Ah, NASCAR. Whatta race today (even though Jeff Gordon won…grr.). Red-flagged with less than 10 laps to go! Kevin didn’t finish so bad, despite having tire problems at the end of the race. He finished a lap down, but still made 11th place (and did lead almost 50 laps of the race, earlier).

Wow, do I hate NBC’s coverage of races, though. (bring back FOX! bring back FOX!) I despise the geezer Benny last-time-I-raced-was-over-20-years-ago Parsons. He was going on and on today that fans only watch races for the wrecks. Whatta loser. Not the case, idiot. Granted, they are exciting, but that’s not the reason behind why fans watch. Its the excitement of the whole thing! After going to Daytona this summer for the Pepsi 400, I’m forever hooked. There’s nothing like watching and hearing the cars go around the track, full force. Talk about adrenaline! The colors, the blur of the cars going by at 185 mph, the roar of the engines….I almost feel like inserting a Tim Allen “arrr arrr” sound here.

So I watched all three Godfather movies this weekend. We rented the DVD set, and also watched a bunch of the extra stuff that comes along with it. I think the more that I watch those movies, the more that I appreciate them and the faster they run. I notice neat little things that I’ve missed before. Like in Part I, when Michael hides and rescues his father from being “hit” in the hospital, he leans over and tells him, “I’m here Dad, I’ll take care of you.” As soon as Michael leaves, the Godfather (while still in a comatose state) smiles and a tear falls from his eye. I never noticed that before. Other things pop at you, too — from repeated scenes and themes to the different ways the story is told. We finished watching ‘em all around 3AM. I coulda stayed and watched more of the extra stuff, but unfortunately I was outnumbered.

Off to go read more on The English Patient.

I’ve had my hair cut by a biker with a razor blade. Really! Got up this morning and trekked to Chelsea’s Hair Design to have my hair cut and highlighted by a guy named Kim. I wasn’t expecting much, but was looking forward to having my hair done (since the last time I had it done was Spring, back home). WOW. I felt like a movie star!

First off, my stylist (who’s also the owner of the salon, btw) walks in, right off his Harley, carrying his helmet. He’s got the coolest outfit on, complete with funky hair. He takes me back to the salon area and we discuss what to do with my hair. I swear, at this point I feel like I’m in TLC’s

He decides that I should put both highlights and low-lights in my hair. Low-lights? They’re the ones that help to texture your hair to focus more on the highlights you put in it. Anyways, to tone down my red, he put both blonde highlights and black (yes, black) low-lights in my hair. Its so cool looking! I know its hard to picture it, but its really neat. I’ll haveta hunt down a digital camera and post one up for all to see.

I got my first ever scalp massage and he cut/layered my hair mostly using a razor blade. He was so artistic about the whole thing, it was actually fun to watch! I walked outta the salon a new woman. I even went home and put on makeup, I felt so great. He gave me 10% off everything — and I still paid LESS than I’m used to in Savannah. Sweet!

So, I’m a mostly happy camper about now.

One thing that slightly brings me down: tomorrow my parents have a “reception” being held for them at the den of wolves…er, I mean former church. I shouldn’t be so pessimistic about the whole thing, because I know that there are geniune Christians there that love and support my family. I just dread the ones that look and act friendly and then twist the knife further into your back. Sigh. I wish I could go to it — but then I’m a bit glad I’m not. My temper is still pretty high (especially having watched The Godfather again tonight).

I’m just really thankful for the wise, spiritual, and amazing parents I have. They continue to amaze me at the way they’re handling this continually abusive situation. I wanna grow up to be just like ‘em. (Of course, after I have find some way to rectify this situation)

Here’s the email I got from my Icelandic prof:

Dear Rebekah, What a wise and good person you are! You have done just the right thing, and although I shall miss you in my class I will know that you have, really, other things to think about at this time and that they are, truly, more important than anything you would do with Old Icelandic this year. I wish you well with these problems and will pray for you and your family, if I ever get around to praying these days, which are always too busy. Do let me know if I can help you at any time during your career with us, ok? And in my opinion, knowing where and when to battle is not the same thing as being a quitter, which you will never be, I’m sure. Take care!

Yay. That could have been a lot more painful, but thankfully it wasn’t.

Wow, and I thought my hobbies were lame. This is a sport?

Watching the English Patient (and still think its pretty much full of drek). I’ve gotta give a presentation on “The English Patient and Hollywood” next week, so I think I’ll be watching and reading waaaaaay too much on it in the next coming days. Maybe I’ll get an appreciation for it, I dunno.

what’s your inner flower?

[c] s u g a r d

e w

Tomorrow, first thing, I’m telling Dr. Harris I’m dropping his class. Not looking forward to THAT conversation.

Adios, Old Icelandic.

I’ve come to the conclusion today that this language is so not me. After spending hours studying the stuff this weekend and last night, I arrived at class this morning still at least 2 lessons behind everyone else. Then I sit in class for 2 hours, struggling to understand what the hell the professor is saying (and he’s speaking English, not Icelandic). He’ll call on me to answer a question from the homework and I’ll stutter and say something that only 50% of the time is right and then make me try to say it in Icelandic. Its the first class I’ve taken in my academic career where I enter the class in a state of anxiety and halfway through have an extreme hatred for the language and/or the professor who is rapidly trying to make me absorb the stuff. I’ll take this as a good signal that I need to drop it. While I hate quitting on things, I think that this will be beneficial for me in the end — if nothing more than I’ll actually enjoy the first semester of my graduate school experience.

That said, I was a much happier camper when I finally came to the realization that dropping the course is a very viable option at this point. I have an appointment with my academic “mentor” on campus on Thursday to discuss this decision, but my mind is pretty much made up. Phew.

On a “brighter” note, I watched The Osbournes tonight on CBC…and it was without the bleeps. These crazy Canadians and their non-censored stuff.