Sometimes academic articles or monographs can be pretty mundane. Once in a while, though, you'll come across an author who slips gems of sentences into his or her work. Earlier today I was reading an article about movies produced during the Cold War and I came across this sentence: "Promiscuous, undifferentiated, vegetable reproduction threatened family bonds." It just doesn't get any better than that!

My dislike for pumpkin pie finally drove me to bake my very first pie. John loves pumpkin pie but since the very thought of it makes me gag, he suggested that I make an apple pie for Thanksgiving. Armed with The Pie and Pastry Bible, by the indomitable Rose Levy Beranbaum, I set out and succeeded in baking my first ever apple pie. Apple pie is my favorite dessert of all time, so I was a bit intimidated at first. But from the flaky crust to the delectable filling (one which let the apples speak for themselves), I have to say I'm very pleased with the results. Here are some photos, for posterity.

For John's birthday, I got him TiVo. In case you don't know, it's like a computer for your TV. It records shows for you, but unlike a VCR you don't have to tell it what date and time to start and stop recording; it finds that information itself. And it will tape each and every episode for you. It will also record shows that it thinks you might like. PLUS, it lets you pause, fast forward, and rewind live TV. So when nature calls (or the pizza guy is at the door), you don't have to miss those crucial moments of Sex and the City... or whatever you watch.

What it means for John and me is that there's always something good on TV. We don't watch a lot ourselves but when we do have a moment to relax, it's nice to spend it with TiVo.

Do you ever look up and wonder how you got where you are now? I don't mean physically, as in "how did I get to Starbucks?". I mean one of those big life questions where you look around and realize that the life that you have now is very different than the life you ever expected to have. I often wonder, for example, how I (a Midwestern girl through and through) came to live in Florida. I also wonder how I (a person who enjoys free time) came to be working-- on average-- 60 to 80 hours a week, doing house work only when I have a few minutes to spare. And that's only the important stuff, like laundry (you've got to have clean clothes) and grocery shopping! I won't even tell you how long it's been since I've vacuumed or dusted.

So, if I haven't returned your phone calls in a while (a statement that applies to many of you), you'll know why: it's because I'm taking my "free time" for the day and doing some laundry.

A conversation I had with John the other day got me wondering: the rudder on the posterior of a fish- tail or fin?

I have recently discovered the captivating game of Sudoku. (I could have said that I had been bitten by the Sudoku bug, but that would make it sound like I had malaria or something.) People in the know say that it's the puzzle craze that's sweeping the nation. The very thought that a puzzle craze could sweep the nation is something I'm a bit skeptical about, but we'll go with it for now. It's a bewitching numbers game that, once you've got the hang of, you won't be able to put down. You can buy a book of games, or you can play an online version through the Washington Post. I highly recommend it.

I can't help but notice that Halloween is only recently behind us and already they're playing Christmas carols in the stores. Walgreens has had their Christmas decorations up since the middle of October, actually, and Starbucks is busy hawking their Christmas goodies and Christmas blend coffee. Out with the iced tea, in with the hot chocolate. I think it's particularly offensive here in Florida, where it's so warm that people are still running around in flip flops and shorts. Don't we still have Thanksgiving to get through?!?

There is something very, very wrong with this state. I am, of course, speaking of my violent hatred for the flora and fauna of Florida. To be fair, the flora is okay. As long as it stays outside. But the fauna and I have issues. Witness: we have had frogs (yes, frogs PLURAL) in our shower every day for the past week. How are they getting in, you ask? Your guess is as good as mine. But I am about to declare war on the frogs and it won't be a pretty sight. Lizards, watch out: you're next.

So, by now everyone knows that I have night terrors and that I tend to wake the entire house when it happens. They get worse and more frequent when I’m under stress, which basically means that I’ve had one every night for the past two weeks or so. The other night, John reached his breaking point. It was about 2 in the morning and I saw a guy trying to murder John with an oversized blender. Normally I don’t remember details when it happens, but I think it was the oversized blender killing machine that stuck with me. Anyway, I apparently screamed and turned on the light, waking John (and the rest of the neighborhood, quite possibly). I woke up just as he yelled: “What is wrong with you?!?!? EVERY *bleep bleep* NIGHT!!!” Then he rolled over and went back to sleep. Poor guy, I felt really bad. If our relationship is to survive graduate school, I may need to look into some stress-reducing strategies!

I think I'm going to start a "crazy neighbor" section of this blog. Most of you know a little bit about our crazy neighbors. There's the family with the kid who walks around a tree in their front yard, yelling incoherently to himself and waving his arms. There's the lady who lives behind us who so despises trees that she has hardscaped her lawn, front and back, so that nary a tree or shrub is left. And then there's the old guy next door. Mr. LaMarsh is about 85 years old and has a deep hatred for (wait for it): acorns. Can't stand the sight of them. So much does he dislike them that he took out all the trees on his property (what is with these people and trees??? here's a hint: don't live in a swamp!). He carefully grooms his lawn BY HAND, picking up every stray acorn. But there's a catch: we have several trees on our property. One in particular is an oak tree, the branches of which hang over the property line. What with gravity and squirrels doing their jobs, the acorns tend to land on his yard. And he just... can't... stand it! I can't tell you how many times he's taken John or I aside and talked to us about the "acorn problem," as if it's a pandemic sweeping the globe. But lately, he has taken up a new tactic: he waits until we're gone, then he goes into our yard and starts picking up acorns, stray twigs, really anything that offends him. And today he was doing it just as we pulled up to the house. The look on his face was priceless: it was like a five-year-old who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Our crazy neighbors, I swear.

I just got a not-so-friendly email from the library: "The following materials are overdue. Your library privileges have been blocked. After 30 days, materials will be assumed lost and you will be billed for the replacement cost of each item in addition to your overdue fines." After spluttering about how the library was *obviously* incorrect and how there must be some mistake, I located the item in question.

I should know better. I used to work at a library, for crying out loud. And I used to marvel at how people could not know that the bound periodical they checked out was a 3-day loan instead of a 30-day loan. And now here I am, bound periodical in hand, 5 days overdue. I think I need a personal assistant... or a babysitter.

I have a serious problem: my favorite stapler is broken. Let's not dwell on the fact that 1) I have more than one stapler and 2) one in particular is my favorite. There's a bigger issue here: my favorite stapler is broken. In truth, I should amend that statement to say, I have broken my favorite stapler. I don't even know how! There I was, stapling students' papers (apparently they don't own staplers themselves), and I ran out of staples. No problem; I have two more boxes (yes, two-- don't dwell). So I reloaded, did a "test" staple of a scratch piece of paper, and it didn't work!!! Now I'm completely flummoxed. Obviously I'll have to find a stapler-repair guy in the yellow pages.

Update, 3:12 pm: I fixed the stapler! Obviously I need to consider a career in stapler repair...

Several weeks ago I asked a fellow graduate student, who was preparing to take his qualifying exams, how he was doing. He told me that he was vacillating between obnoxious arrogance and crippling depression. And I'm starting to realize how right he was. There are days when I feel like I'm sitting on top of something really amazing (as far as my MA project). And then there are days when I think that my committee will not only fail me, but laugh me out of the room.

Today we welcome two more beautiful nieces into our family. No names yet, but everyone is happy and healthy. And in the end, isn't that all that matters? I think so.

Last night was our first Luke Halloween. Our first Halloween with our 100-pound dog. And he performed beautifully. Let me explain: our neighborhood sees its fair share of (pardon the expression) snot-nosed brats on Halloween. I'm not talking about your average trick-or-treater; I'm talking about 17, 18, and 19 year olds who come to your door demanding candy, not understanding the finer points of Halloween being a night for young children. They don't wait for you to dig around in the bowl to give them a couple gems; they heave their grubby hands in themselves and come out with a good half-dozen pieces of candy. But this Halloween was different. Said adolescents rang the doorbell, yelling their demands, and Luke ran to the door, barking up a storm, hair raised. Now, he's not a vicious dog by any means. He would never harm anyone. But he was bound and determined to protect the house, and I'd be surprised if those high schoolers didn't have to go home and change their underwear.