Perils of assimilation

If only life came with subtitles.

Friday, May 30, 2008


Ah, the job hunt. I must go and make myself seem like a nice person who loves nothing more than talking with morons. If I seem cynical, that's because you have never worked in Lake Geneva.

Living with my parents was a bad idea. Fuck.

Pop-up books are way cooler now than when I was a kid.

I will be the first to say that R.E.M. is still cool. Suck on that.

Saturday, May 24, 2008


Has anyone seen my cookbook? It's red and kind of covered in flour, and contains the only copy of Lila's currant cookies. Come back, cookbook!

Thursday, May 22, 2008

A Coward Bears No Scars

Hey, guys! Long time no write, or it feels like it, at least. It's not that I have been hiding under a rock, rather, I have been going at a breakneck pace since I left Eau Claire on Sunday. I have discovered that I hate moving, and I hate it even more when hungover. I know: who the hell drinks the night before they move?

But I got back home in one piece, and the following morning I was up and on my way to Chicago. I had gotten an interview at this place, and aced it with flying colors. I may not like talking to people, but I know what they want to hear. I started the job the following morning, getting up at 5 to take a train from Fox Lake into the city. And so began my short, illustrious career as a professional asshole. My job was to canvass around Chicago, stopping people and asking them to donate money to Environment Illinois. My co-workers were extremely cool, and we had a lot of fun going out and being assholes together. The trick was to get people to stop for you: people in Chicago always seem, to quote some guy who wrote a book, "always late for their next shit, and a dime short for the public toilet." And they have even less time for you if you're standing at the corner of Adams and Dearborn, where the federal center is. I felt terrible asking people normal peole for money, that is, people who weren't wearing suits, because I know that the people who do give to causes are the ones who can't afford to. But, I felt completely ok talking to them about the Clean Water Restoration Act, and asking them to sign a letter of support.

Canvassing at Chicago and Michigan was even worse, posh people who obviously had time to shop at designer stores certainly had no time to hear a sixty second spiel, and had no problem telling me that they had n concern for the environment whatsoever. The people who did stop at that location for me were Australian and Irish (and one Belgian, my french finally came in handy) tourists who wanted to let me know that they appreciated that some Americans did care about the rest of the world.

There were plenty other canvassers out, so it was difficult to get people to stop a second time. But I did discover that the "Save the Children" people are incredibly nice, and that Greenpeace is a bunch of assholes who chase you down and try to get you to move off their corners, even if you were there first.

Because I evidently couldn't make quota, I was let go. I still get paid for my two days of work, which is great. My buddy Adam who I met through Couchsurfing took me out for a beer, and we went and had dinner with some other surfers at Earwax. All together there was one high school teacher, two doctors, a psychology Ph. D. student, and me. They were so fantastic, and made me feel much better about losing the job I just gotten.

It sucks, but I got some great things out of it: new friends, a better knowledge of where things are in Chicago, and I've certainly conquered my fear of public speaking.

Monday, May 12, 2008

Goodbye, SRI

Today was my last show at the station. I love entertaining people, through theatre, and jkes, and Radio antics. I like making sure people are having fun, which I hope I accomplished with my show. Most people tuned in just to hear me go into rants about the state of the world, I know, but that was alright with me. There are a few things that SRI has taught me:
1. The only difference between a DJ and someone yelling at the voices in their head is a microphone.
2. Radio people don't really talk to each other, they just list off band names.
3. Never dress to impress on the days you will be stuck in a soundproof booth for a few hours, it gets uncomfortable.
4. Radio people never call each other by their real name, rather their DJ name.
5. Saying you're a DJ is kinda cool.
6. Radio people don't actually know who else works at the station.
7. Pirating CDs: good. Taking them from the CD closet: bad.

I recieved this e-mail today and I wanted to share it with you:

Dear Liz

I was a DJ at UW-EC back in the days when WUEC was really a student run radio station – long before it went Wisconsin Public Radio / NPR. This goes WAY back – Jack Kapfer was a student and on the staff when I was there… 1979-82. The station was run by the students and played music and other programming done by the students. Was VERY sorry to hear WUEC went NPR / Wisconsin Public Radio. WUEC used to be a great outlet for students to play music.

Glad I found SRI – I listen to it, when I can, at work, in Madison. Good to hear UW-Eau Claire once again has student run radio. As the semester is winding down, thought I would drop a note to let you know it has been wonderful hearing the great variety of music you play. Thanks…


Sunday, May 11, 2008


Watermelon is the most absurd fruit. No one stares at you if you're walking down the street with a banana, but a watermelon will stop traffic. Even more so if it is only half a melon.

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

Oy Vey

I am now officailly leaving Eau Claire. I met with the advisor at student diversity, who ironically was my advisor during orientation (Bardiac--Marc Goulet says hi). I managed to keep my composure rather well. I get emotional very easily, even if I don't want to be. Also, I set up a potentially great job interview. I hope it works out, I don't want to work at the Pub all summer.

I am devising my summer reading list. Obviously, I'll try to finish the books that I had to drop when the semester started (Gargantua and Pantagruel, The Brothers Karamazov, Tom Jones) but your input would be appreciated.

Thursday, May 01, 2008

I will never apologize...

...for loving 'Jagged Little Pill.' Who doesn't love well-crafted pop?
...for swearing like a sailor.
...for being a mess, emotionally or otherwise.
...for giving money to the homeless. I don't care if they spend it on booze or drugs, everyone deserves a little help.
...for going out of my way just to avoid a major highway.

Ever notice that people in the midwest apologize for everything?

"I'm sorry, but, and I might be wrong, I don't know, and I don't want you to take this the wrong way, and I want you to know that I respect you, but I disagree with you, I'm sorry."

Stop apologizing for having an opinion! Sometimes, politeness goes to far.

May day

So I went to a few capstone presentations today, for English Fest. This year's English Fest is not nearly as fun as last year's, despite the panel on Superheroes in Fiction, and I mostly attribute this to the lackluster theme: 'Interactive English.' The theme for last year was 'Comma Sutra,' which I adored. I would rather have English associated with sex than a damn computer anyday. The idea of 'interactive english' is a mite terrifying to me. It's sinister, like computers are going to take over everything us wordy-types adore. It's a little disappointing to know that hardly anybody reads anymore. I read all the time as a kid, it was my favorite thing. My idea of a good time was going to the library and picking out new things to read. If I every produce offspring(which will only happen by accident and if I miraculously change into the kind of person who'd be a decent mom), those little fuckers are going to read till they drop. But I digress.

Each presentation began with an essay about why they write. Each answer was witty, sincere and a little melancholy. I began to wonder: why do I write?

I'm an infrequent writer, I'll admit. I used to write everyday, but I've been in such a funk for a few months. Writing, as I see it, is like sex. It's sometimes great, more often than not mediocre, and once and a while god-awful. But, if you're not doing it, you spend all your time griping about not getting any. And the feeling you get when you read something the first time I read Henry Miller, or when I first 'got' Shakespeare, just as memorable to me as my first kiss, or the first CD I bought.

So why do I write? There isn't a solid answer for that. Sometimes I just want to get away from everything, or there's this moment of pure emotion that I need to preserve. I'm so afraid of ever forgetting a single moment.