Want a piece?
I'm rollin' on the layout. Just the cover left to design, with a lovely illustration courtesy of Stephanie "Chibi" Bajema. Then all I have to do is format the 'zine before I send it to press on Monday or Tuesday.

Would you like a copy of the magazine? If so, please consider a donation to help sponsor its creation. Printing is a PRICEY process, especially because I'm doing such a small run. Unfortunately, I can't afford the volume required to knock down prices per each book, and because I'm doing full color, full bleed printing, this makes it veeerrrrry expensive. It's costing me $400 for 30 copies, to be precise. And that's CHEAP compared to Kinkos or University printing. The Honors College will reimburse me some, hopefully half, but I'm still deep in the hole.

If you would like to help subsidize the project, any contribution will be appreciated. However, a $25 donation will get you your own paper copy, plus special thanks on the pg. 2 masthead. I will even autograph it myself. ^_~ Just click the happy button below and PayPal will collect your change. ^_^ Shipping details can be worked out via email and estimated date of receipt should be early june.

IT WORKS NOW!

the old woman in the shrine
There's something that stirs my memory now and then, a snapshot of a mysteriously sacred old woman living inside a tiny shrine on a weathered hillside in the mountains of Wakayama Prefecture. I want to say the image is true, but since I have no photograph to back it up, I can't be sure. Why I have no photograph, I also don't know. I'm positive I had my camera with me, but that Alex and I were trying to conserve digital memory since I hadn't been smart enough to bring my laptop along on our Kansai trip.

It was our first, last, and only morning on Mount Koya, a spiritual pilgrimage site in the Japanese wilderness. We had already packed our things and were to leave the temple-inn we stayed at in a few hours to catch a train to Osaka. But we hadn't yet seen the main head temple of the Shingon Buddhist sect or the central complex of the mountain. We meandered through those, taking some of the pictures you can see in my photo-essay layout. Then we headed through town to the edge of the mountain, overlooking the valley below, where the original entryway to Mount Koya, a great black gate, stands. It was impressively large, but either the light was bad or my camera batteries were low, because I don't have any pictures of it either.

On the way in (out?) of the gate, we saw a small shrine perched on the steep hillside with a sign pointing toward it. Shrines that small don't usually merit signs because they all pretty much honor the same local or national spirits, so that was enough to spark my interest.

If memory serves me correctly, when we reached the top of the knoll, we found that it was a shrine to love. And it had some unusual ritual prayer/purification that involved incense, or maybe lighting candles. There was SOMETHING inside the small shack-like building that merited specific interest, were it effigies or something similar, created by visitors to the shrine to mark their passing.

But oddest of all was the old woman in the corner. We had stood at the entryway of the shrine while a couple inside prayed, and then turned as if to leave. But instead of leaving, they began to talk to someone. We hesitated at first, unsure if we could proceed to the tiny altar or should wait till they were finished. In the end we went inside, and that's when we saw her. Gnarled and shakey, the tiny woman must have been at least 90 years old. She sat behind a table in the incense-filled room and made-- what was it?-- I can't remember, something that had to do with the shrine. But she made it with her bare hands.

I thought, how endearing, that a local woman has such loyalty to this shrine. But as I listened to their conversation I began to realize that she didn't just work here, she lived here, and had for at least twenty years. In particular, the couple referenced one winter when the snows had been so high that no one could come to the shrine to check on "grandma," as they called her. Some of the villagers had been sure she was dead. Yet when the weather cleared, there she was, right as roses. Sure enough, "grandma" smiled a near-toothless grin at the mention of her notoriety and pointed at a new clipping behind her head that detailed the story.

This woman was a gem, a classic Japanese folk-story right in front of us. I didn't talk with her-- though I'm sure we greeted her-- because her Japanese was so terribly difficult to understand. I was petrified of offending her. I couldn't bring myself to ask to take a picture of her, though in retrospect I regret it. In truth, I think I may have dreamed the whole thing, but that may be true of my whole trip to Japan-- a collective hallucination as a search for meaning in confusion.

I think Alex can back me up on this one, or maybe fill in the blanks. This old woman has been in my thoughts lately, for whatever reason, and it's time I gave her due credit for sparking my imagination. Thanks, obaasan. I hope you're doing well.

proof pudding
Four pages of layout to go and the magazine is done. I am, unfortunately, two pages behind schedule, but that's not a big deal. I think I might just work without sleep the next three days to get it all done. In case you're wondering what it all looks like, and are up for some visual and grammatical proofing, I've uploaded PDFs of the working layouts to the site. Check them out here!

regalia queen
My plain black cap-and-gown has gone from funeral wear to a clown suit. Here's what all I'll have on me:

2 graduation tassles:
[1 maroon, School of Jouralism and Communication]
[1 white, Arts & Sciences (Japanese)]

3 honors cords:
[1 silver, magna cum laude]
[1 blue, Robert D. Clark Honors College]
[1 green, departmental honors, Japanese]

1 special sash, blue, Robert D. Clark Honors College

Will I look ridiculous? Yes. Will it be ridiculously AWESOME? Heck yea!

Oui, oui, I am excited.

With Great Honor
Guess who just found out she's graduating Magna Cum Laude? That's right, bitches, it's ME! BOO-YEAH!! I *would* have liked summa, and got my hopes up after reading the static cutoffs for some private universities online. The UO does percentile but my guess was that it would be lower than the 3.7-3.9GPAs I saw online for Summa... except Cornell, which was 4.0. Buuuut... the UO also gives out A+'es, so as it turns out the cutoff for the top 2% (summa cum laude) is 4.02-4.22GPA. Derr. Guess my "measly" 3.95 will have to fit me into the 5% (3.92-4.02) for magna cum laude. (Total sarcasm here folks, I actually find the cutoffs quite amusing.) Anyway, I'm off to buy myself some freakin' honors cords. Ha!

Ode to an Era

Now, I didn't live through the 1970s, but Television has taught me a great deal about that lovely era of disco and paisley. I'm beginning to think the Internet might have taught me even more. If you've ever thought about the '70s, whether you're a whippersnapper like me, or lived through themselves but were in too much of a drug-induced haze to actually REMEMBER anything, you might have wondered, "What did they live like back then? What did they do? What did they eat?"

Well, here's the answer to at least one of those questions. Some 1970's Weight Watcher's recipe cards. An Internet classic fore sure. One that's been around for years (I've seen it before) but worth a revisit. It's definitely worth a look if you've never seen it. Priceless, in fact, if just because the commentary on the recipe cards is so hilariously well-written. The "reviewer" must have spent as much time tearing apart those cards as Weight Watchers did putting them together.

And that, my friends, is what I think of when I think of 1974.

I should also mention that every time a UO tour group walks by full of newly admitted students, I want to scream out my office window "NOOOOOO, STAY bACK! DON'T DO IT!!! GAAAAAHHHH!" Not because I'm serious (well, mostly), but because I think it'd be funny to see the looks on their already fear-filled faces. They try to hide behind a mask of boredom and indifference, but no, I see dread and anticipation in those eyes. Turn back, little goslings, turn back!!!!

100,000 hits
I broke the big hundred thousand this morning. At some point long ago, this would have made me ecstatic. Now, um, I guess it's kind of cool, but I'm smart enough to know that most of those hits come from waylaid Googlers looking for Schoolgirl porn.

I believe I'll close this blog after I graduate. I won't be a student any more, nor as much of a sophist, having laid aside my books and beer goggles for, well, other things. Schoolgirl Sophistry has suffered since I came back from Japan and made the realization that my daily life in the states just isn't that interesting. Unless I'm hanging out with the Seattle Kinksters or doing something non school related, which is once in a blue moon. Even International Politics are somewhat dull viewed through the scope of the American megolith. I'd much rather write from overseas and so, in the end, perhaps that's where I'll return.

That's not to say I haven't spent a good deal of time being introspective, but I'm mostly doing it at yoga class and in the middle of the night when I'm having anxiety attacks about unnamed phantoms and unable to sleep. Yeah.

So I expect this blog to hang around till, oh, July, when the lease expires. And then I'll move on to other things. Perhaps start an anonymous Seattle-based blog about my new adventures. Perhaps not. When the next new-wave of Internet Communication comes around, it's more likely my interest will be piqued. But this blog, quite satisfyingly, HAS lived to be more than three years old. I'll let it run a little bit longer.

Got that itch
Rachel and I went to the ballet Saturday night with the free tickets I earned for modeling in the fundraising fashion show. We got to sit in the Orchestra section, front and center, $42 tickets I could never afford. The show was beautiful and would have been perfect but there was this woman... across the aisle... who was flicking her pen light... on and off... while she scribbled on a pad of paper. It looked like she was writing a bloody novel instead of watching the show, and as she was seated directly in our peripheral vision, it was damn obnoxious. After sitting through it during the two dances before Intermission, I decided to confront her. As soon as Intermission started, I walked over and said I was sorry to bother her but would she please not use her pen light during the next act.

She looked at me, shocked like I was asking, and told me that she was writing a review. Well, I admit I felt sheepish for not having considered that, but I didn't think I was any more in the wrong. In fact, it only made me angrier that she would consider it her right as a journalist to disturb the experience of other patrons. Not to mention that she seemed to be spending more time looking at what she was writing than the show itself. My take on reviews has always been to gather minimal notes when necessary but overall to treat the experience like a normal "customer" and base my opinion on THAT. So I had a little rant at Rachel, but as it turns out the woman decided she didn't need her little light after all and stopped flashing us the second act.

Afterwards, when we were cooled down, I thanked her for her consideration and she apologized for forgetting that she doesn't need to use it so much. A learning experience, I guess.

Yesterday I spent all day bushwhacking on Mount Pisgah for the Wilderness Survival orienteering outing... waist deep in poison oak. YUM. I'm hoping that I'm immune, but I have a bad feeling about some of my rough skin. I did manage to hose off my boots, strip down my laundry and pack and get everything in the wash before I showered. I even scrubbed with TechNu, a soap that dissolves the oils. My carpool buddy and I picked it up at REI on the way home after hearing several recommendations. EUGH. Just thinking about that shit makes me itch.

Today it's back to the grind, all work and no play. I've been meeting my quote of 8 pages layout a week, but I still feel totally unprepared. I guess that's pretty normal.

ZOMBIES
An entertaining quiz...How long would you survive if life were a zombie flick?

Rest in peace You scored 89% health, 84% psychology, 58% survival, and 50% organization.

Congratulations. Your years of self-improvement and discipline have paid off. You are truly a whole individual, both in mind and body. Unfortunately, your complete ignorance of any practical skills means that you get eaten by zombies. Sorry. Estimated Survival TIme: two days

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 70% on health You scored higher than 81% on psychology You scored higher than 28% on survival You scored higher than 14% on organization

Link: The Comprehensive Zombie Survival Test written by marbledog on Ok Cupid

This is it?

[ Click for large version ]

Justin sent me to this comic, which does in many ways resemble my impressions of Japan. I've also been give links to a lot of "weird animal" stories lately, including one about a Wolphin and another about a Toxic Superfund Dog.

A-OK
I can graduate! *Napoleon Dynamite-style "YESSSSSSSSSSS!"*
Turns out I was, as expected, being completely paranoid and I DO have all my required classes, IP multicultural requirement, science/ math, and HC colloquia all included. And I think I've just successfully set up my thesis defense date for June 2nd. Mission accomplished. Wewt.

tit and tat

My good friend Monk was featured in a recent Savage Love. That is awesome. Go read it!

Not so awesome is finding out that after five years and 280 credits, some of which are used by neither major, nor the Honors College, that one multicultural credit will keep you from graduating. And it's not for a lack of classes that are multicultural, mind you, I have LOTS of those. Pick and choose... religions, history, documentary, theatre, even linguistics... it's because none of those *particular* classes have been approved by the university as a *particular* requirement. Unless living a year in a foreign country counts for something (which, really, you'd think it would) I just might be FUCKED.

I can probably sort it all out. I hope.

I apologize for my long absences... between the fashion show prep, thesis work, blogger copping out on me REPEATEDLY when I try to pose post (returns "document contains no data" error) and other things, it just hasn't happened.

I just had a great weekend with my boy though. We ate at Soriah for our 5 year anniversary dinner. It's a nice place, only 3 blocks from here, and it's sad we don't go more often.

Also watched I <3 Huckabees, which may be my new most favorite movie EVER. And Friday had my cut/color at London Hair, so now I look all coiffed and spiffy. I just have to play dress up till Weds and then I can go back to being all slackerish again.

hump day
Hooray for $2.50 margarita's with the fashion show coordinators after training and rehearsal. Also for making ""contacts"" and other shit like that. I didn't get much progress on the mag. design tonight, but I'm 6 pages in to my 8 page goal and wasn't planning doing much more anyway. After weight lifting, running three 1/2 mile splits, 20 minutes on the stairclimber, an hour and a half of rock climbing, and strutting a 50-foot runway a gazillion times (all on 5 hours or less of rest!) my 2 drink nightcap has put me right to bed. Sleep sounds GREAT. *zonk*

vacuous space
Things are moving along, slowly but steadily. Today I dropped just short of seventy dollars for my graduation regalia, minus whatever honors cords I need, since the University can't yet estimate GPAs for Latin Honors. I'm crossing my fingers. There are four (FOUR!) ceremonies I can attend, but I have a feeling I'll only go to three of them since the Honors College's is the day before and I really have no affinity for the foriegn language ceremony.

I also picked up five official invitations. That's it, five. One for me, one for the parents, a couple for the grandparents and one for... whatever. They won't extort anything for more out of me. I didn't learn InDesign for nothing-- I'll make my own.

This week I started landscaping the triplex, puttering around with the tools my landlord paid for and trying to get the lawnmower to work. The beast of a machine refused to start yesterday, no matter what my fix-it friends did to help. Today I backed it up a step and dumped out the yellowing fuel to replace it with some high-octane gasoline. Started on the first try.

I love gardening. Not the actual act, because I'm usually getting a crick somewhere in my back while in-process, but I do love being reminded of the smell of dirt. This term I've got Tuesday and Thursday mornings off till noon, so I can take my time and poke around in the yard those mornings if I like.

Today I had my consultation with London Hair about getting my 'do styled for the fashion show. I go in for my cut and color on Friday, and they'll be coiffing me next Wednesday before the show, too. Tomorrow it's back to Studio One in the Hult Center for "professional runway training" and rehearsal. I feel like I ought to be nervous but I'm really not. I don't have anything riding on this. But there's still the vague unease that someone will call me out as an imposter.

I've been focusing all my energy on my thesis design. Eight pages a week, more if I can manage it. I started yesterday and I'm down four of the six-page photo-essay. Design takes a lot of time but really a lot less thought than writing. It's all visual intuition, and that's something I can very easily get caught up in (just take a look at my photo pages). This weekend I'll start putting in a few hours on the marketing proposal and see if the whole thing starts to fall together before I have a panic attack.

katwalk
Well, spank my ass and call me Sally. Apparently I AM enough to impress the judges.

My friend(?) Cole called me randomly last Tuesday to share the news that the Eugene Ballet Company is hosting a fashion show/fundraiser party and had scheduled a Saturday audition for models. As usual, I stored the tidbit in the back of my mind and didn't think much of it till I saw Cole at the gym on Friday. On a whim, I gave the EBC a call, found out I needed ten bucks (railroading models is a favorite scheme) and a casual photo to audition, but no portfolio or resume.

Last night, I printed this photo out before going to see Sin City and this morning threw on some clothes and makeup after four hours restless sleep (for other reasons) to bike to the Hult center for the open call. Silly me, I'm such an amateur that I didn't realize an "open call" meant "come any time during the scheduled duration," not "be there from 9 to 12." I was in and out in fifteen minutes and found myself sitting at home at 9:30AM on a Saturday morning, fully awake and showered with not a clue what to do.

The audition consisted of me blindly stumbling into line with fifty or so high school girls who had been escorted by their mothers. I think I was the only one who wasn't in dress heels (I wore heeled leather boots, a sweater and jeans) and I'm certain I'm the only one who biked to the audition. I filled out a form with my name, phone number, height, dress/suit size, address, and past experience. For past experience (where/what) I wrote "Japan, minor fashion show, bank merchandise catalogue." I don't know why I felt the need to write "Japan" because I didn't do any REAL modeling to speak of when I lived there, but I do credit myself with the experience of registering with an agency and auditioning, even if I wasn't paid for anything. Saying I modeled in Japan just sounds so... prestigious.

Anyways, what happened next took all of seven minutes. One to hand my $10 check to the cashier while she checked that I had a photo in order, five to stand in line, thirty seconds to talk to the judges, fifteen seconds to walk and fifteen to say goodbye. Apparently "Japan" did sound prestigious because one judge asked me about it and all I could think to stumblingly reply was "it was really minor." I think she still assumes I was sent over there rather than that I studied there and attempted modeling to eke out a living. Oh well.

I saw that everyone else had done the same lame down and back walk with a rare bout of flair, so I slung my coat over my shoulder and postured a bit, praying that I didn't look like an idiot. Afterwards, of course, I thought I did, and picked apart everything I'd said even though I knew I'd be doing that no matter what my responses had been. The fact is, even though I vested no real energy, self worth, time, or money into the event, I had thought it would be fun, and spent the better part of the morning preparing myself to be disappointed. The follow-up session for selectees is on Wednesday the 6th, so at least I knew I'd find out soon.

They called me at 8:30PM to tell me they wanted me. Me! For a fashion show! I keep thinking I'm the exception to the rule and that I'll stand out as the 22-year-old "all sizes" model among 35 of those underage waifs, or that I'll show up on Wednesday and get a look like "what are YOU doing here?" Regardless of what I look like, I honestly think I've never FELT enough like any kind of model to BE one. Now that I have the chance, I feel like I'm about to be found out for an impostor.

But I'm also really, REALLY excited. It'll be so much FUN to be primped and pampered and strut like a sexy lady. 'Twill add to my stress level for the next two weeks, as the show is on the 13th, but whatever. The less seriously I take it, the better I'll look.

First things first. I get a free cut and color from London Hair, a chintzy salon. Then I get fitted for clothes from Prose Dress, a boutique that sells high-end New York fashion and is conveniently located about 6 blocks from my house. Wednesday, I go back to Studio One at the Hult Center for "professional" training, then I walk on the 13th. I have a feeling there's more involved than that but the only other detail I have on record at the moment is that I get free ballet tickets-- for the upcoming show or for the season I'm not sure. Either way, hurrah!

I also don't know if I get to keep the clothing, should it be tailored to me. That would be FAN-tastic, but I don't expect it. I will be needing a pant suit or two soon for interviews and a "real" job, and I ought to look swank for Justin's grandpa's 90th b-day at the Four Seasons in Jackson Hole at the end of June... but pish posh, I'm sure something will come my way.

And that's a wrap for the time being. I promise I won't come out a redheaded waif, just maybe slightly more primped and princessy. Tickets to the "Cocktails and Coiture" fashion show are $25 or $35 runway-side-- Wednesday April 13th, "entertainment" included, cocktails probably not.

I just... can't believe it. *headdesk*