One equal temper of heroic hearts

I started watching Luther this week and, honestly, I can't watch any episodes after it gets dark outside because I am legitimately worried that it will give me nightmares. There is at least one moment in every episode (of the three I've seen so far) where I throw my hands up in front of my eyes because what's happening on screen is freak-out-level disturbing. Of course, the writing is amazing (would have to be, for this kind of show to fly) and I'm quickly becoming a fan of Idris Elba because, my god, that man can act. And you don't even notice that he's acting while he's doing it; his reactions are so natural and so well-timed that, even from the first scene in the first episode, you're in his head. And that can be a very scary place to be.

INTERLINK graduation is this morning. I can't believe we've come to the end of another term. It was probably the most stressful term I've had here so far, but also the best in terms of what I learned and how I think I came along as a teacher. We've a week's break after this and I'll be going home for part of it. On Wednesday of next week I'll be seeing these guys --

-- the idea of which is still gives me happy tingles every time I remember it.

All right. Gotta' put on a shirt and go to work.

( Explain the Internet to a 19th Century British Street Urchin )

I'm leaving for Milwaukee tomorrow (MUMFORD & SONS OMGGGGG), so have a great weekend, everybody!

So I'm stressing out about finals week, biting my nails down to the quick and entertaining the idea of saying "screw it all" in favour of a jaunt on a lobster boat in New England, but none of that really matters, because



THIS IS HAPPENING.

That's right, I bit the bullet and ordered tickets to the Clapton/Daltrey show in July. I figured that, since I won't be able to take a formal vacation this summer, I owed myself at least one wild, bank-breaking expenditure that wouldn't take me too far from home. And the cherry on the sundae? another_myself will be my concert buddy! She's coming up to visit that weekend and I expect that there will be much debauchery. (Or, at the very least, some beer and impromptu dance parties.)

LIL. WE SHOULD GET T-SHIRTS MADE OR SOMETHING.

Sweet sassy molassy, I am sore. Todd and I went to the Flogging Molly concert in Indianapolis and I think it's safe to say that I haven't jumped around that much in a long time. My body is not used to all that white girl flailing. The concert was awesome; they played all the old standards and did "Seven Deadly Sins" for their encore. Security was srs bznz, so there was no moshing or crowd surfing, which was fine by me. Like I said, I did the "one man pogo stick" thing to my satisfaction.

Last week was pretty epic. I was home from last Tuesday 'til this afternoon and I got a chance to catch up with one of my oldest, dearest friends while I was in town. We hadn't seen each other since sophomore year in college and it felt like very little time had passed at all. It's great to know that, while some things change, there are constants in life and sometimes -- if you're very, very lucky -- they happen to be the people you know.

Todd's dad is my go-to guy when I need the oil changed in my car, and he was gracious enough to give Partypants a once-over while I was back in town. (I had driven 11,000 miles since having my oil changed last which is, apparently, not such a swell thing to do.) He also saw that the tread on my tires was shot to hell (the diagnosis of which, I am told, involved putting a quarter into one of the treads and seeing if the rubber did or did not reach George Washington's nose hair or something) and so I got a fresh set of tires as a gift from my parents. They also bought me a new hubcap, which was really terrific of them. I could definitely feel the difference in the ride, before and after, which might just have been me trying to sound like I knew what I was talking about when it came to cars. Because, duh, 11,000 miles.

One week of Spring Break left. I'm going to be working on take-home exams, oral presentations, graduate research, and trying to make it through Beloved without eating my hat over how gorgeous Toni Morrison's prose is and how I wish, wish, wish I could write like her someday.

I owe some of you RP tags. I promise, once I take a couple of Aspirin and soak my muscles, I'm yours.

Second day of work, in the books. I was trained on the register today (there are at least fifty different ways to tally one transaction, given the various gift cards, reward cards and tenders) and since this is the first time I've worked at any retail establishment, I was surprised at how quickly I picked up on things. I spent most of yesterday in the back room (which was little more than a storage closet with the ghosts of Precious Moments figurines looming like characters out of a Dickens novel), reading manuals and watching training DVDs. I'm a very tactile learner. I can read pamphlets and manuals and be fine, but I really start to retain things when I get my hands on the machinery. I'm optimistic. I know that I have to give this place a fair shake and, when it really comes down to it, it's a paycheck. I have to stow a lot of my pride, forget sometimes that I am a college graduate with two years' professional experience, and just, you know, work for a bi-weekly payout. Survival. That's all it is.

I was able to submit a couple of requests for days off. I'll be taking off next Thursday to go to the Preston-Child book signing event in Indianapolis, and I'll be off on June 5th to see Coldplay in Indy, too. They seem pretty flexible when it comes to scheduling, especially for part-timers like me. If I can get 20-30 hours in there per week, I should be okay financially.

I have a free evening. When I was home, I found a couple of discs of second season Battlestar Galactica that another_myself sent me waaaaay back in the day, so I think I'll repose with those. And read Cemetery Dance -- I want to be done with it in time for the book signing next week. I'm thinking of asking les authors which character they think I'm more like: Nora Kelly or Margo Green. I want to be more Nora than Margo. (But I suspect I'm more mousy than I give myself credit for.)