Discussion Point

Let’s cut straight to the heart of the week’s news: Do you plan to see the SATC movie? Why or why not?

Comic Gold

This is brilliant:

Who would have guessed that when you remove Garfield from the Garfield comic strips, the result is an even better comic about schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and the empty desperation of modern life?

Bloated Statistics

Fascinating! It seems that the much-publicized "obesity epidemic" is at least partly because of a shift in the definition of obesity.

I'm so happy about this that I baked cookies. ;)

Dreams of Roma

The city of Rome is a frequent character in my dreams. I'm not sure why Rome--Athens is more deeply enmeshed in my heartstrings--unless my subconscious is making puns. Rome represents freedom, retreat, carefree-ness (carefreeity?), new adventures.

My recurring dream is that G. and I are in Rome, enjoying a retreat far away from everything in a different, beautiful, mysterious world of heart-stoppingly beautiful architecture and infinite places to explore. There are a few variations on this dream. Night falls and either we are planning to meet for dinner after spending the afternoon in different places--very much looking forward to a candlit meal and sharing the day's events--or we are together but on opposite ends of a tour group*. Then, a disaster strikes, and everyone has to make a mass exodus on foot from the heart of Rome. Sometimes a flaming meteor hits the city. Once there was a giant, man-eating monster in the canals (canals are really in Venice, I know) and we had to leave because of that. It almost got me when I leaned over a fountain! It sounds silly by daylight, but it was terribly frightening. We walk and walk, refugees trying to find each other in the crowd.

Rome is taken away and we are refugees.

Dream #2, G. and are on a plane for Rome, and it gets stuck on the runway.

Dream #3, I am in Rome alone, visiting friends or strangers, I'm not sure which. Maybe it's an exchange program. But I'm staying with these people in their apartment, and I can't get out into the city. I just can't leave for some reason. And then it's time to fly home, but I haven't seen Rome at all.

But then! Here, my friends, is where it gets good. After all my thwarted attempts to escape to Rome, and the tragedy or frustration that ensues, I had a wonderful dream two nights ago:

I woke up on a wrought-iron bed with a beautiful white coverlet in a cream-colored room with high ceilings. White curtains were billowing around a window, which framed a view of an Italian courtyard. I felt deeply content, having found a leafy, quiet retreat in the great city of Rome. I would spend the day in the city and then return to my little haven. But first, a cappuccino!--
---BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP--My alarm slammed me into reality, a day of sitting in my car in frustrating traffic in order to sit at my desk. Oh yes, I was grouchy yesterday morning, but as afternoon came and the sun broke through, creating corresponding changes in my disposition, I realized what a gift the dream was! I was in Rome! My longtime dream was becoming reality (albeit in the dream)! I was content, safe, and looking forward to a cappuccino!

I think this series of dreams is about the frustration a long PhD process creates. The non-PhD spouse (me) may get stalled in a despised career in order to bring in the steady paycheck, thinking it would be best to stick with the same, steady job until the PhD candidate finishes (lest they both end up refugees, on the street unable to pay the mortgage). The PhD candidate also feels stuck, at the mercy of his adviser. Both are working very hard, but not bringing in much money. They just can't get to Rome. Eventually, perhaps the non-PhD spouse decides to move ahead into a new career without waiting for the PhD process to be over (going to Rome by herself), and this creates a sense of relief for her.

*I wouldn't do a tour group in my waking life. Just sayin'.

My Dear Alma Mater

I am sorely tempted to drive the 2-hours-and-change to my alma mater on Sunday. Why?

Weird Volleyball Dynamics

I'm getting better at volleyball. Tonight was the fourth of eight sessions. I actually felt like I was contributing in a positive way.

You may recall that at the first session, almost all the other players were Chinese. At the second session, the big, loud, obnoxious German guy brought all his friends, and suddenly the young, hip, athletic, loud, competitive Germans outnumbered even the Chinese players. At the third session, the Germans and Chinese adults broke off to their own game, leaving me, G., my friend the yogini, three women 10-20 years older than me, and all the Chinese-American high school girls playing a less competitive game together.

This dynamic is becoming a problem. I'm too uncoordinated and too meek to play with the Germans, who tonight I discovered are actually Austrians. Last week, in a bizarre mixed game that happened before the other Austrians arrived, the obnoxious ringleader Austrian sent me into really fun panic attacks; he was serving whenever I was setting/hyperventilating/feeling dizzy.

So tonight, G. was home with a cold and my friend the yogini didn't arrive. That left me alone without a tribe. The Austrians and Chinese adults are right out, too serious and aggressive, too talented. The older women are quite a bit older than I, and all want to chat more than play; I'm not even sure why they come to volleyball rather than going for coffee. Getting them on the court is a perpetual challenge. The lack of focus is extraordinary. The high schoolers want nothing to do with anyone over 20, especially since a newly-arrived older woman made Classic Errors When Dealing with Adolescents this week. New Older Woman showed up for the first time of this 8-week cycle, though she clearly has played many times before, and began treating the high school girls like they were new, explaining rules they well knew and generally being bossy. Had she done this to me, I would've been like, "Yo, it's cool, I've been here for four weeks and I missed that because I'm just warming up tonight." But not so adolescents, who are understandably touchy about such things. Then the New Older Woman was mystified that the High Schoolers wanted nothing to do with her.

G. and I are thinking of switching v-ball nights when these 8 weeks are up. We think a little more structure and leadership from the instructor could make a world of difference, get some better games going, and break up the cliques. Thursday nights have a different instructor...

That said, it is fun.

Overtired kStyle Iz Overtired

Yeah.

When you start weeping at The Vicar of Dibley, you know.