Rant and Ramble
taken out of context, i must seem so strange...31.3.02
and, for today's grand finale:
the winners of a contest for writing the worst possible opening line of a book.
the winners of a contest for writing the worst possible opening line of a book.
...and i realize that, save a stilted happyeaster phonecall with my parents, i've had absolutely no human contact today.
which is probably why i've posted, what, five times so far?
i am such a dork...
which is probably why i've posted, what, five times so far?
i am such a dork...
it's pouring invisible rain outside.
looking straight out my window, i can't see a single drop. but on the ground, seven stories away, puddles quiver disconsolately and the streetlights show glimpses of shiny, shuddering ground.
strange.
looking straight out my window, i can't see a single drop. but on the ground, seven stories away, puddles quiver disconsolately and the streetlights show glimpses of shiny, shuddering ground.
strange.
i haven't heard from my roommate in a while.
however, working on the assumption that she's still alive somewhere out there and will eventually return, i suppose i'd better hold off for the time being, and wait at least a day or two more before plundering her cheez-its.
however, working on the assumption that she's still alive somewhere out there and will eventually return, i suppose i'd better hold off for the time being, and wait at least a day or two more before plundering her cheez-its.
how can a teensy-weensy, one-sixteenth-shy-of-two-inches-tall mass of poorly cut illustration board loom so completely over my room and, not incidentally, my weekend?
berloody design projects are going to be the death of me.
berloody design projects are going to be the death of me.
i think there is nothing in the world quite so abjectly unnerving as the rush of adrenaline a hapless sleepnumbed body recieves as it is jolted awake from a nightmare.
30.3.02
i had easter dinner tonight.
granted, it is easter, after all. but considering the circumstances, i wasn't really expecting to have easter dinner.
but, i was pleasantly suprised by an invitation from a considerate friend, and therefore found myself jostling along the westbound subway line on my way to an honest-to-goodness easter dinner.
the stone steps to the doorway were steep and smooth, leading past gardens shrouded in spring evening, and the unlocked front door revealed a warm and bustling house. the flurry of introductions was breifly interrupted by a hug from his grandmother, an impish, energetic bundle of hospitality. we watched COPS for a while until dinner was announced, and then all gathered around a tulip-bedecked table and dug in. partway through the meal, we paused to say grace. hands clasped across wine glasses and generations, and seemingly irreverent heads bowed as low murmurous voices gave thanks. i didn't know the prayer, but i'm glad i was there.
by the time dinner was over, i'd made friends with two dogs and a few cousins, eaten myself silly, and been given a hunk of home-made bread, a home-made coconut easter egg, and a pair of jeans.
on the train ride home, i thought of my family and wondered whether my suddenly-teenaged siblings were going to hunt for eggs tomorrow; whether they'd deign to participate in such a juvenile gesture, or if they'd just watch our neighbors' three-year-olds scamper across the yard and pretend not to be jealous.
granted, it is easter, after all. but considering the circumstances, i wasn't really expecting to have easter dinner.
but, i was pleasantly suprised by an invitation from a considerate friend, and therefore found myself jostling along the westbound subway line on my way to an honest-to-goodness easter dinner.
the stone steps to the doorway were steep and smooth, leading past gardens shrouded in spring evening, and the unlocked front door revealed a warm and bustling house. the flurry of introductions was breifly interrupted by a hug from his grandmother, an impish, energetic bundle of hospitality. we watched COPS for a while until dinner was announced, and then all gathered around a tulip-bedecked table and dug in. partway through the meal, we paused to say grace. hands clasped across wine glasses and generations, and seemingly irreverent heads bowed as low murmurous voices gave thanks. i didn't know the prayer, but i'm glad i was there.
by the time dinner was over, i'd made friends with two dogs and a few cousins, eaten myself silly, and been given a hunk of home-made bread, a home-made coconut easter egg, and a pair of jeans.
on the train ride home, i thought of my family and wondered whether my suddenly-teenaged siblings were going to hunt for eggs tomorrow; whether they'd deign to participate in such a juvenile gesture, or if they'd just watch our neighbors' three-year-olds scamper across the yard and pretend not to be jealous.
i feel so soft today.
soft, and maybe a little dehydrated.
soft, and maybe a little dehydrated.
29.3.02
"spy satellites, for example, move very rapidly as they swoop close to earth's surface not because they are propelled with powerful on-board rockets but because their highly eccentric orbits are governed by Kepler's laws."
i hate that.
i hate how it creates the subtle, underlying sense that we are in charge. it's like saying that apples fall because of newton's law of gravity. the truth is exactly the opposite, and it is nothing but our pervasive egocentrism that leads us to phrase things as though we have any control over the basic functioning of the universe. and, it implies a permanace that simply doesn't exist in the scientific world.
a few thousand years ago, the stars moved in the sky because of aristotle's theory of the celestial sphere.
i suppose it's just another way we try to rationalize it all. constellations are the same thing, the conceit of stellar subdivisions, trying to find some way to conceptualize infinity.
us humans are so silly.
i hate that.
i hate how it creates the subtle, underlying sense that we are in charge. it's like saying that apples fall because of newton's law of gravity. the truth is exactly the opposite, and it is nothing but our pervasive egocentrism that leads us to phrase things as though we have any control over the basic functioning of the universe. and, it implies a permanace that simply doesn't exist in the scientific world.
a few thousand years ago, the stars moved in the sky because of aristotle's theory of the celestial sphere.
i suppose it's just another way we try to rationalize it all. constellations are the same thing, the conceit of stellar subdivisions, trying to find some way to conceptualize infinity.
us humans are so silly.
when i was little, my mom cut my bangs for me.
this usually took place the day before some important and stressful event. my hair, at this point, was blonde and silky and perfectly straight.
my mom would sit me down in the kitchen with a towel around my shoulders and a little spray bottle of water. she'd snip a careful, decisive line across my forehead, exposing my hitherto hidden eyebrows. then she'd take a step back, cluck her tongue against the roof of her mouth, and begin the process of trimming.
because, of course, one side was longer than the other.
so the left side rose a few centimeters; inevitably, it was a centimeter or two too many, and she'd switch over to the right side.
repeat.
gradually, the line of my bangs crept higher and higher. at some point, she'd (for some reason yet unknown to me) concentrate on the middle part, with the end result being that i was trundled off to school with a very small (and still unveven) sort of rainbow-shaped arc of hair across my forehead.
"just a little off the left... oops, okay, a little off the right side... hmm... maybe a little more..."
d'ya think that kind of thing is genetic?
this usually took place the day before some important and stressful event. my hair, at this point, was blonde and silky and perfectly straight.
my mom would sit me down in the kitchen with a towel around my shoulders and a little spray bottle of water. she'd snip a careful, decisive line across my forehead, exposing my hitherto hidden eyebrows. then she'd take a step back, cluck her tongue against the roof of her mouth, and begin the process of trimming.
because, of course, one side was longer than the other.
so the left side rose a few centimeters; inevitably, it was a centimeter or two too many, and she'd switch over to the right side.
repeat.
gradually, the line of my bangs crept higher and higher. at some point, she'd (for some reason yet unknown to me) concentrate on the middle part, with the end result being that i was trundled off to school with a very small (and still unveven) sort of rainbow-shaped arc of hair across my forehead.
"just a little off the left... oops, okay, a little off the right side... hmm... maybe a little more..."
d'ya think that kind of thing is genetic?
...squeek...
28.3.02
i keep a spare contact case in my purse, in case one rips or i have to go to sleep, or for some other reason need to take them out.
i haven't used it in a while; as a result, when i tried to put my contacts in it last night, there was very little fluid. as a result of that, one of my contacts was all shrivelly and dried this morning when i attempted to put them back in.
i walked home, half-blind, the world strange and distorted. with semi-monocular vision, i attempted to navigate tree roots and sidewalks. the dirt had something sparkly in it, and in my blurry state, the ground seemed alive with little glittered rings.
it reminded me of when i was younger. the doctor had walked slowly into the little cramped room where my mother and i waited.
"you do know that your daughter can't see, don't you?"
several tests and a pink-and-aqua pair of glasses later, i discovered the world anew. i marveled at the crisp outlines of leaves on the trees and the ability to recognize friends across the schoolyard.
but i always took my glasses off when i looked at the stars. i liked them better as soft nebulous orbs, rather than tiny sharp points that seemed to wound the sky. every other part of my life became better and more exciting when i saw it clearly, but i loved the hazy stars.
i haven't used it in a while; as a result, when i tried to put my contacts in it last night, there was very little fluid. as a result of that, one of my contacts was all shrivelly and dried this morning when i attempted to put them back in.
i walked home, half-blind, the world strange and distorted. with semi-monocular vision, i attempted to navigate tree roots and sidewalks. the dirt had something sparkly in it, and in my blurry state, the ground seemed alive with little glittered rings.
it reminded me of when i was younger. the doctor had walked slowly into the little cramped room where my mother and i waited.
"you do know that your daughter can't see, don't you?"
several tests and a pink-and-aqua pair of glasses later, i discovered the world anew. i marveled at the crisp outlines of leaves on the trees and the ability to recognize friends across the schoolyard.
but i always took my glasses off when i looked at the stars. i liked them better as soft nebulous orbs, rather than tiny sharp points that seemed to wound the sky. every other part of my life became better and more exciting when i saw it clearly, but i loved the hazy stars.
27.3.02
a new link, something i found a while ago reading someone else's page, both of which i enjoy.
so, enjoy as well, if you wish.
more comprehensive posts to follow, as soon as my brain stops thinking in terms of right angles and elmer's glue.
so, enjoy as well, if you wish.
more comprehensive posts to follow, as soon as my brain stops thinking in terms of right angles and elmer's glue.
coffee. mmmmm...
26.3.02
and suddenly, inexplicably, i feel like crying.
full speed ahead into the new term. 3-D design, an astronomy class, apocalyptic lit, art history, computer imaging and humanities. i'm personally just glad that i don't have to take "math for design."
25.3.02
our room was crisp and cold as we came bustling in, exploding with suitcases and guitar cases and plastic bags stuffed with sundry items that didn't fit anywhere else. the blinds were open and everything was clean, and we threw bags on the beds as i gave nika a hurried tour.
getting a visit from an old friend is such an interesting experience. it makes all the little intricacies of my life seem both more trivial and more interesting than usual. we went to the museum, south street, wandered around. recalled events of high school and gawky softball practices, shared jokes that nobody here has any chance of understanding.
i was vaguely afraid that there had been some schism created between who i "was" and who i "am," that there was a significant difference between the person i am now and who i had been in highschool and my life before. but we all sat at peter's making breakfast, the people who know me best here and one of my closest friends from home... and i felt perfectly comfortable with all of them, no tensions within myself. which i suppose i should have expected, but it's nice to know anyway.
one doesn't want too many dichotomies, after all.
getting a visit from an old friend is such an interesting experience. it makes all the little intricacies of my life seem both more trivial and more interesting than usual. we went to the museum, south street, wandered around. recalled events of high school and gawky softball practices, shared jokes that nobody here has any chance of understanding.
i was vaguely afraid that there had been some schism created between who i "was" and who i "am," that there was a significant difference between the person i am now and who i had been in highschool and my life before. but we all sat at peter's making breakfast, the people who know me best here and one of my closest friends from home... and i felt perfectly comfortable with all of them, no tensions within myself. which i suppose i should have expected, but it's nice to know anyway.
one doesn't want too many dichotomies, after all.
22.3.02
sigh.
makes me sad when people take something in a nearly complete inverse to the way i meant it.
wasn't offended, and didn't mean to.
makes me sad when people take something in a nearly complete inverse to the way i meant it.
wasn't offended, and didn't mean to.
and on the second day of spring, it snows.
upstairs, we'd been listening to familliar songs with a cello accompaniment, and songasming over the breathtaking result. someone clomped up the stairs, asking,
it's spring, right?
yeah...
then why is it snowing?
at which point i leapt across the room, cackling with glee, gave him a delighted kiss, and flew down the stairs to put my shoes on.
outside, the marmaladestreetlight showed little soft flakes drifting leisurely down, just barely enough to frost the parked cars. out came the cameras, with seconds-long exposures to catch the path of the snow.
and if they turn out well, i might just have to scan them and find a place for them here.
upstairs, we'd been listening to familliar songs with a cello accompaniment, and songasming over the breathtaking result. someone clomped up the stairs, asking,
it's spring, right?
yeah...
then why is it snowing?
at which point i leapt across the room, cackling with glee, gave him a delighted kiss, and flew down the stairs to put my shoes on.
outside, the marmaladestreetlight showed little soft flakes drifting leisurely down, just barely enough to frost the parked cars. out came the cameras, with seconds-long exposures to catch the path of the snow.
and if they turn out well, i might just have to scan them and find a place for them here.
21.3.02
stumbling around the recently blogged list, i discovered this.
makes me wonder, again, what this page is for. if the things i say here are pure self-indulgence, if i'm writing anything that's worth the time of whomsoever decides to read it. if i should be channeling it all out into the real world, instead of turning it into little shapes on a screen.
then again, most of my life is defined by those same little shapes, on the screen and on pages and in my mind.
i've had a webpage, in some form of disrepair or another, for three years now. i've changed during that time, and my voice, my writing, has changed to reflect that. my first page was little but the disjointed ramblings of an angsty sixteen-year-old... and i don't know that what i'm writing now is much different. more eloquent, i'd like to think. less personal, maybe, too.
i don't direct my posts towards people so much as into the void of the internet, of the universe, to some arcane and faceless audience that exists mostly in my imagination. i'm still writing for myself; this has always been primarily a selfish endeavor, some place to spill the little nagging thoughts that richochet around inside my head all day.
spring is here, and outside the window, a tree softly explodes into pale green. the rain has finally stopped, and for now the sky is blue.
so i'm still writing, and good luck getting me to stop.
makes me wonder, again, what this page is for. if the things i say here are pure self-indulgence, if i'm writing anything that's worth the time of whomsoever decides to read it. if i should be channeling it all out into the real world, instead of turning it into little shapes on a screen.
then again, most of my life is defined by those same little shapes, on the screen and on pages and in my mind.
i've had a webpage, in some form of disrepair or another, for three years now. i've changed during that time, and my voice, my writing, has changed to reflect that. my first page was little but the disjointed ramblings of an angsty sixteen-year-old... and i don't know that what i'm writing now is much different. more eloquent, i'd like to think. less personal, maybe, too.
i don't direct my posts towards people so much as into the void of the internet, of the universe, to some arcane and faceless audience that exists mostly in my imagination. i'm still writing for myself; this has always been primarily a selfish endeavor, some place to spill the little nagging thoughts that richochet around inside my head all day.
spring is here, and outside the window, a tree softly explodes into pale green. the rain has finally stopped, and for now the sky is blue.
so i'm still writing, and good luck getting me to stop.
this house is full of weird animals.
there's the really fat hampster, which shuffles around its cage only to eat and drink, and otherwise cloisters itself away in its little nest.
and then, there's the bizarre albino frogthing, which just creeps me out to no end. it's just so pale and sqirmy and has these little black toenail things and ugh. i'm not particularly squeamish, but this thing just gives me the heebiejeebies.
is that spelled correctly? heebyjeebies? hmm...
there's the really fat hampster, which shuffles around its cage only to eat and drink, and otherwise cloisters itself away in its little nest.
and then, there's the bizarre albino frogthing, which just creeps me out to no end. it's just so pale and sqirmy and has these little black toenail things and ugh. i'm not particularly squeamish, but this thing just gives me the heebiejeebies.
is that spelled correctly? heebyjeebies? hmm...
20.3.02
waffle, ice cream, maple syrup and, just to make life perfect, strawberries.
aaahh....
aaahh....
encapsulated in their own warm universe, they spin and twirl, connecting breifly and then spiraling away. sometimes a bond forms, pure electric energy, and they stay sosonear to each other, touching across their whole length and breadth until entropy and gravity pull them apart again. sometimes they are trapped in one place, slamming against the wall over and over, turning tight circles as the rest fly past.
yes, i anthropomorphize my socks.
they work hard, i think they deserve a little humanization.
besides, i anthropomorphize everything.
yes, i anthropomorphize my socks.
they work hard, i think they deserve a little humanization.
besides, i anthropomorphize everything.
19.3.02
listening to live guitar played by people i know beats mtv by a huge margin.
just for the record.
just for the record.
flip
flip
oprah.
flip
soap opera.
soap opera.
pokemon.
flip
flip
flip
infomercial.
flip
cooking show.
flip.
i can feel my eyes glazing over.
flip
mtv2.
flip
flip
live feed from a local highschool german test.
flip
spanish channel.
oprah.
i can feel my brain rotting.
i knew there was a reason i don't own a tv.
flip
oprah.
flip
soap opera.
soap opera.
pokemon.
flip
flip
flip
infomercial.
flip
cooking show.
flip.
i can feel my eyes glazing over.
flip
mtv2.
flip
flip
live feed from a local highschool german test.
flip
spanish channel.
oprah.
i can feel my brain rotting.
i knew there was a reason i don't own a tv.
strange that, when you desperately want to be alone, the world crowds around with flashbulbs and theme songs and plaid pants; when you finally are alone, the silence is deafening and all you want is the right pair of eyes to speak across that distance and fill the void.
i meant to sleep in late today. late, until three or four, roll out of bed groggy and disoriented and stumble to the shower and then down peter's interminable stairs to a breakfast of sorts.
however, it's only noonish, and i feel annoyingly well-rested and, instead of a few hours to kill, i have now a full day ahead of me with absolutely nothing to do.
there are, i suppose, worse things.
however, it's only noonish, and i feel annoyingly well-rested and, instead of a few hours to kill, i have now a full day ahead of me with absolutely nothing to do.
there are, i suppose, worse things.
18.3.02
and happy birthday, dragoneyes. i miss you.
we make plans so that god has something to laugh at.
everything was to be perfect, and it's not that i'm bitter so much as just wistful and longing.
but sitting in the car we could hear the snowflakes falling, whispering against the windshield. the poor reception and lack of cd-cassette converter allowed us opportunity for long, languid conversations spattered with little sarcastic snippets and observations on the surrounding scenery.
"did that just say "deer processing?"
we just passed a shed with a sign that said "deer processing."
where the hell are we?"
short hair makes him look different, and i tried to pinpoint exactly what that change was. occasionally i would glance over and be startled, remind myself that a change in hair, as i should know, does not make for a change in personality.
though then again, sometimes it does.
i think back to my pathetic two-punch strike against my parents, my experiences, my image of youth and innocence.
waist-length hair felled in one swipe so that it barely reached my shoulders; a month later, even that gone, so that less than an inch stood nakedly against my head.
i shrieked every time i saw a mirror, for at least that first week.
and with nothing to hide behind, lacking the reflexive femininity of a cascade of curls, i think it did change who i am and how i interact with the world. i think i can say that i became more aggressive, more outspoken, at least in part because people looked at me and expected it.
in the soft light of late evening, i look up from where his hand rests on mine in a lull between gearshifts, watch his left hand at the steering wheel, arm up to shoulders, to the face i know as well as my own. even without the tumbling shock of hair i'm used to. he slants his eyes at me, smiles.
the snow hurls itself into the headlights.
everything was to be perfect, and it's not that i'm bitter so much as just wistful and longing.
but sitting in the car we could hear the snowflakes falling, whispering against the windshield. the poor reception and lack of cd-cassette converter allowed us opportunity for long, languid conversations spattered with little sarcastic snippets and observations on the surrounding scenery.
"did that just say "deer processing?"
we just passed a shed with a sign that said "deer processing."
where the hell are we?"
short hair makes him look different, and i tried to pinpoint exactly what that change was. occasionally i would glance over and be startled, remind myself that a change in hair, as i should know, does not make for a change in personality.
though then again, sometimes it does.
i think back to my pathetic two-punch strike against my parents, my experiences, my image of youth and innocence.
waist-length hair felled in one swipe so that it barely reached my shoulders; a month later, even that gone, so that less than an inch stood nakedly against my head.
i shrieked every time i saw a mirror, for at least that first week.
and with nothing to hide behind, lacking the reflexive femininity of a cascade of curls, i think it did change who i am and how i interact with the world. i think i can say that i became more aggressive, more outspoken, at least in part because people looked at me and expected it.
in the soft light of late evening, i look up from where his hand rests on mine in a lull between gearshifts, watch his left hand at the steering wheel, arm up to shoulders, to the face i know as well as my own. even without the tumbling shock of hair i'm used to. he slants his eyes at me, smiles.
the snow hurls itself into the headlights.
16.3.02
strange slightly scratchy feeling, which momentarily resolves itself into strange slightly scratchy bed, feet dangling over the edge and notmy pillow smashed into the wall beside me. the room is dark and unfamilliar, a single swatch of grey light filtering through a small window some distance away. reaching out, i touch carpet and a pile of cds.
and, shortly, my mind realigns itself, and the world makes sense again.
i'm off into the wild blue yonder, with no real plan or any clear idea of where i'm going to spend the next week and a half. i have definite places to stay, of course, i'm not likely to be out on the streets.
i just have no idea when i'm going to be at which place, or how exactly i'm getting there, or when exactly i'm going to be able to see the people i want to see, and for how long.
it'll be an adventure.
(and thanks, peter, for the bed thus far (and the computer right now).)
and, shortly, my mind realigns itself, and the world makes sense again.
i'm off into the wild blue yonder, with no real plan or any clear idea of where i'm going to spend the next week and a half. i have definite places to stay, of course, i'm not likely to be out on the streets.
i just have no idea when i'm going to be at which place, or how exactly i'm getting there, or when exactly i'm going to be able to see the people i want to see, and for how long.
it'll be an adventure.
(and thanks, peter, for the bed thus far (and the computer right now).)
15.3.02
"it's just an inch from me to you, depending on which map you use" -jewel
anyone know the public transportation situation in towanda, pa?
grr.
anyone know the public transportation situation in towanda, pa?
grr.
though i would like to commend them for including that article at all.
i had a dream last night; the musical was cinderella, and i had been cast as the lead - four weeks into rehersal, when the original cinderella couldn't do it for some reason i don't remember. it was a perfect actor's nightmare: everyone else had been rehersing for a month and knew their lines, and i was thrown into it with no script and only my knowledge of the disney cartoon to help me.
there was something about hockey and snow, too, and raking leaves. and chocolate birthday cake and old friends with really sad faces.
that's the second dream this week with chocolate birthday cake in it. hm.
i had a dream last night; the musical was cinderella, and i had been cast as the lead - four weeks into rehersal, when the original cinderella couldn't do it for some reason i don't remember. it was a perfect actor's nightmare: everyone else had been rehersing for a month and knew their lines, and i was thrown into it with no script and only my knowledge of the disney cartoon to help me.
there was something about hockey and snow, too, and raking leaves. and chocolate birthday cake and old friends with really sad faces.
that's the second dream this week with chocolate birthday cake in it. hm.
14.3.02
it just makes me wonder.
do they have someone on the payroll under "hypocrite," or did glamour actually follow a three-page article entitled "learn to love your imperfect self" with an eight-page "urban safari" fashion spread, featuring a painfully thin and not noticably imperfect model, accidentally?
you'd think they'd at least distract you with a shoe ad or something.
do they have someone on the payroll under "hypocrite," or did glamour actually follow a three-page article entitled "learn to love your imperfect self" with an eight-page "urban safari" fashion spread, featuring a painfully thin and not noticably imperfect model, accidentally?
you'd think they'd at least distract you with a shoe ad or something.
i am the bastard child of technology.
blogger unloves me, as do flowers.com and webmail.
sigh.
to make matters worse, the laces of my left boot defiantly caught themselves on the eyelets of my right boot as i attempted to traverse my room, sending me hurling into my roommate's closet, dislodging a sweet thank you letter from her first graders, and eventually depositing me on the oh-so-solid tile floor.
my elbow hurts.
i ate two strawberries to make up for it.
and this is neat, too.
blogger unloves me, as do flowers.com and webmail.
sigh.
to make matters worse, the laces of my left boot defiantly caught themselves on the eyelets of my right boot as i attempted to traverse my room, sending me hurling into my roommate's closet, dislodging a sweet thank you letter from her first graders, and eventually depositing me on the oh-so-solid tile floor.
my elbow hurts.
i ate two strawberries to make up for it.
and this is neat, too.
i was waiting, idly leafing through a book, leaning against a table.
on the shelf across from me, books began to shudder as the ground rumbled deeply.
my california-bred mind immediately thought 'earthquake,' and i mentally caluclated whether or not that table was sturdy enough to be worth crawling under.
then the part of my mind firmly planted in philadelphia kicked in, and i realized the store was situated over subway tracks.
do you think this is what they mean by culture shock?
on the shelf across from me, books began to shudder as the ground rumbled deeply.
my california-bred mind immediately thought 'earthquake,' and i mentally caluclated whether or not that table was sturdy enough to be worth crawling under.
then the part of my mind firmly planted in philadelphia kicked in, and i realized the store was situated over subway tracks.
do you think this is what they mean by culture shock?
the phone rings at two am.
i answer it.
who is this?
thinking it someone i know trying to differentiate me from my roommate, i give my name.
what dorm are you in?
i have no excuse, except that it was two am. i gave the name of my dorm.
are you a freshman? you must be.
i begin to wake up. i ask who is calling. he gives me some vaguely unfamilliar name.
don't you remember me?
no, i don't.
i met you at the party the other night.
did you.
you were pretty wasted.
i think you have the wrong number.
no, i'm calling for you. sure you don't remember me?
no, i don't.
you were pretty wasted.
i don't think i was.
well, you were looking pretty hot...
click.
and thence to spend the rest of the night restlessly half awake, alternately thinking of all the witty things i should have said and wondering if, given the knowledge of my dorm and phone number, a psychotic frat boy could somehow sneak into the dorm, jimmy open my door and kill me in my sleep.
in other news, i've decided to devote this, the first day of my spring break, to accomplishing absolutely as little as possible.
ah, damn, i just realized i already made my bed.
okay, starting now. no more accomplishments, all day long. i swear.
...does blogging count?
i answer it.
who is this?
thinking it someone i know trying to differentiate me from my roommate, i give my name.
what dorm are you in?
i have no excuse, except that it was two am. i gave the name of my dorm.
are you a freshman? you must be.
i begin to wake up. i ask who is calling. he gives me some vaguely unfamilliar name.
don't you remember me?
no, i don't.
i met you at the party the other night.
did you.
you were pretty wasted.
i think you have the wrong number.
no, i'm calling for you. sure you don't remember me?
no, i don't.
you were pretty wasted.
i don't think i was.
well, you were looking pretty hot...
click.
and thence to spend the rest of the night restlessly half awake, alternately thinking of all the witty things i should have said and wondering if, given the knowledge of my dorm and phone number, a psychotic frat boy could somehow sneak into the dorm, jimmy open my door and kill me in my sleep.
in other news, i've decided to devote this, the first day of my spring break, to accomplishing absolutely as little as possible.
ah, damn, i just realized i already made my bed.
okay, starting now. no more accomplishments, all day long. i swear.
...does blogging count?
13.3.02
does anyone else find the idea of a local forecast music playlist just ever so vaguely amusing?
morning.
eyes flutter into half-open awareness, the sky my favorite flat grey through the blinds, afghan rumpled around our feet.
today is a day that wants a long walk in the rain, followed by a hot bubblebath with a glass of port and a good book. a warm bed to curl in after, with soft music and good conversation, maybe bread and cheese. mmm, definitely bread and cheese. earl grey in my favorite mug. softcotton sheets and the pattering of rain. ahhh...
unfortunately, most of those are out of reach. the walking was accomplished and nicely, but good luck getting me to set one delicate little toe into the dorm tub. slimy weirdness does not equal relaxing bubbles, and i'm not about to smuggle port in (even if i could afford it) if i'm not going to have the bath to match. the bread is moldy and the last of our cheese was sacrficed to a chips and salsa conglomeration last night. perhaps the earl grey and conversation later on, but, as my roommate so appropriately noted, a seven-story drop makes for little rain-noise. and my bed will be so cold...
eyes flutter into half-open awareness, the sky my favorite flat grey through the blinds, afghan rumpled around our feet.
today is a day that wants a long walk in the rain, followed by a hot bubblebath with a glass of port and a good book. a warm bed to curl in after, with soft music and good conversation, maybe bread and cheese. mmm, definitely bread and cheese. earl grey in my favorite mug. softcotton sheets and the pattering of rain. ahhh...
unfortunately, most of those are out of reach. the walking was accomplished and nicely, but good luck getting me to set one delicate little toe into the dorm tub. slimy weirdness does not equal relaxing bubbles, and i'm not about to smuggle port in (even if i could afford it) if i'm not going to have the bath to match. the bread is moldy and the last of our cheese was sacrficed to a chips and salsa conglomeration last night. perhaps the earl grey and conversation later on, but, as my roommate so appropriately noted, a seven-story drop makes for little rain-noise. and my bed will be so cold...
12.3.02
"in this fasion had sandre and tomasso discovered that socerers cannot, in fact, be posioned." -guy gavriel kay
when reading your favorite book again for the fifth or sixth time, you can anticipate moments like these, and it makes the experience all the better.
when reading your favorite book again for the fifth or sixth time, you can anticipate moments like these, and it makes the experience all the better.
11.3.02
whoever said
time is relative
wasn't kidding.
time is relative
wasn't kidding.
paint.
under my fingernails, in my hair, on my keyboard, on my cellphone, on every pair of pants i own. on the floor, on the heater, on my bed. under my bed. on my roommate's humidifier (with apologies). on my desk, on my shoes, behind my knees, smeared on the ivy and occasionally across my face.
and, every so often and when the gods are with me, on the design project that was supposed to be handed in three days ago.
under my fingernails, in my hair, on my keyboard, on my cellphone, on every pair of pants i own. on the floor, on the heater, on my bed. under my bed. on my roommate's humidifier (with apologies). on my desk, on my shoes, behind my knees, smeared on the ivy and occasionally across my face.
and, every so often and when the gods are with me, on the design project that was supposed to be handed in three days ago.
"joy, it has its own justice..." -ani
undskyld, min l�ve. tilgive mig.
undskyld, min l�ve. tilgive mig.
10.3.02
"i will follow while you're singing my soul to sleep" - voices on the verge
fingers move like lightening along strings, careful concentration vying with sure satisfaction on his face, and the music fills the room, the room stretches to hold it, notes spinning through my spine and down my limbs, and i close my eyes and smile. listening to his music is like watching his mind transcribed in air.
you don't have to go to the concert, he says.
it won't be very good,
he says.
i'm going, i say.
oh, i'm going.
fingers move like lightening along strings, careful concentration vying with sure satisfaction on his face, and the music fills the room, the room stretches to hold it, notes spinning through my spine and down my limbs, and i close my eyes and smile. listening to his music is like watching his mind transcribed in air.
you don't have to go to the concert, he says.
it won't be very good,
he says.
i'm going, i say.
oh, i'm going.
9.3.02
the ice cream had melted overnight, and as we ate our now-milkshakes, we deliberated over the mood of the sky. he said that this was the kind of overcast he liked, and after a moment, i agreed. clouds sat grey and low, and the energy in the atmosphere promised a storm.
shortly after we began walking, the rain started to fall in slow, indecisive drops. by the time we finished our shopping and coffee, it had picked up and we chuckled against the wind, platic bags snapping at our sides.
along the way home, we each sang softly to ourselves, our voices each rising and falling against the other's although the songs were not the same.
"and i am walking, out in the rain..."
shortly after we began walking, the rain started to fall in slow, indecisive drops. by the time we finished our shopping and coffee, it had picked up and we chuckled against the wind, platic bags snapping at our sides.
along the way home, we each sang softly to ourselves, our voices each rising and falling against the other's although the songs were not the same.
"and i am walking, out in the rain..."
8.3.02
acting for cameras is completely different than acting on a stage.
the set is strange and incomplete and there is no audience. there's no audience, and therefore all the basic rules of blocking and projecting are changed.
the director tells me to move up a foot, stand right in front of him, and all my stage instincts scream. i can't stand there, i'll be blocking him, the audience --
watching the first take, i think that i should have held myself differently, turned more to the left, you can't see my face...and then they switch to camera two, and it turns out i was standing perfectly.
strange stuff.
the set is strange and incomplete and there is no audience. there's no audience, and therefore all the basic rules of blocking and projecting are changed.
the director tells me to move up a foot, stand right in front of him, and all my stage instincts scream. i can't stand there, i'll be blocking him, the audience --
watching the first take, i think that i should have held myself differently, turned more to the left, you can't see my face...and then they switch to camera two, and it turns out i was standing perfectly.
strange stuff.
the sky is a warm grey, and the air is soft. the weather, after much deliberation, seems to have come down on the side of spring.
in the omnipresent damp of northern california, all the seasons are muted. winter is fog with occasional rain; summer is fog with occasional sun.
autumn here had me scurrying about in delight, carefully selecting favorite trees to watch ease through the spectrum. i took half a roll of film during our first snowstorm. and now, spring is sneaking in, and i'm thrilled all over again.
we had wildflowers, of course, and a semi-annual hike to see them. but the trees never lost their leaves, and therefore had no incentive to cover themselves in beautiful little pink blossoms come spring.
walking along, i find myself alternately distracted by the incredible beauty of the world around me, and the incredible joy of the world inside me.
in the omnipresent damp of northern california, all the seasons are muted. winter is fog with occasional rain; summer is fog with occasional sun.
autumn here had me scurrying about in delight, carefully selecting favorite trees to watch ease through the spectrum. i took half a roll of film during our first snowstorm. and now, spring is sneaking in, and i'm thrilled all over again.
we had wildflowers, of course, and a semi-annual hike to see them. but the trees never lost their leaves, and therefore had no incentive to cover themselves in beautiful little pink blossoms come spring.
walking along, i find myself alternately distracted by the incredible beauty of the world around me, and the incredible joy of the world inside me.
7.3.02
"i can see you staring at the sky
undressing the moonlight with your eyes"
undressing the moonlight with your eyes"
and - in a complete reversal of one of my long-held life tenents - i love waking up.
6.3.02
i've forgotton the shape of my head.
my hair sits in a ridiculous little explosion, rebelling against the confining sting of elastic which i've forced around it. by definition, then, it must be long enough to be put into a ponytail; a very recent development, and for the first time in years. at just-barely-shoulder-length, the ponytail is almost as thick as my wrist. an embarrasingly long time yesterday was spent in front of the mirror, pulling it all back tight against my head, releasing it and feeling the curls against my face, pulling it back again.
should i shave it again?
there are alot of strangely potent associations with shaving my head.
part of it has to do with image, and the breaking thereof. part of it is a deep sense of self-defiance, because i have now the opportunity to hide behind my hair. days when i feel bland and drab and avoid mirrors, i can tilt my head forward and be safely within a curtain of voracious curls. it's a psychological crutch, and i have a strong visceral aversion to those.
there is a head-shaving mood, when i feel stagnated and angsty and need something changed, drastic, now. cutting my hair is better than other things i could cut - though usually i don't do either.
strangely, i'm not in that mood. i am, in fact, about as far from that mood as i've ever been. certainly i've never been so far from it for so long.
i'm not craving change, i don't need to shock people any more, and i quite like my hair as it is.
and yet.
my hair sits in a ridiculous little explosion, rebelling against the confining sting of elastic which i've forced around it. by definition, then, it must be long enough to be put into a ponytail; a very recent development, and for the first time in years. at just-barely-shoulder-length, the ponytail is almost as thick as my wrist. an embarrasingly long time yesterday was spent in front of the mirror, pulling it all back tight against my head, releasing it and feeling the curls against my face, pulling it back again.
should i shave it again?
there are alot of strangely potent associations with shaving my head.
part of it has to do with image, and the breaking thereof. part of it is a deep sense of self-defiance, because i have now the opportunity to hide behind my hair. days when i feel bland and drab and avoid mirrors, i can tilt my head forward and be safely within a curtain of voracious curls. it's a psychological crutch, and i have a strong visceral aversion to those.
there is a head-shaving mood, when i feel stagnated and angsty and need something changed, drastic, now. cutting my hair is better than other things i could cut - though usually i don't do either.
strangely, i'm not in that mood. i am, in fact, about as far from that mood as i've ever been. certainly i've never been so far from it for so long.
i'm not craving change, i don't need to shock people any more, and i quite like my hair as it is.
and yet.
and i am
just
tired enough
that the
scattering
of paint
paper
dried glue
on the floor
wouldn't matter
in the face
of softquiet bed
but
i have
a roommate
and thus
a responsibility
to clean up.
(which is okay
because i should
anyway)
just
tired enough
that the
scattering
of paint
paper
dried glue
on the floor
wouldn't matter
in the face
of softquiet bed
but
i have
a roommate
and thus
a responsibility
to clean up.
(which is okay
because i should
anyway)
i shouldn't put my pajamas on.
i know i shouldn't put my pajamas on.
once i put my pajamas on, i'm out of "work" mode and into "mmm-i'm-wearing-soft-pajamas" mode.
once i'm in my pajamas, i'm almost in bed.
i can't afford to be almost in bed, i have far too much work to do.
i should not put my pajamas on.
but they are so, so soft.
and i am so, so weak.
i know i shouldn't put my pajamas on.
once i put my pajamas on, i'm out of "work" mode and into "mmm-i'm-wearing-soft-pajamas" mode.
once i'm in my pajamas, i'm almost in bed.
i can't afford to be almost in bed, i have far too much work to do.
i should not put my pajamas on.
but they are so, so soft.
and i am so, so weak.
5.3.02
in the process of doing research for a script, i find myself having this conversation:
would the secretary of state have military guards at his office?
probably
ok good
I would assume they would be secret service
but there could be uniformed military as well
why ... planning at assassination of old Don?
::grin:: nothing of the sort
uh huh... sure
besides, isn't colin powell sec of state now?
very good point
Donald Rumsfeld is Sec. of Defense
my bad
well, close
got my Secretaries mixed up
all those silly secretaries, i can hardly blame you
you'd think they'd come up with a more aggressive title then secretary
heh, really. but what?
Minister of Defense would be cool
supreme commander of the defense
::grin:: master of state
Defender of the Universe
heh
wait.. isn't that He-Man
minor detail
and colin powell is sorta like he-man
thats true
somewhere between he-man and shaft.
heh
WHOA
.....WHOA
I am blown away
oh yeah?
yeah
its so true
we should write to him and tell him that
he's like a very polite He-Man/Shaft hybrid
in a suit
well its better than that loin cloth that He-Man is always strutting around in
sigh. i love college.
would the secretary of state have military guards at his office?
probably
ok good
I would assume they would be secret service
but there could be uniformed military as well
why ... planning at assassination of old Don?
::grin:: nothing of the sort
uh huh... sure
besides, isn't colin powell sec of state now?
very good point
Donald Rumsfeld is Sec. of Defense
my bad
well, close
got my Secretaries mixed up
all those silly secretaries, i can hardly blame you
you'd think they'd come up with a more aggressive title then secretary
heh, really. but what?
Minister of Defense would be cool
supreme commander of the defense
::grin:: master of state
Defender of the Universe
heh
wait.. isn't that He-Man
minor detail
and colin powell is sorta like he-man
thats true
somewhere between he-man and shaft.
heh
WHOA
.....WHOA
I am blown away
oh yeah?
yeah
its so true
we should write to him and tell him that
he's like a very polite He-Man/Shaft hybrid
in a suit
well its better than that loin cloth that He-Man is always strutting around in
sigh. i love college.
i miss driving.
i miss coming over the hill to see a universe of lights reflected in the bay, the sky so clear and cold, so much like flying that i laugh out loud. i miss nosing through a wall of fog, following the disembodied red glow of the car in front of me, praying to every god i know that those hazy dots aren't leading me off a cliff and into the ocean. i miss doing my hair by running straight from the shower to eighty miles an hour on the freeway, all the windows down and the sunroof open, dave matthew's "watchtower" as loud as my poor VW speakers can go. i miss highway 68 S-curves at night, trees like fingerpaint in my rearview mirror.
i miss the freedom, the feeling that the world is a tank of gas and a gear shift away, the intricate weaving in and out of traffic, hitting the gas to make yellow lights, backseats, slow drives along the beach with the windows down and the heat up, aimless wanderings that always end up at the coffeeshop.
i love the rhythm of walking, the sense of musclemovement and weight against the earth, but it's no substitue when you want eighty miles an hour.
i miss coming over the hill to see a universe of lights reflected in the bay, the sky so clear and cold, so much like flying that i laugh out loud. i miss nosing through a wall of fog, following the disembodied red glow of the car in front of me, praying to every god i know that those hazy dots aren't leading me off a cliff and into the ocean. i miss doing my hair by running straight from the shower to eighty miles an hour on the freeway, all the windows down and the sunroof open, dave matthew's "watchtower" as loud as my poor VW speakers can go. i miss highway 68 S-curves at night, trees like fingerpaint in my rearview mirror.
i miss the freedom, the feeling that the world is a tank of gas and a gear shift away, the intricate weaving in and out of traffic, hitting the gas to make yellow lights, backseats, slow drives along the beach with the windows down and the heat up, aimless wanderings that always end up at the coffeeshop.
i love the rhythm of walking, the sense of musclemovement and weight against the earth, but it's no substitue when you want eighty miles an hour.
and just for the record: damn.
4.3.02
"take these eyes, take these hands, take my soul... i say oh, you are my home" -michael kovacs
i feel so, so alive.
walking out of class at six, we pause in front of the elevators, where a huge span of windows frames the sunset. the light hits a few cotton-ball clouds like the set of a movie, bouncing off the windows of buildings and filtering through the grimy glass to rest on our faces.
almost out of sight is some factory, spewing steam into the evening air. the marmalade light tumbles inside that fickle cloud, chased by strange blue shadows.
that sunset was probably the second most beautiful thing that happened today.
i feel so, so alive.
walking out of class at six, we pause in front of the elevators, where a huge span of windows frames the sunset. the light hits a few cotton-ball clouds like the set of a movie, bouncing off the windows of buildings and filtering through the grimy glass to rest on our faces.
almost out of sight is some factory, spewing steam into the evening air. the marmalade light tumbles inside that fickle cloud, chased by strange blue shadows.
that sunset was probably the second most beautiful thing that happened today.
the red cross informs me that "if you get a bruise, a rainbow of colors may occur for about 10 days."
not a rainbow, per se, but well into the yellow-green-yellows around through to some blue-violets.
lovely.
not a rainbow, per se, but well into the yellow-green-yellows around through to some blue-violets.
lovely.
it doesn't look nearly different enough to justify the hours i spent figuring out the HTML i needed to use, but hey, i like it anyway.
i can't believe i got up at 830.
the things we do for love. sigh.
i can't believe i got up at 830.
the things we do for love. sigh.
3.3.02
ahhh....
good music for a good cause.
the path from dorm to dining hall passes the trolley station on thirty third and market. as we walked down to breakfast this morning, a delegation of the local skateboard hoard was gathered there. they were, more specifically, gathered around the little hutch that sits over the stairs leading down to the station, all peering upwards expectantly.
one of them was atop the roof of said hutch, and appeared to be preparing to skate off. he was probably twelve years old. the roof was probably ten feet up. the landing area was definitely cement.
as we continued along, we passed a group - all male - headed the opposite direction, watching him.
hey man, i'll give you two dollars if you do a double backflip!
a few moments later, we passed another group, this time all female. they spoke low, under their breaths.
don't do it, c'mon, don't do it. you'll kill yourself, don't do it.
we crossed the street, holding hands. "nice little snapshot of the difference between the genders, huh?"
he turned to me, "yeah, i guess you're right. i didn't even notice."
good music for a good cause.
the path from dorm to dining hall passes the trolley station on thirty third and market. as we walked down to breakfast this morning, a delegation of the local skateboard hoard was gathered there. they were, more specifically, gathered around the little hutch that sits over the stairs leading down to the station, all peering upwards expectantly.
one of them was atop the roof of said hutch, and appeared to be preparing to skate off. he was probably twelve years old. the roof was probably ten feet up. the landing area was definitely cement.
as we continued along, we passed a group - all male - headed the opposite direction, watching him.
hey man, i'll give you two dollars if you do a double backflip!
a few moments later, we passed another group, this time all female. they spoke low, under their breaths.
don't do it, c'mon, don't do it. you'll kill yourself, don't do it.
we crossed the street, holding hands. "nice little snapshot of the difference between the genders, huh?"
he turned to me, "yeah, i guess you're right. i didn't even notice."
1.3.02
i'm going to blame it on bureaucracy.
but, the world works out with the help of friends.
back home, with five voracious mouths to feed, our cupboards were always stockpiled with jumbo-sized foodstuffs.
when we bought spaghetti, it tended to be enough spaghetti to feed a small army - namely, our household. so i'm somewhat unfamilliar with the amount of spaghetti a relatively small box will produce.
now, granted, i suppose i could have read the directions to determine how many servings were supposed to be derived from this relatively small box.
i did not, however, do that.
it turns out that one relatively small box makes spaghetti enough to quite literally fill a meduim-sized pot, and thence to quite overwhelmingly pile atop two suddenly far-too-small plates.
it turns out also that two people, when faced with the challenge of such laden dishes, will, in fact, rise to the occasion and eat a frankly astounding amount of spaghetti.
and, when they fail two-thirds of the way through, a trusty roommate may occasionally come to the rescue and do her share, so that the entirety of that relatively small box is consumed.
that, and a pint of ben and jerry's.
but, the world works out with the help of friends.
back home, with five voracious mouths to feed, our cupboards were always stockpiled with jumbo-sized foodstuffs.
when we bought spaghetti, it tended to be enough spaghetti to feed a small army - namely, our household. so i'm somewhat unfamilliar with the amount of spaghetti a relatively small box will produce.
now, granted, i suppose i could have read the directions to determine how many servings were supposed to be derived from this relatively small box.
i did not, however, do that.
it turns out that one relatively small box makes spaghetti enough to quite literally fill a meduim-sized pot, and thence to quite overwhelmingly pile atop two suddenly far-too-small plates.
it turns out also that two people, when faced with the challenge of such laden dishes, will, in fact, rise to the occasion and eat a frankly astounding amount of spaghetti.
and, when they fail two-thirds of the way through, a trusty roommate may occasionally come to the rescue and do her share, so that the entirety of that relatively small box is consumed.
that, and a pint of ben and jerry's.
based on careful scientific observation, i conclude that there exists a direct causal relationship between the infusion of a cup of coffee into the human bloodstream and a resulting thirty to eighty percent increase in quality of life.
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