the ASSassins thing is hilarious. people have thrown themselves into it with typical, neurotic, competitive, overachieving swattie flair. can you tell how jealous i am? i missed it first semester too, for reasons that elude me at the moment. eliz vs. becca is the best match anyone could devise. i won’t begin to guess who’ll win. rebecca’s coldblooded and merciless; then again, eliz’s babbling panic is likely just a devious front for the same.

despite this morning’s viewing of roman polanski’s death and the maiden — the first film in a while i’ve watched most of with my eyes closed — i’m in a much better mental state. nothing changed, of course; nothing does. i just woke up this morning and saw in color, and that was enough for me.

today was all-around strange, which i’m sure you noticed. woke up this morning to news that while israel had officially and finally pulled out, to no ceremony at all, not even screams of “about time!” because, simultaneously, europe had its breath taken away by a stunning electoral development in france. reading about this guy, i laughed in disbelief but also in the irony of it: sanctimoniously leftist france had just given one out of five votes to a man who proposed to create jobs by deporting the country’s 3.6 million immigrants. how exactly does this jive with their defense of arabs’ human rights?

i forewent the bus and walked home, brooding. what i wanted most of all was to talk to people, face to face: adults, preferably, who’d seen the world gag on its own hypocricy before and recover. even though i’ve never had her as a prof, i wanted to talk to dorsey; i just wanted to hear what she’d have to say. i’ve never really had a mentor and always wanted one — some strong, intelligent older woman to tell me that people have despaired before; and also that it will be all right.

oh yeah, and check me out: blogsitting for dissertation-frazzled webmistress of copenhagen tinka herself.

the residue left by this morning’s run-in with reality melted away. contentment and warm food took its place, lingering on my teeth. between both, and the shift from one to the other, i’m emotionally exhausted. and might — haven’t decided yet — chance the rally tomorrow regardless.

andrea asked if i would go to shul with her this morning to say kaddish for her grandfather so i went down to meet her at the prescribed time at the nondescript brick block that is the only synagogue in the city. my first instinct, halting me in midstep, is that something must have happened. one white van blocks the street. another blue van hugs the curb and a line of blue men stretches down the sidewalk. a television crew, ahh the white van people, hangs out behind the blue men. as i watch, increasingly agitated, old couples amble into view, pass the blue men, and enter through a narrow gate. a guard nods at them and a man in a red jacket, over the guard’s shoulder, snaps pictures.

andrea appears, immediately worried at the sight of me. by way of explanation, i point down the street. after a few moments, we start walking, trying not to look at the blue men. i think bitterly of how women walking into abortion clinics must feel. the guard at the gate stops us and the man in the red jacket smells blood.

the guard tries danish, then switches to english. are you tourists? we nod. (flash) passports. we hand them over. (flash) how long have you been in denmark? three months. (flash) are you accustomed to attending synagogue? in america. (flash. flash. flash. i must be making a front page somewhere.)

an older man behind me says excuse me and my interviewer and i part so that the old man can walk through. he smiles at me encouragingly. the guard gives me back my passport, nods me in and says shabbat shalom.

speaking of novels, this is a terrific site (link via leuschke)

carrots and stuffing are done. carrots actually in final form; stuffing to be finished and baked tomorrow. i was tired, and stressed a little about doing it right so it wasn’t as much fun as hamentashen. but having recently failed as a hairdresser, i decided i didn’t want to measure up sub-par as a cook too. if i can’t groom and i can’t kitchen — and we all know i can’t clean –, i’m virtually useless as a woman.

without ceremony or explanation for its absence — rudely, even, you could say (you cynic) — the sun strutted into the sky. clouds vanished just as abruptly, taking the wind with them. it’s an entirely different day than it was this morning. i don’t think we’ve quite processed it yet. it all happened so fast. after over a week of uninterrupted monotonous gray cold, there’s light again, and calm. still no warmth, of course, but one can’t have everything, and my lord i’ve learned to be grateful.

other than that, nothing too momentous has happened. andrea and i tripped gaily through fakta, assembling the necessary stuffing stuffs and honey and carrots for the honeyed carrots. learned the old norse word for dismembered horse penis (i swear, it was relevant.) received a fabulous email from the limping triplet, eliz and brig, re: housing options which i might have to quote here, at least in part. it looks like our backup choices, in case the wharton bloc (“it’s big, it’s beautiful, it’s blond and buxom”) doesn’t come thru, are: pitt quint w/ sarahk. and friend; dana/mertz blahblah; “Parrish beach. Naked. All year. Maybe a pup tent. Maybe just a puppy. Who knows?”; “Strath Haven. It’s almost guarenteed. Climate control. Each get our own room. We have given up on the biased/unbiased form. ESTER, FOR GOuy7futughkgtkvluyuyh ,

Ester, it’s Brig now. Strath Haven is NOT an option. It’s far and stupid and /. lokp ‘

Ester, it’s an APARTMENT. Pitt is ALSO far. It has a bathroom and kitchen.”

(they’re so cute when they fight.)

personally i’m w/ brig (strathaven over dead body). otherwise i’m open to suggestion.

i feel all itchy, like ’twas my hairs just cut. mais non: ’twas i doing the cutting, i ester never-held-a-razor. ’twas krissy patient in my white wooden chair and krissy’s hairs falling gentle onto the cope post to a soundtrack of butchies–bitchandanimal–ani–catiecurtis–teganandsara–dar. using cuong’s shaver (“it only has one setting,” he says hesitantly as he extends it to us) we (i should say we; tho i handled most of it, she took over from time to time) buzzed her hair down to slightly-longer-than fuzz length. it was a spur of the moment type decision, as was her presence at my apartment in the first place. one impulse led to another: supermarket –> dinner –> why not get rid of those unnecessary inches. neither of us had anything else to do with our evenings.

post, both cautious. she showered and i dressed her in my mustard seed shirt, by turns cowering and simpering, laughing at the absurdity of the situation. it ain’t perfect. patches reveal my initial clumsiness with scissors. the uneven back hammers in the point. butbutbut what can one do, what’s done is done, etc. and anyway it looks fine. one side is definitively better than the other, the side i did second and with more confidence. she looks cute. older. more intimidating.

*phew* my nerves are wracked. i think i’ll hold off playing hairdresser again for a while. stick to the things i know, like, uh, reading. tho i have to admit, roots is a lot less fun now that kunte has left africa. i have a sneaking suspicion it’s all downhill from here.

i think i’ve picked my classes for next semester. women society and politics w/ madame murphy (and sarah c.); discourse analysis w/ my advisor r.w.p. (and ross?); 20th cent. russian history w/ weinburg (who asked me if i was sure i didn’t want to take the seminar instead. like i could handle a history seminar.); and intro ed., w/ someone. ann maybe? anyone know anything about the ed profs? i can always hold off on intro ed and take race, ethnicity and public policy instead. is taking two history classes wise? decisions …

last nite i had wholesome family fun. accompanied krissy to her tough, adorable hostmom’s house, inhabited by two dogs, pictures of their 23 previous DIS host-kids, and two borrowed “grandkids” from a neighboring family. we watched brigid jones which i enjoyed more this time, maybe b/c i had fewer expectations of it matching [up to] the book.

this morning, heather and i made synchronized hostel reservations for barcelona. now it’s double-official that we’re going, barring the usual disasters, of course. heather heads off to roma this afternoon. i’m going to buy groceries so andrea and i can prepare (honeyed carrots and stuffing, hooboy) for sam’s brainchild: a simulated thanksgiving for her host-family. counting the various friends she’s enlisted to contribute, we’ll have 13 folks around the table, representing at least three countries and various regions of the u.s. i’m curious myself to see what people pop up with.