Evil Plans...

So I'm teaching Creative Writing this fall. Although technically only a graduate student, I will have 18 young, malleable minds under my sole tutelage. And herein lies the problem.

Imagine you're trying to defuse a bomb with 18 other people, all working by committee, and (best case scenario) only you and maybe 2 others know what you're doing. You can see that by simply cutting the blue wire the problem will be fixed. But most everyone else is sure they're the ONLY ones who really understand the way the bomb works, and they're all shouting "RED! RED! RED!" The ones who haven't a clue feel like saying something is better than saying nothing, so some of them chant "RED!" and some of them chant "BLUE!" And you're beginning to feel like it'd be better if the bomb just went the fuck off. Worse case scenario: no one knows how to diffuse the bomb.

Have a headache yet? 18 is too many students for a writing workshop.

In the classes I've taught before, biology and philosophy, I could use grades as an intimidation tactic. I'd scare people off by telling them the average really is a C in my class, but Brown, Douch-bag University Numero Uno, has made the class pass/fail (at least they don't call it pass/no-pass like they do at Berkeley!). So I've just lost all my leverage, essentially. Which means it's going to have to come down to pure theatricality.

So I'm coming up with various and sundry ways to scare them off. I think I'll wear some pleather and introduce myself as Mistress Kathryn. A whip would probably be overkill, don't you think?

                                        Rrrrrow.


Then again, the wrong people will probably be the ones who stay.

Any ideas? The more outlandish the better. I'm desperate, people.

                                                                                 Bomb image by C. Julian 'jez' Klewes

100 Things To Do Before I Die.

                       

I love wagons. Station wagons, hay wagons, but most especially bandwagons. And the "100 Things to Do Before I Die" wagon? Possibly my most favorite of all. Here it is, in all its glory, the ultimate list. I have been salivating all over myself in anticipation of this, which has made it a messy three days. 

I'm cheating a little because I've already done a few of the things on the list, but I figure, everyone needs a head start, right?

Give me a hard time in the comments, if you like. Peanut gallery. You know who you are.

100 Things

1. See the Northern Lights
2. Dance at a Honky-Tonk.

3. Have a mushroom species named after me. Preferably not one that grows on poop.

                                    


4. Make street art.
5. Organize an event for a cause I'm passionate about. Like dangling prepositions.
6. Visit India.
7. Live my life according to my role models: Auntie Mame and Mary Poppins

.
8. Get to the top of an indoor climbing wall.
9. Start a perfume blog.
10. Always look for the good, the funny, and the kind.
11. Two words: Simultaneous. Orgasm.
12. Grow our own vegetables.
13. Bake cookies for a neighbor.
14. Buy a home.
15. Visit the Galapagos Islands.

16. Swim with some dolphins. (Isn't this a requirement of ALL life lists?)
17. Make a souffle.
18. Complete my midwife training.
19. Train trip across America.
20. Have a million dollars in the bank.
21. Go see Willie Nelson live in concert. (Note: I would totally hit that. In a second.)

22. Visit Madagascar.
23. Inspire a painting.
24. Get a Ph.D.
25. Learn how to prune.
26. See Bonnie Raitt live in concert.
27. Bike or hike around the perimeter of Ireland.

28. Have a year-long spending hiatus.
29. Pose for an arty nude photograph by a professional photographer.
30. Try stand-up comedy.
31. Get published in 100 magazines.
32. Record my grandparents talking about their families, historical events, etc.
33. Was the age Christ died. I'd like to live past 33.
34. Give someone away in a wedding ceremony.
35. Be able to do 5 real push-ups.
36. Crochet an afghan.
37. Inspire a poem.
38. Finish my silk quilt.
39. Read all the books I already own.
40. Write 1000 fragrance reviews.
41. Learn to ride a horse. Maybe not this one.

42. Publish (at least) 5 books.
43. Learn to ride a motorcycle.
44. Take a photograph every day for a year.
45. Read all of Italo Calvino.
46. Develop a consistent yoga practice.
47. Make living with gratitude a reflex.
48. Smile at more people on the street.
49. Wander in a field full of fireflies.
50. Be smashingly interesting.
51. Become really, truly fluent in Russian.
52. Learn to juggle.
53. Memorize 100 poems.
54. Go on a road trip with no particular destination.

55. Send something to Postsecret.
56. Sew myself a beautiful dress.
57. Have a mad tea party.
58. Host Thanksgiving dinner for anyone who wants to come.
59. Make 1000 paper cranes.
60. Inspire a song.
61. Visit all 50 states.
62. Take a creative photobooth picture every year on my birthday.
63. Learn to play pool like a hustler.

64. Make a red velvet cake.
65. Get a lap dance.
66. Take a dance class with Ilya.
67. Sneak into 4 movies in one day.
68. Visit Grasse and walk around in Chanel's jasmine and rose fields.
69. Have a custom perfume made.
70. See the desert in bloom.
71. Get it on in some library stacks a la Atonement.

72. Go on a mushroom hunt at least once a year.
73. Own a Jaguar. Pretty sure these are the sexiest cars ever made.
74. Donate my hair to Locks of Love.
75. Look for ecstacy and transcendence.
76. Never be afraid of success.
77. Work at a Texas birthing center.
78. Teach Creative Writing at a major university for a year.
79. Draw one self portrait every year.
80. Have 15 minutes of fame.
81. Grow zinnias from seed in memory of my grandmother.

82. Buy something from Bottega Venatta. I love everything they make.
83. When in doubt, stand still.
84. Laugh so hard I cry.
85. Throw a pot on a potter's wheel.
86. Spend more time looking at the sky.
87. Write a wildly successful self-help book.
88. Listen to my body more carefully.
89. Make it to Ilya's and my 50th anniversary.
90. Read all of Tolstoy's novels.
91. Be the best dancer in the room. Even if I'm alone.
92. Be loud, be proud, accept my lot as the cat lady.

93. Have 2 kids? Have any?
94. Buy an incredibly comfortable mattress.
95. Know when to be extravagant and when to be humble.
96. Get 1000 visitors to my blog in one day. (Record so far: 100.)
97. Look under the hood of my car and know what's wrong. Or right. Positive thinking!
98. Open a press/magazine to support short-shorts and prose poetry.
99. Love my life.
100. Always be adding to this list.

And then I boiled it, peeled it, cut it into chunks, and made him eat it.

It'd be even sweeter if Ilya weren't so terrifying-looking, wouldn't it be? The man needs a shave and a haircut, pronto. Luckily he's in Slovenia now, which I imagine is something like Siberia, which I imagine as being full of big, bearded lumberjacks. So Ilya should fit right in. If they let him check that chainsaw, that is.

On the Subject of Babies

The first argument Ilya and I ever had was about what our children's names were to be. He proclaimed (this is three weeks into our relationship, mind you) that his first son would be named Victor after his father, and his first daughter Natalia after his grandmother. It was as if he expected the hand of God to come down and pat him on the head, he was so proud of himself. I was taken aback, but chocked it up to some kind of Russian Jewish tradition I knew nothing of, that the father named his children before even going to the trouble of securing a handy fertile woman. So I told him he was a moron and we sort of forgot about it.

Which pretty much sums up my feeling about kids in general. Can we just forget about it? Lalalala I can't hear you. I'm 26 years old, Ilya and I have been together nearly 10 years, we own a home, he has a good job, and we're both all over this country like a pack of dogs on a three legged cat. We are writers. We are selfish. We need three hours a day holed up in our respective offices with no disturbances to mentally masturbate, producing maybe 10 words, maybe 1000. We go to bookstores for fun. I'm turning into the kind of woman who sneers at noisy kids in the restaurant.

But funny things sometimes happen. A 5-year-old with a mohawk made me giggle by standing on his head. A picture of a newborn made me feel a little empty in the womb region. I simply refuse to plant over our back lawn despite the drought because I see an undefined but rather tall toddler stumbling all over it laughing insanely as his father chases him. A little girl picks up a Queen Elizabeth doll in the bookstore and turns to her mother, saying "Look, mama. A queen." With a kind of reverence I have never, ever heard.

There isn't any time. Lately I've felt more desperate than ever before, watching it slip away. Where are my books? My degrees? Where's my career? Ilya continues to be successful, and I could not be more proud. I love my life, I'm proud of my accomplishments, but damn if I don't feel jealous sometimes. Just on the verge, on the cusp of finally succeeding, of beginning something wonderful with my life, how can I slow down for 18 years to bring a child into the world?

Even if I would be a MILF. Cause I totally would be, you know.

I Done Bought Me a House!

Now, don't judge a book by its cover. Slap a fresh coat of paint on that sucker and we're good to go! The interior is just a matter of clearing out the pigeon shit and the possum babies, though we're thinking we might just adopt them for pets. Would keep the coon dogs good and exercised, and they're getting a little draggy with all this city living, if you know what I'm saying.

The kitchen has indoor plumbing, y'all! We just need to buy some pipes cause the scavengers already been through here for all the copper in the place. T'ain't no snakes in the tolet (it is an outhouse, y'all! So cute with that little crescent moon and everything! It's like my own little house, behind the big house!), I know cause I just dangled one of them possum babies down there to check and nothing came raring up. So I'll pee easier tonight. I've named the spiders Octopussy, Heptopussy, Sextopussy (that's my favorite!), Quintopussy, Quartopussy, Triptopussy, Duopussy, and Monopussy. They've all got eight eyes and most of 'em got eight legs.

But the best thing about it is all we've got to do is hook the mobile home up to the tractor and tow it on out here! Moving's no trouble y'all, I don't know what all the bitching and moaning is about!

Come on down-- we got a guest room and everthang!

This 87-Year-Old Woman is Cooler Than You

But then, most 87-year-old women are.

1200 People in New York are Cooler Than You

Like, Way Cooler.