"Your hearing is nice" and other stories.

My dear friends.

Now I'm not going to make any promises. I am far too fickle for that. But I am thinking about blogging this summer. Just to keep all of you updated. It would make some of you very happy. It would make others of you sort of upset, because there would be another blog for you to check, and you already check 10 everyday and when you add in all the link-chasing you do, you end up reading about twenty, including one written by a 23 year old in North Dakota who has a dog named Chip and reads The Brothers Karamazov and posts original lyrics while pining away for "a girl who can share all my interests, like my fascination with post-formalist literary theory and a good peanut butter sandwich." Why, with all the reading you do, another blog to check is just not something you are interested in.

If that sounds like you, feel free to navigate yo' way right off this page. Otherwise, let's settle in and get us some writin' done.

I am back in good ol' Wenham, Massachusetts, looking to get some serious reading, writing, and various administrative tasks done this summer. That's right, folks. I'll be writing original, hilarious material, keeping a journal, reading Paradise Lost (let's hear it for blank verse, everybody) and 'Til We Have Faces (myths: can't live without 'em), studying with the illustrious Tom Howard and working for The Print Shoppe (which Laurel insists be spelled with an "e" although it is neither Ye nor Olde. Well, she shall have her wish)

The weather is currently a cool 55 degrees, with winds from the ocean at some breezy miles per hour, and a roommate (Liz Polen) arriving around 5 o' clock p.m. Yes, it's going to be a good day with Meg behind the helm again.

The summer has already been great, what with a post-flight visit to Great Harvest Bread Company, and the purchasing of a Dakota Whole Wheat Bread Loaf, which I have been gnawing on for two days now because they refuse to feed us lunch. Boy is it delicious. Add in a smattering of dried cranberries (my new favorite obsession) hot pink scarves from Italy (courtesy of mother) and a newfound fascination with parenthetical statements (it's like a special nudge, just for you!) we've got the makings of a fabulous time.

Tomorrow, or perhaps Friday, I start work at the Print Shoppe, which should provide my readers with a whole series of stories about paperclips, staplers, customer service, and the lack of a desk. All for 7.75 an hour. Yes!

Tomorrow, or perhaps next week, I will meet with the elusive Tom Howard, who will instruct me in Catholicism and possibly literature. I will try not to be scared and say stupid things. Yes!

For more great stories, including appearances by such renowned characters as:

Jenna Perreault
Laura Welch
Karin and Linford
Hipster Paul
Roommate Liz
and
Random Girls I Meet In The Community Bathrooms,

as well as an explanation of the title of this post, be sure to check back often, even to the point of obsession!

You'll also be sure to hear from your old favorites

Holly
M-m-m-Miriam
Erin.

as well as the St. Louis gang:

Laurel
Ace
Kel (now in Tokyo)
et. al.

and perhaps even hear news of one

Carolyn Gibney.

As a kind old man, or perhaps a little bird once told me:

It is the vigilant readers who recieve the blessed tidbits of Megishness, or perhaps the blue light special, or a particularly tasty bit of earthworm.

Before I go, I'd like to send a quick shout out to my own
favorite, Fluid Pudding, who recently had a baby removed from her uterus. Yes, really!

I'd also like to recognizzle' my homey Will Clark: brother extraodinaire, my li'l sis, and St. Francis, because you a'right, boy.

To the rest of you, happy sailing, and I'll see you back here next week.

Without further ado, I remain,
Yours most truly,
Meg

read Gilead.

I do not know what I will write my paper on because I haven’t read the whole book yet. That underworld thing is really interesting, but nothing really “catches” me (not like the Oresteia and even, yes, Lucretius.) At least you can argue with Lucretius! You can’t really argue with Virgil, or you feel guilty about it or something. That Dido stuff was really fabulous, too, I even wrote a poem inspired by it, but I think it’s pretty shoddy. I don’t know though cause I’m not so familiar with poetry. I like Mark Stevick but I dunno if he likes me.

::shrug::

for some reason I’ve been thinking I come across as arrogant lately. Odd, odd.

Now I will post this and this will be my terrible re-launch.

the end.

resplendent.

hell of a day

Erm...

Yesterday I had my first job interview ever. I am almost 20 years old and I have never held a job. I consider this an accomplishment. Others are less complimentary.

I took longer getting ready for it than I ever spent getting ready for a date. And I looked a lot hotter, too.

We had the black cropped pants. The sensible sandals (borrowed from Mom, because I don't have anything that could be considered "sensible" yet, thank goodness). The springy green oxford button-down. The head-scarf-turned-belt.

Yeah, I was feelin' it.

Joshua suggested I bring a book. Lately I've been munching on James Joyce's "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man." I thought I'd bring the old Irishman along.

Since I was a little too enthusiastic, I ended up arriving at the place an hour early. But I was unfazed.

"Ha-ha!" I thought. "I have already planned for this! I am unfazed! Let the reading begin!"

It was then that I discovered the first rule of interviews:
1)Do not read James Joyce before an interview.

You may not know this rule. That is probably because you have never made the same mistake. But my dear readers, I am here to make the mistakes for you: to experience horrors firsthand and pass my wisdom (gained through experience) down to you. Don't thank me. It is my duty.

And I am here to tell you that although reading James Joyce before an interview is potentially hazardous, Chapter 3 of "A Portrait..." is absolutely lethal.

Let's take a look at an excerpt, shall we?

"The very air of this world, that pure element, becomes foul and unbreathable when it has been long enclosed. Consider then what must be the foulness of the air of hell. Imagine some foul and putrid corpse that has lain rotting and decomposing in the grave, a jelly-like mass of liquid corruption. Imagine such a corpse a prey to flames, devoured by the fire of burning brimstone and giving off dense choking fumes of nauseous loathsome decomposition. And then imagine this sickening stench, multiplied a millionfold and a millionfold again from the millions upon millions of fetid carcasses massed together in the reeking darkness, a huge and rotting human fungus. Imagine all this, and you will have some idea of the horror of the stench of hell."

Oh joy! Millions upon millions of...

And I was in a hospital, mind you!

Somehow I managed to get through the interview, although in the process I discovered the second rule of interviews:

2) It is really hard to know when to smile and when to look serious and responsible. Your face will feel very funny by the end of the interview. And sit up straight, you heathen!

As my friendly (?) interviewer was leading me out the back door, she took a moment to introduce me to one of the doctors.

He (of course!) noticed the James Joyce.
"What're ya readin'?" he asked.
"Um..." Is my hand hiding the title? Can I make something up? Grey's Anatomy! The Lancet!
"James Joyce."
The interviewer took the liberty of helping me out.
"Meg's a college student back for the summer. She's an English major, and loves to read."
Loves to read? Did I say that in the interview?
The doctor seemed pleased with the information.
"That's great. I'm studying Italian to read Dante's Inferno in the original."
I smiled mutely at him. He held up a book.
"See? This is my Italian dictionary!"
I wanted to cry. My glasses weren't strong enough, I couldn't see the book. He was smiling in such a strange, wide way that I couldn't tell if he was kidding or not. Was this some sort of joke? Italian? Wasn't he more interested in reading about gallbladders or something? And what was with the "hell" theme? Was this a sign?
I tried to smile in such a way that it could be construed as genuine excitement for his recent Italian conquest or an overexaggerated, obviously sarcastic response to his obviously sarcastic comment.

Afterwards, my face felt even weirder.
But at least my cheeks weren't seizing up, right Laurel?

Addressing someone who is not actually there is called apostrophe.

I bet you didn't know that. But I know that because I am an English major. If you were an English major and now have kids, you probably knew that once, but it has now been pushed out of your brain and replaced by the tune to Little Tommy's favorite television show.

Not that you let your kids watch television. Like, EVER.

And so, let us close this lesson with a song to the tune of "Sesame Street"

Interview, everything's really bad.
Don't read James Joyce, it will make-you-sad.
There is numbness in your cheeks:
Let's go back to Boylston Street!

Oh boy. It is way too hot here.

Next time, I'm bringing the Bible.

Or Vogue.

A Good Day for Blogging

It could have been an ordinary day. Rainy and cold. No gas in the car.

In fact, it could have been a not-so-good day. When I went to get gas, I couldn't remember where the button-that-opens-the-gas-door-flap-thing was. Luckily for me, I have a totally shoddily manufactured car, so I was able to pry it open with my fingers.

I was feeling saucy, so I put exactly $10.90 worth of gas in my slammin' vehicle.

At the register, I gave the cashier a 20, my second paycheck ever steadily dwindling away. And then, like magic, in that eerie green color, my change was displayed.

$9.10

I smiled.

Back in the Megmobile, skies were getting bluer.

On 88.1, the announcer signed off, saying:

"I'll leave you with a song from Yma Sumac"

Yma Sumac?! Only the best exotica singer in all HISTORY! Only the woman with the largest range in all HISTORY! Yes!

This called for some serious air-punching.

I flew down the streets with Yma blasting. She trilled; I thrilled. And then, my community radio station segued into the Concert Calendar. I was contemplating taking another visit to BB's Jazz, Blues, and Soups when the reader signed off, saying

"I'm Seth Wahlman and this is KDHX."

Seth Wahlman?! Seth Wahlman of the Wahlman Four! Oh, Seth. Seth of lip-ring fame. How many nights did I spend at the concerts in your garage? And your older brother had it bad for my half-Japanese half-Greek best friend. I had it for your younger brother, and your other brother was my sister's first boyfriend! When they talked on the phone, he would play his trumpet incessantly because he was too afraid to make conversation! Oh Seth! You are still in St. Louis? Seth, you are a wonderful wonderful man!

Those three events may have been the most exciting, unexpected 15 minutes of my life.

Now I have to go drop off my Dad's daytimer. He left it at home.

Can this day get any better?

(I'm back in St. Louis, but when I went to Cha Yoon at 10:30 last night, they were closing. I love you, St. Louis night life! Laurel returns from The City Of Lights soon.)

Let the healing begin!

-Meg

Screw you, livejournal! Get lost, diaryland! Meg+Blogger=Love 4 Life!

I would like some swedish fish.

and yes I am still on hiatus.

but I couldn't think of anywhere else to put the above comment.

On hiatus.

Going to try to write stories instead of entries.

We'll see how it goes.

Thanks for all the support, I hope I'll be back soon!

-Meglet

Love is Hell

Jeff Buckley and Thom Yorke fall in love and give birth to... Ryan Adams?