I compiled a really exhaustive list of song associations the other day and showed Tara, aweing her with my procrastination skillz. I have associations for everything from "Don't Stand So Close to Me" (my sister) to "Don't Know Why" (Jess Mu. and Anne) to "There is a Light That Never Goes Out" (Natalie G./Deb). Even though it's ridiculous that I did this, I'm glad to have it; it reminds me that I did have musical tastes and influences long before I knew Ben K. and Seth. And it encouraged me to listen to such pretty, vaguely ludicrous (for a dorm room) songs as "Stairway to Heaven" and "Night and Day."


Finally, it proved to me that, although I'm not "into music" the way Kellen and Jess Mo. are (they have very scopic, up-to-date knowledge), it is a meaningful part of my life - probably because I personalize practically everything I hear (or read, etc.). I have trouble making myself find new music, though I do, because I get so attached to what I already know.

So please be sweet, my chickadee
And when I kiss ya, just say to me
"It's delightful, it's delicious, it's delectable, it's delirious...."

That, for example, is extremely darling. And, gosh, I am still happy; it's been more than three weeks now. I find I'm counting days as if it's a new, promising relationship, and the start-date/anniversary is March 31. In many ways, it feels like two years ago - the expansive sense of possibility, the wonder at the opportunity to feel this way, the promise of future happiness that The Hours sez is actually happiness. Maybe I am in love with my life? Probably I'll have to lose this rush eventually, like last time; but I am honestly lucky to have felt it twice so far, and once that's not dependent on a boy.


Well, I have a lot to summarize, starting with last Friday: I participated in the first annual Slavic Bazaar undergraduate research conference. I delivered a paper that I wrote during my awful week in March, which is when I did practically all of my important assignments for this semester (grin). It was a silly Comparative Lit paper on God as an amatory rival and dichotomies vs. continuums of love and religion and blah blah blah. It had nothing to do with Slavic concerns, except insofar as it was written for a class called "The Adultery Novel In and Out of Russia" (they were clearly desperate for participants and took me anyway). The night before, I printed out a colloquialized version of the paper and stapled it to index cards, read it over once or twice, spent considerably longer deciding what was appropriate to wear, and settled on overdressed.


I was woken up the following morning at 10:00 by an extremely loud, unpolished version of "Californication," amplified by speakers directly below my window. I assembled my notes and walked out into a thick crowd of tank tops and baseball caps, wearing my suit skirt and sweater and feeling like a killjoy intruder on Fling. On the way to the conference site, I passed my beloved independent bookstore, which keeps a table out front with on-sale books. Impulsively, I bought a hardcover copy of The Corrections (maybe because it was referenced on The Simpsons recently?), marked down from $26 to $9. The cashier praised my choice and flirted with me, which is always a plus at that bookstore. Brandishing my new novel for added courage, I found the room housing my panel ("Love and Seduction in Fiction") and was relieved to discover it was small - just large enough for an oblong table and ten or so people.


I spoke first, and I think my presentation went fine. Afterwards, we had a lovely discussion about misogyny and the perseverence of gender constructions over time, which is exactly what I needed to talk about (I didn't bring it up). I felt satisfied and less vitriolic in the end. Also, an anonymous old man listened to our presentations and panel discussion, and eventually interjected with an inappropriate, longwinded remark about how, back in his day, nobody had premarital sex or committed adultery; he was married at 19 and it worked out great; his kids, however, all but one slept with their future spouses before the wedding, because times have changed. We all commented on how sinister he was in Adultery class on Monday; someone called him "our blind man" after Madame Bovary (I love Adultery class wit). [More is coming, again.]