Lost in Translation.

What's left to do the last week of a cold and dismal February (which also happens to be the week before Spring Break at DU)? Find humor in situations that others will NOT find funny when you try to relate them later. Here are three things that were HILARIOUS to me this past week, but a lot less humorous in the telling:

1. Last Wednesday, I was trying to teach two poems by Robert Browning to a class of 18 freshmen, and they were SO not getting them. When I came back from my 11 am class, I was discussing the situation with a few other adjuncts, and it somehow became this elaborate joke that involved...snakes and vaginas. Um, I really have no idea how it happened, but we were all laughing hard enough that our sides hurt. The next day, one of them, Craig, told me that he had been working out that afternoon and suddenly was overcome with the humor of the situation. Another, Benji, told me that she tried to relate the joke to her husband, but it just didn't translate. And so, I'm not going to even try to explain it all now--just know that the joke, odd as it was, offered a few good moments during bad days.

2. On Friday, Mike and I were reading an aquaintance's blog, and discovered a link to a site devoted to science-nerd haikus. And on that site, we found this work of genius:

"E Coli in My Butt"
I learnt this today:
There's e coli in my butt
Also in my gut

--Henry James

I probably laughed about this for two-three days straight. Why? I'm not really sure. But the fact that the author attributed it to Henry James makes it even funnier.

3. Immediately after Martin Scorsese won his much-deserved Oscar, "The Departed" also won Best Picture. Martin had already left the stage, but a camera followed him as he learned the news. And because he is a nervous little man, he hurried back to the stage. At this point, the camera cut to a brief shot of him pointing and yelling (nobody could really tell at what or whom), and I lost it. I probably laughed for about ten minutes, which was uncomfortable, because everyone else we were watching the Oscars with had stopped laughing long before. Again, I had no idea why it was THAT funny to me, but later Mike reminded me that I've been surrounded by tiny, nervous Italian men my entire life. I guess that'll do it.

Process versus product.

I'm having a hard time enacting the "process versus product" mentality. I have fully embraced it philosophically, but I just can't seem to make it work for me.

Here's why:
1. I am a perfectionist, and perfectionists expect a perfect product to justify all of the effort expelled during the process of creating it.

2. I am impatient, and usually a process of any kind takes time and patience to enjoy. Generally, I just rush toward the finished product so I can begin the whole frenzied mess all over again.

3. I am obsessed with products of all kinds and what they do for me: beauty products, clothing, albums, movies, etc. Do I care about the process that L'Oreal engaged in to produce my face wash? No, not really. This, sadly, also applies to movies and other things I should care more about than my face wash. For instance, while Mike is usually just as excited about the "making of" feature on DVDs, I'm just...not. (The only exception here is books: I often write critical papers on the process an author went through to write/publish a book. But I don't enjoy the process of writing the paper AT ALL.)

So why am I thinking about this now? Well, I started painting again last week after a seven-year break, and I was having a pretty hard time getting started. By that I mean that I was indulging in a lot of "negative thought patterns"--exactly the sort of thing I'm supposed to be avoiding, according to my therapist. Every time I tried to paint, I remembered why I'd quit: it wasn't fun anymore. Instead, it became self-conscious and something I felt pressured to do well. Also, I had a crisis of representation: I was painting in sort of a quasi-realist/impressionistic mode, and I wanted to transition into a modernist mode, but I couldn't make that work for me. So I quit.

And I was on the verge of quitting again, until my therapist cornered me with his pesky logic and insight into my character. He reminded me that it was pretty telling that I couldn't even enjoy something that's supposed to be fun and relaxing; he also pointed out that I wasn't engaging in the process of painting at all (or the subject matter of the painting), but instead fixating on the final product. "And that's not saying that frustration isn't part of the process," he said. "But remember, the act of creating the painting is much more important than the painting itself."

He was right. And he was even more right when he told me that I need to start regarding my life that way as well. But now I have to figure out how to actually DO that.

At church today, Jeff talked about how, throughout the ages, individuals have constantly tried to find a way to rid themselves of the sins of the flesh and live the life of the spirit. He related the example of St. Francis, who, to eradicate lustful thoughts, made himself a "snow wife"--a snowwoman, basically--and then rolled around in the snow to cool himself down. Um, weird. Jeff then suggested that maybe if we start serving others as Jesus (and Paul) command us to, it may be the equivalent of nailing our fleshly impulses to the cross--a much more useful alternative than, you know, the snow wife.

It seems that my predicament is a similar one: I'm feeling so blinded to the answer to my question, that I'm tempted to fashion a bizarre St. Francis-like alternative to make myself at least feel as if I've found the answer, when I'm really just responding to flesh with flesh. But, truthfully, I know that figuring out how to enjoy the many processes of life will be ... a process. Damn.

February on my mind.

I hate February. HATE it. To me, it is equivalent to those horrible early morning hours (3-5 am)when you'd rather be asleep, because if you're awake it means a.) you have insomnia, or b.) you had to wake up way to early, most likely for an unpleasant task. This sums up my attitude toward this nightmarish month: I'd rather be sleeping, especially since I have some really great flannel sheets on the bed right now.

But unfortunately, life goes on, in all of its awful February mediocrity. Here's what I've been doing to try to spice things up:

1. I made a Myspace page. Yeah, I know, it's barely even cool anymore. And when it was cool, it was only ok for teenagers. But, I tend to do things after the novelty is worn off. For instance, vegetarianism: hip in the nineties, but expected in 2004, when I decided to give it a shot. And I'm still loving life sans meat. So there you go.

2. I've been scoping out the spring fashion that I cannot afford to buy. I try to pretend that my obsession with fashion is simply artistic, but really, it's a VICE. Each month, despite my best intentions, I blow all of my spending money on new clothing. I just--can't--help--myself. But, part of the frustration of being a fashion hog in February is that the stores are loaded with springy items, like sandals and even bathing suits. And because I always want to immediately consume my new purchases, I can't justify buying spring clothing at the moment. However, I can plan for the future. (Yes, I plan my wardrobe. Sad, I know. I blame my mother.) And this year, I've noticed the stores are full of an item I searched EVERYWHERE for last year: open-toe flats. And there are many colors, so I'll have options. This is very exciting. Yay.

3. I've been baking and eating cakes. I used to be pretty awful at baking, but with a bit of practice, I've improved substantially. Last week I made a tasty chocolate-pistachio cake that turned out beautifully. There was a bit of an issue with the chocolate topping--it turns out that dark chocolate doesn't melt very well--but everything turned out fine, and I got to use my most unnecessary wedding gift: a fancy glass cake plate. This week, I'm planning to make a two-layer carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. Here's my rationale: If I can't hibernate through the month of February, I'll at least eat like I'm going to.

4. I rescued a kitten that was trapped beneath my kitchen floor. She was about two months old, and nearly dead of starvation, but she had the loudest meow I've ever heard. I pulled her out of a small trapdoor that my landlord never sealed and promptly gave her a can of food, which she inhaled. I was all set to keep the kitten, but Alice was VERY angry, so I had to give her to my neighbor. But, at least she's alive, out of the cold, and in a good home.

5. Mike and I have been watching Battlestar Galactica, a very nerdy but AWESOME sci-fi series. I'm not usually a sci-fi nerd, but this series has really won me over. I'm so into it that often I regard my day as a mere prelude to its melodramatic glory. Once again, sad.

6. Finally, I've been dreaming of the beach vacation we're going to take in May. Having won Mike over to the sublimity of spending a week reading on the beach last year, I can't stop thinking about how much better it will be this year, since we've decided to literally do nothing but sit our arses on the beach and occasionally go out to eat. Only three months to go...

Still, February isn't just a month: it's a state of mind, and it's kicking my ass despite the aforementioned activities. What I need is an impromptu trip to Europe. If anybody's willing to buy me a plane ticket to Paris, let me know ASAP. Not to sound desperate, or anything...