Whine...
I have been unable to read a single line of work from my current pile of To Do (shoot me, but I despise medieval poetry. blech.) I have been toting around my student's compositions for three days now. I promised myself that I would grade today at work, but Alicia called to say that she, Ignacio (who just won another prize, and a publisher for his fifth book of poetry), Ana and Marcos were heading to have a barbecue on the beach, and did I want to come. Did I? Did I? Well, beyond the fact that both A. and I. are headed to Texas (miraculous, two different open tenure track positions within the same department, and they were both hired!) as soon as their immigration papers are fixed (evil bastards at INS... grrr.) anything, anything at all was better than working, right?
The ocean was strangely warmer here than it was in San Diego over the weekend, can't explain that one, and I got to pick up the girl (I promised I would do something special with her.) M. even got the paper off to press and joined us for a little while, but then headed back to work. Meanwhile I was totally useless, drinking calimochos and swimming in the ocean.
Oh yes, work for this evening, except that I had already made plans with Kirsten for a community dinner in the courtyard, and the afternoon crept up on me. We pulled ourselves away at 6 and raced to TJ's for a quick fix, I didn't have time to cook, so I picked up a salad in a bag and grilled teriyaki chicken, came home and threw the spinach, candied pecans, sweetened dried cranberries and pulled chicken together in a bowl with the raspberry vinaigrette, and my contribution to dinner was ready. And of course I was forced to drink some more Shiraz, I was only being sociable, after all.
The party closed with melting-down munchkins, and promises to do this sort of thing more often, and then Echemané and Romina came down from their balcony with Chema's parents who just arrived from Venezuela. I bowed out graciously, as M. broke out the Hungarian wine, to "put the baby to sleep" and to "do my work" but have I started? Nah, why ruin my perfect procrastination record for the week.
God. Someone should really tie me to a tree and flog me mercilessly.
The ocean was strangely warmer here than it was in San Diego over the weekend, can't explain that one, and I got to pick up the girl (I promised I would do something special with her.) M. even got the paper off to press and joined us for a little while, but then headed back to work. Meanwhile I was totally useless, drinking calimochos and swimming in the ocean.
Oh yes, work for this evening, except that I had already made plans with Kirsten for a community dinner in the courtyard, and the afternoon crept up on me. We pulled ourselves away at 6 and raced to TJ's for a quick fix, I didn't have time to cook, so I picked up a salad in a bag and grilled teriyaki chicken, came home and threw the spinach, candied pecans, sweetened dried cranberries and pulled chicken together in a bowl with the raspberry vinaigrette, and my contribution to dinner was ready. And of course I was forced to drink some more Shiraz, I was only being sociable, after all.
The party closed with melting-down munchkins, and promises to do this sort of thing more often, and then Echemané and Romina came down from their balcony with Chema's parents who just arrived from Venezuela. I bowed out graciously, as M. broke out the Hungarian wine, to "put the baby to sleep" and to "do my work" but have I started? Nah, why ruin my perfect procrastination record for the week.
God. Someone should really tie me to a tree and flog me mercilessly.
posted by ilana at 9:31 p.m.
5 Comments:
Ay! Ojalá se pudiera enviar por correo electrónico un vasito de ese vino húngaro. Bailaría como un mono de organillero sólo para que me lo mandaras en un "attachment" etílico.
A mí que me manden el veggie attachment. Hay días como esos. MIl cosas pendientes and you can't bring yourself to start anything y cuando finalmente te obligas, usualmente te das cuenta que no era tan terrible ni que iba a tomar tanto tiempo.
No se si el vino te inspire a leer poesía medieval, pero ha de ser muy bueno para sentarse a escribir... Si sólo se pudiera enviar el attachment etílico, yo también te pediría una copa. En este país, we are wine challenged, y no se consiguen "rarezas" como esa.
Yure, chicos, lo siento que no sea Willie Wonka para romper las reglas de la realidad para compartir placeres gustativos a través de las compus, lo mejor que puedo hacer es hacerles salivar con fotos y descripciones (que viene siendo una maldad, lo reconozco). Pero me gustaría verte bailar como mono de todas formas:)
Sole, en este caso, creo que es tan terrible como lo imagino:(
Otrova, me resulta bueno el vino, o "herb for my wine" para soltarme a escribir, pero lamento que en general esas cosas no son compartibles sino bajo un nome de plume... por pudor (yeah right).
and btw, I'm pretty wine challenged myself (just a pathetic excuse for a grown-up, really).
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