Hold the Malaise
I'll begin this entry with what I believe is the most commonly typed sentence in the Blogging community:
"I really need to post more often."
Today marks, aside from Shannon's birthday (Best wishes, Shannno McShannno!), the two-year mark of my relationship with Theo. While I really should subtract a month from that calculation, the truth is, I loved him just as much during that exciting, yet empty month. I'm glad we reconvened, so that my near future never includes a moment when I won't be able to share my life wit him. Tonight, we just ate some cliche Italian food at home, since most restaurants we like are closed on Mondays. Tomorrow evening, we're going to Seasons, The Four Seasons' restaurant, thanks in part to NPR and its wonderful MemberCard. With, literally, my last few dollars, I bought him some cologne, a few pairs of Gap boxers, and a ticket for each of us for Rufus Wainwright's upcoming concert in Chicago.
I waited in a long line at Tower records this evening to buy, of all things, Britney Spears' new album. As I watched her special on ABC (the family-friendly channel? huh?), I realized that she's Christina with a cold, Kylie with less innovation, and Madonna with much ironic naivete. But I still enjoy her. My favorite tracks on In The Zone are "Toxic," a well-constructed, catchy, fun dance song, and "Everytime," which just has a great instrumental part, and proves that Britney does sometimes sing. "Me Against the Music" must be Britney's best first single since "...Baby One More Time," even though it's doing poorly in the charts. I also bought Joni Mitchell's Blue, which is a record my parents acquired when they were near my age. I'd often play it when I was younger, and now I have a more insightful understanding of her poetry and grace.
After talking to John, a co-worker of mine, I've been giving more and more thought to teaching high school English. In Chicago, first-year teachers generally make around $36,000--much more than many of the teachers found at my alma mater. It's come to the point where I've realized that dreams are fine and dandy, but the fluff of aspirations does not pay rent or provide food or electricity. I don't know...I'm always nervous about everything.
As usual, there are about 37 people I need to call. Mariam, that beautiful nymph, has called me once every few months for the past year, and I have not given her one return phone call. I am evil. And she's just an infrequent reoccurring character in my sitcom--what about Lauren? Erin? Tim? Shannon? This writer's forgetting about his principal protagonists.
A record of the life and times of one brown shirt-wearing university student, struggling to escape his fear of intimacy, overcome his hunger for eternal supremacy in every aspect, and never have to write a description of his life like this again.
Tuesday, November 18, 2003
Wednesday, November 05, 2003
21+
I need someone to assist me in purchasing some champagne for my two-year anniversary with Theo. Any volunteers?
A story.
Theo and I were shopping at our new Target, which is a 15-minute bus trip away. It contains two stories, connected by elevators and escalators, with that Ikea-esque shopping cart levy. Well, as Theo, the shopping cart, and I traveled up to the second floor, the cart lifter-upper stops. Us humans continue our ascent, while or inanimate future belongings remain behind. Of course, what's sitting in the very top of our cart? An economy-sized box of condoms. So, here's all these people traveling up the escalator, examining our every selection (don't you do that when standing in line at the grocery store?), and giggling or staring wide-eyed at the birth (?) control, which might as well be sitting and waving its arms like a small child strapped in to the cart. Eventually, a small army of confused Target employees fix the problem, and my cart returns to me, intact. Of course, then I had to go find Theo, who was hiding somewhere, avoiding embarassment.
I need someone to assist me in purchasing some champagne for my two-year anniversary with Theo. Any volunteers?
A story.
Theo and I were shopping at our new Target, which is a 15-minute bus trip away. It contains two stories, connected by elevators and escalators, with that Ikea-esque shopping cart levy. Well, as Theo, the shopping cart, and I traveled up to the second floor, the cart lifter-upper stops. Us humans continue our ascent, while or inanimate future belongings remain behind. Of course, what's sitting in the very top of our cart? An economy-sized box of condoms. So, here's all these people traveling up the escalator, examining our every selection (don't you do that when standing in line at the grocery store?), and giggling or staring wide-eyed at the birth (?) control, which might as well be sitting and waving its arms like a small child strapped in to the cart. Eventually, a small army of confused Target employees fix the problem, and my cart returns to me, intact. Of course, then I had to go find Theo, who was hiding somewhere, avoiding embarassment.
Saturday, November 01, 2003
I just need to write it down, so I don't stew over it.
I wish I transcended every element of everyday life.
I wish I was so delusional that I thought everything I wrote/said was witty and introspective.
I wish I honestly believed that every human within a three-mile radius of my beautiful aura cow-towed to my intellectual greatness.
AGH. Masochistically, I read things that I know will make me angry. I must stop.
I wish I transcended every element of everyday life.
I wish I was so delusional that I thought everything I wrote/said was witty and introspective.
I wish I honestly believed that every human within a three-mile radius of my beautiful aura cow-towed to my intellectual greatness.
AGH. Masochistically, I read things that I know will make me angry. I must stop.