Stalled

Not a point I would belabor, particularly since all of us are familiar with the sensation of being unmoored, as it were. Adrift. This is my feeling about the world today, though. Teaching this semester is surreal and so much less stressful than my lit class last semester that I'm alternately astounded and relieved. The chapters are coming along, with no end to revision in sight. Facing this next segment, though, I feel like I'm trying to drop anchor in a deep and swiftly flowing river, though that analogy probably doesn't make sense to anyone who understands things of the nautical persuasion. I suppose I'm plumbing the depths, if you will. Searching blindly through the tortured recesses of the mountain of research I've already done and which will undoubtedly prove practically useless for my next chapter. What I really want to write about is Serenity and Charles Brockden Brown, and I'm barely resisting the urge to write my conclusion instead of this last chapter. No, I didn't say "last chapter." You must have imagined it. I'm pretty sure I did.

The Rock of Love II is coming along nicely. There's some good drama, the usual dose of hysteria and backbiting, and some particularly good strategists among the new women. One of them actually had the foresight to feed compromising information about one of the other girls to someone else, who then went immediate to Brett with her nasty little tidbit. How it is that these girls don't know that the schemers make for excellent tv but never win the competition is beyond me. It's like they didn't watch the last season or pay any attention at all to the Flavor of Love franchise (now going into its 3rd season!). The exception, perhaps, being the ultimate (?) I Love New York, in which she chooses the most underhanded guy in the competition both, I imagine, because she wanted someone with whom she is fairly matched in terms of competitiveness and because she was really looking for a mollifying lackey--post-Tango disappointment. Right now my money is on Megan. Q's right that Peyton should win, but she won't. Anyone else ready to pick your pony?

And to BEM: Unspeakably lame that you can't get into it, dude. It's not as though I only sat through the first fifteen minutes of No Country for Old Men and proclaimed it to be not my thing. No, indeed. Give it another shot, buddy. Do it for Brett.