!). Get out of bed to go downstairs and let the dogs out.
7:05 AM: Feed dogs.
7:10 AM: Feed my caffeine habit and emerge from zombie-like state. Breakfast.
7:30 AM: Think about working out.
8:00 AM: Go back to bed for an hour or so.
9:18 AM: Wake up. Think about working out. Decide to watch episode of Dr. Who instead.
11:30 AM: Have now watched three Dr. Who episodes. Lunchtime.
12:30 PM: Think about working out. Actually work out.
1:00 PM: Shower. Watch episode of Top Chef on Bravo rerun.
2:05 PM: Take dogs on a walk.
2:35 PM: Consume entire bag of pretzels and a quarter tub of spreadable cheese.
2:50 PM: Shove dogs in kennels. Run around frantically looking for car keys.
2:53 PM: Locate keys. Search for mittens.
2:58 PM: Still haven't located mittens. Grab a different pair.
3:02 PM: Start car. Find missing mittens on passenger seat. Start to scrape ice off of window.
3:08 PM: Head off to Menasha.
Like I said, lazy. I really need to find something productive to do with my time. What that "something" is, I have no idea.
So, what do I do with myself from the time that I wake up to the time that I go off to work at 3:00? Here's a general overview of a typical day this week:
6:00 AM: Alarm goes off. Hit snooze.
6:08 AM: Alarm goes off again. Hit snooze.
6:16 AM: Alarm goes off. Turn it off, determined to get out of bed.
6:55 AM: Wake up again (damn you polar fleece sheets!). Get out of bed to go downstairs and let the dogs out.
7:05 AM: Feed dogs.
7:10 AM: Feed my caffeine habit and emerge from zombie-like state. Breakfast.
7:30 AM: Think about working out.
8:00 AM: Go back to bed for an hour or so.
9:18 AM: Wake up. Think about working out. Decide to watch episode of Dr. Who instead.
11:30 AM: Have now watched three Dr. Who episodes. Lunchtime.
12:30 PM: Think about working out. Actually work out.
1:00 PM: Shower. Watch episode of Top Chef on Bravo rerun.
2:05 PM: Take dogs on a walk.
2:35 PM: Consume entire bag of pretzels and a quarter tub of spreadable cheese.
2:50 PM: Shove dogs in kennels. Run around frantically looking for car keys.
2:53 PM: Locate keys. Search for mittens.
2:58 PM: Still haven't located mittens. Grab a different pair.
3:02 PM: Start car. Find missing mittens on passenger seat. Start to scrape ice off of window.
3:08 PM: Head off to Menasha.
Like I said, lazy. I really need to find something productive to do with my time. What that "something" is, I have no idea.
2.01.2011
'Tis a magical place...
I traveled to California last Thursday to interview at Western University of Health Sciences. The interview was all behavioral questions, like the one at ISU; unlike ISU, however, I felt that I did very well at this one and the interviewers weren't looking down their noses at me. But that isn't what this post is about.
This post is about yogurt.
More specifically, this post is about the wondrous, magical place known as Yogurtland. I do not know how I dragged myself out of bed each day without the prospect of a delicious cup of frozen yogurt with toppings prior to my knowledge of Yogurtland; I bless my ignorance, for I now know that they world was a bleak and flavorless place.
An excerpt from the book of Frozen Treats:
And yea, it was suggestedeth that the companions
should traverse the wastelands between
the house of Laurel and the place of groceries known as Ralph's.
They toiled mightily, for it was a chilly fifty degrees
which was quite cold when not wearing a jacket.
Upon their arrival, one of the companions
was struck dumb with wonder, for never
had her eyes feasted upon such splendor.
Her cup was filled with wondrous flavors
of pistachio and vanilla and taro and coconut.
The miracles did not end there.
Verily did she add toppings,
flaked coconut, white chocolate, and almonds
joined the frosted mount of tastiness.
And it was good.
Once again, there was bestowed
a miracle to the weary yet jubilant travelers.
For the rich, frozen goodness which
was bestowed upon them cost only $3.09.
And there was much rejoicing.
Other notable events from the past few days, in no particular order:
Also, leave some comments. Every time you comment an angel gets its wings.
This post is about yogurt.
More specifically, this post is about the wondrous, magical place known as Yogurtland. I do not know how I dragged myself out of bed each day without the prospect of a delicious cup of frozen yogurt with toppings prior to my knowledge of Yogurtland; I bless my ignorance, for I now know that they world was a bleak and flavorless place.
An excerpt from the book of Frozen Treats:
And yea, it was suggestedeth that the companions
should traverse the wastelands between
the house of Laurel and the place of groceries known as Ralph's.
They toiled mightily, for it was a chilly fifty degrees
which was quite cold when not wearing a jacket.
Upon their arrival, one of the companions
was struck dumb with wonder, for never
had her eyes feasted upon such splendor.
Her cup was filled with wondrous flavors
of pistachio and vanilla and taro and coconut.
The miracles did not end there.
Verily did she add toppings,
flaked coconut, white chocolate, and almonds
joined the frosted mount of tastiness.
And it was good.
Once again, there was bestowed
a miracle to the weary yet jubilant travelers.
For the rich, frozen goodness which
was bestowed upon them cost only $3.09.
And there was much rejoicing.
Other notable events from the past few days, in no particular order:
- a visit to the Getty
- pursuing a Limey while in very realistic-looking military prop gear
- sleeping in a garage
- the most delicious carrot-ginger soup I've ever eaten
Also, leave some comments. Every time you comment an angel gets its wings.
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