Important
This will be my very very last post here, at boyinbrownshirt.blogspot.com. Repeated security breaches have necessitated my transition to another journal. If you have any interest in reading this new journal, please e-mail me at...
Brian_Solem@hotmail.com
Don't e-mail me at aol.com, since I rarely check that E-mail. Archives will remain here until I can figure out how to move them. Thank you for your understanding; a detailed explaination of everything can be found at my new journal.
Friday, November 12, 2004
Abbilash Talkies
I haven't seen a film with a real, live human character in many many weeks. First, Theo and I saw The Polar Express, a film with an awful plot (perhaps I think it's awful because I was never read the book as a child and therefore have no emotional tie to it) and a faulty, awkward animation style. Then, he and I saw The Incredibles, which was wonderful all over. I really enjoy Pixar films; they're timeless and flawless. One day later, Lauren (in an outing that was preceded by several months of me being a cold, dirty fish to her) and I saw Team America: World Police, which enthralled me mostly based on the marionettes. I have always been fascinated by marionettes, and wanted one desperately as a child. The plot--well, as the Onion wrote, it worked better as a real Jerry Bruckheimer-brand action film than a satire. But it was still fun. THEN, to reach my quota of four non-human films per year, I rented Shrek 2, which was annoying, awful, and proposterous. I didn't really like the first one, mostly because of its association with a guy I dated (it was our first date activity; he was an asshole). The second one reminds me of that old camp song adage, "Second verse, same as the first--a little bit louder, and a little bit worse." Blah.
There are at least 67 films I'd like to see that are coming out before the new year.
Otherwise, nothing to report. I feel like these film reviews cheapen this journal, but when filmwatching is the highlight of my life, what else do I have to write about?
Oh, the Newberry Seminar. It's a 6-credit hour course hosted by all of the Chicago-area universities at the Newberry Library downtown. Essentially, it's an English course with an emphasis on research, and only five students from each participating university are allowed to participate. Even though I just got a rave review on a well-researched essay from my S. Asian lit prof. (who happens to be the dept. chair this year), my insecurities prevented me from applying. So, I basically have nothing to help me get into a good graduate school except for decent grades. So, I'm fucked. So, aaaah.
I haven't seen a film with a real, live human character in many many weeks. First, Theo and I saw The Polar Express, a film with an awful plot (perhaps I think it's awful because I was never read the book as a child and therefore have no emotional tie to it) and a faulty, awkward animation style. Then, he and I saw The Incredibles, which was wonderful all over. I really enjoy Pixar films; they're timeless and flawless. One day later, Lauren (in an outing that was preceded by several months of me being a cold, dirty fish to her) and I saw Team America: World Police, which enthralled me mostly based on the marionettes. I have always been fascinated by marionettes, and wanted one desperately as a child. The plot--well, as the Onion wrote, it worked better as a real Jerry Bruckheimer-brand action film than a satire. But it was still fun. THEN, to reach my quota of four non-human films per year, I rented Shrek 2, which was annoying, awful, and proposterous. I didn't really like the first one, mostly because of its association with a guy I dated (it was our first date activity; he was an asshole). The second one reminds me of that old camp song adage, "Second verse, same as the first--a little bit louder, and a little bit worse." Blah.
There are at least 67 films I'd like to see that are coming out before the new year.
Otherwise, nothing to report. I feel like these film reviews cheapen this journal, but when filmwatching is the highlight of my life, what else do I have to write about?
Oh, the Newberry Seminar. It's a 6-credit hour course hosted by all of the Chicago-area universities at the Newberry Library downtown. Essentially, it's an English course with an emphasis on research, and only five students from each participating university are allowed to participate. Even though I just got a rave review on a well-researched essay from my S. Asian lit prof. (who happens to be the dept. chair this year), my insecurities prevented me from applying. So, I basically have nothing to help me get into a good graduate school except for decent grades. So, I'm fucked. So, aaaah.
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Personal Failing No. 894
For whatever reason, my lackluster interest in studying and doing homework has reached an all time low since this semester began. I hate how class sessions are filled with so much uncertainty; even if I feel I've sufficiently read what I needed to read (for the classes I actually prepare for), I'm still under-equipped to handle discussion. I'm skipping my first class simply because I don't want to deal with the unexpected this morning; while this is my first absence from this class (a personal record?), the pain of actually going to that class will pale in comparison to the fear of not knowing what I've missed by skipping.
How does one motivate oneself?
For whatever reason, my lackluster interest in studying and doing homework has reached an all time low since this semester began. I hate how class sessions are filled with so much uncertainty; even if I feel I've sufficiently read what I needed to read (for the classes I actually prepare for), I'm still under-equipped to handle discussion. I'm skipping my first class simply because I don't want to deal with the unexpected this morning; while this is my first absence from this class (a personal record?), the pain of actually going to that class will pale in comparison to the fear of not knowing what I've missed by skipping.
How does one motivate oneself?
Sunday, October 17, 2004
On Awful Consumption-Driven Holidays
Instead of graciously allowing Theo and me to have some intimacy last night, Yuki decided to punish our sodomy by tearing up an entire box of Kleenex all over the house. Just because we took your sex drive away doesn't mean you can punish us for still having it.
In other news, the Chicago Tribune just announced that GEORGE W. BUSH is their candidate for president. How can this paradigmatic Chicago institution betray its state's Democratic identification and supporta candidate that most of its state doesn't? Oh, yeah, media deregulation. Duh. (Bastards--they no longer will serve as my "home page"--since Theo has had to have a NYT subscription for his class, I've fallen in love with the paper, and it will now greet me every time I access the Internet.)
Work, then "training."
Instead of graciously allowing Theo and me to have some intimacy last night, Yuki decided to punish our sodomy by tearing up an entire box of Kleenex all over the house. Just because we took your sex drive away doesn't mean you can punish us for still having it.
In other news, the Chicago Tribune just announced that GEORGE W. BUSH is their candidate for president. How can this paradigmatic Chicago institution betray its state's Democratic identification and supporta candidate that most of its state doesn't? Oh, yeah, media deregulation. Duh. (Bastards--they no longer will serve as my "home page"--since Theo has had to have a NYT subscription for his class, I've fallen in love with the paper, and it will now greet me every time I access the Internet.)
Work, then "training."
Thursday, October 14, 2004
Old Hat
I've been ruminating about this old hat for several days, and I suppose it's time I try it on once again. I will spare you the long, drawn out melodrama that is my inner struggle with (etc. etc.), and instead will present you a detailed list of the banal undertakings with which I have preoccupied myself.
1. As of a few months ago, Theo and I (along with Allison, the singular exception to my friend-phobic syndrome) have been undertaking the odd, vulgar sport of bowling. Truly, I reserve my Sunday evenings for a piece of smoky, smelly, noisy sanctuary that is the bowling alley. And I adore it. Now, the three of us have a goal--to compete in the 2006 Gay Games in Chicago.
2. Theo and I, thanks to the Chicago International Film Festival, saw the premiere of Annette Bening's Being Julia. A film about an aging stage actress in the late 1930s, Being Julia tickled me pink. It wasn't until later that I realized it has a similar setup to Sunset Boulevard. Oh well. Ms. Bening was actually present for the screening, as she accepted an award for her dedication to "discovery." She's radiant. Theo and I will be attending a screening of The Polar Express next week, at which both Tom Hanks and Robert Zimeckis will be present.
3. While home this weekend, I "liberated" city property by removing a Bush/Cheney '04 sign from the easement of a street near my house. As the days progress, and the polls show a tighter and tighter race, I've begun preparing for the worst. I'm really not confident that Kerry will win (especially when, I've learned, a close friend simply cannot make up her mind between the two candidates). I know this will sound awful and harsh, but I cannot understand why one would support President Bush unless they are rich, or a conservative Christian, or ignorant. I think that the so-called "liberal media" has successfully presented a fair depiction of the devastation that is the war on Iraq, and if that, along with national security, is the lone issue on which people vote, the evidence is clear that George W. Bush is unable to succeed in either of these "wars." (I must stop now, even though I could write pages and pages regarding current world politics.)
4. In my creepy solitude, I've also taken up sewing. I'm getting weird.
5. I've seen many wonderful movies and read many wonderful books, but I won't bore you with reviews.
6. Yuki has successfully learned to both sit and shake--two feats I never thought I would see in her. I jsut had her groomed this week, and the apathetic groomer (I refuse to say where I went; it explains everything) trimmed her fur down to 1/2 inch or so. She looks like a real German Shepherd, which wasn't what I was going for. Worse yet, the groomer actually LISTENED to me when I said, "keep her tail kind of long." She didn't trim a hair off Yuki's tail; its rotund shape nearly dwarfs that of the rest of her body.
7. I've also become an eBay addict. But, that's pretty obvious--if you've been to eBay, you can understand what I mean.
8. I'm really getting into straight-leg jeans. I think they're fantastic. Hello, 80s. I also found a brilliant Harris Tweed (the highest-quality tweed ever) herringbone-patterned blazer at Village Discount Outlet a few weeks ago. The cost? $1.50.
9. My relationship with Theo has become a mutually satisfying endeavor; while we still bicker on occasion, I'm truly grateful for what I have, especially considering the awfulness other couples I've witnessed must deal with. (I suppose, though, that given the fact that he is the only person I even have to "open up" to now, I'm a bit jaded and rose-colored-eyeglassed. But that's still nice.)
I'm not sure when journaling here will become a habit again, but until that day comes, enjoy autumn.
I've been ruminating about this old hat for several days, and I suppose it's time I try it on once again. I will spare you the long, drawn out melodrama that is my inner struggle with (etc. etc.), and instead will present you a detailed list of the banal undertakings with which I have preoccupied myself.
1. As of a few months ago, Theo and I (along with Allison, the singular exception to my friend-phobic syndrome) have been undertaking the odd, vulgar sport of bowling. Truly, I reserve my Sunday evenings for a piece of smoky, smelly, noisy sanctuary that is the bowling alley. And I adore it. Now, the three of us have a goal--to compete in the 2006 Gay Games in Chicago.
2. Theo and I, thanks to the Chicago International Film Festival, saw the premiere of Annette Bening's Being Julia. A film about an aging stage actress in the late 1930s, Being Julia tickled me pink. It wasn't until later that I realized it has a similar setup to Sunset Boulevard. Oh well. Ms. Bening was actually present for the screening, as she accepted an award for her dedication to "discovery." She's radiant. Theo and I will be attending a screening of The Polar Express next week, at which both Tom Hanks and Robert Zimeckis will be present.
3. While home this weekend, I "liberated" city property by removing a Bush/Cheney '04 sign from the easement of a street near my house. As the days progress, and the polls show a tighter and tighter race, I've begun preparing for the worst. I'm really not confident that Kerry will win (especially when, I've learned, a close friend simply cannot make up her mind between the two candidates). I know this will sound awful and harsh, but I cannot understand why one would support President Bush unless they are rich, or a conservative Christian, or ignorant. I think that the so-called "liberal media" has successfully presented a fair depiction of the devastation that is the war on Iraq, and if that, along with national security, is the lone issue on which people vote, the evidence is clear that George W. Bush is unable to succeed in either of these "wars." (I must stop now, even though I could write pages and pages regarding current world politics.)
4. In my creepy solitude, I've also taken up sewing. I'm getting weird.
5. I've seen many wonderful movies and read many wonderful books, but I won't bore you with reviews.
6. Yuki has successfully learned to both sit and shake--two feats I never thought I would see in her. I jsut had her groomed this week, and the apathetic groomer (I refuse to say where I went; it explains everything) trimmed her fur down to 1/2 inch or so. She looks like a real German Shepherd, which wasn't what I was going for. Worse yet, the groomer actually LISTENED to me when I said, "keep her tail kind of long." She didn't trim a hair off Yuki's tail; its rotund shape nearly dwarfs that of the rest of her body.
7. I've also become an eBay addict. But, that's pretty obvious--if you've been to eBay, you can understand what I mean.
8. I'm really getting into straight-leg jeans. I think they're fantastic. Hello, 80s. I also found a brilliant Harris Tweed (the highest-quality tweed ever) herringbone-patterned blazer at Village Discount Outlet a few weeks ago. The cost? $1.50.
9. My relationship with Theo has become a mutually satisfying endeavor; while we still bicker on occasion, I'm truly grateful for what I have, especially considering the awfulness other couples I've witnessed must deal with. (I suppose, though, that given the fact that he is the only person I even have to "open up" to now, I'm a bit jaded and rose-colored-eyeglassed. But that's still nice.)
I'm not sure when journaling here will become a habit again, but until that day comes, enjoy autumn.
Sunday, August 22, 2004
Freeformblah
Well, my summer has officially drawn to a close. True, I have something like 8 days until school begins again, but with the cool weather and the insane amount of work, I will no longer be allowed to have any fun for several months. I will actually be paid OVERTIME this week--how awful, that I've spent 43 hours of this week at Gap. That's almost two days of this week. I worked from 8AM-9PM a few days ago. I cannot do that again. My feet are killing me, because they were cramped in these cute pointy-ish-toed shoes all day. They're not pointy enough to regularly cause me pain, but because I put some inserts in to compensate for my rediculously high arches, there wasn't enough room for five toes in them. Then, after working eight hours tonight, I had to drive around with theo for two hours to find parking. Two hours. Two hours of the rest of my pseudo-summer were spent in a car, just so I could go home and pass out. And now he's watching some CNN shit, so I can't go to sleep because we've been sleeping with each other through this past week, and the television is right next to my bed, practically. Fuck.
Well, my summer has officially drawn to a close. True, I have something like 8 days until school begins again, but with the cool weather and the insane amount of work, I will no longer be allowed to have any fun for several months. I will actually be paid OVERTIME this week--how awful, that I've spent 43 hours of this week at Gap. That's almost two days of this week. I worked from 8AM-9PM a few days ago. I cannot do that again. My feet are killing me, because they were cramped in these cute pointy-ish-toed shoes all day. They're not pointy enough to regularly cause me pain, but because I put some inserts in to compensate for my rediculously high arches, there wasn't enough room for five toes in them. Then, after working eight hours tonight, I had to drive around with theo for two hours to find parking. Two hours. Two hours of the rest of my pseudo-summer were spent in a car, just so I could go home and pass out. And now he's watching some CNN shit, so I can't go to sleep because we've been sleeping with each other through this past week, and the television is right next to my bed, practically. Fuck.
Thursday, August 12, 2004
Observations
So, Yuki is a Republican. And I'm fine with that, I suppose. I came home this afternoon to see that she had mauled my Kerry/Edwards bumper sticker. I mean, this thing was destroyed. Only an R could have done such damage. And I know I should be more upset, but it's alright--so whatif she doesnt want her fathers to marry? So what if she's a crazy Christian zealot? So what if she wants only the rich to flourish in the twisted capitalizm of our fine country? I still love her.
But...just in case she was rethinking her allegiance to the almighty W, I bought her an elephant chew toy. And, in the few hours I've left the two of them alone, it looks like she might be saved after all.
I spent my hours away from my socially-conservative dog and her (former?) political mascot viewing the film Garden State downtown. The one word I would use to describe this film is genuine. Natalie Portman's character was just so...real, and perfect, and reflective of so many humans in my life. Variety described the film as "piecemeal," but I would definitely disagree. Sure, the whole "enjoy life" theme may be a bit cliche, but the film really elegantly handled the overused mantra and used it to tie the seemingly unrelated elements of the film together. Aside from the story and acting, I really enjoyed the visual aspect of the film--lots of symmetry (I have a mild symmetry fetish) and well-orchestrated images. The soundtrack is also brilliant. Go see this film.
So, Yuki is a Republican. And I'm fine with that, I suppose. I came home this afternoon to see that she had mauled my Kerry/Edwards bumper sticker. I mean, this thing was destroyed. Only an R could have done such damage. And I know I should be more upset, but it's alright--so whatif she doesnt want her fathers to marry? So what if she's a crazy Christian zealot? So what if she wants only the rich to flourish in the twisted capitalizm of our fine country? I still love her.
But...just in case she was rethinking her allegiance to the almighty W, I bought her an elephant chew toy. And, in the few hours I've left the two of them alone, it looks like she might be saved after all.
I spent my hours away from my socially-conservative dog and her (former?) political mascot viewing the film Garden State downtown. The one word I would use to describe this film is genuine. Natalie Portman's character was just so...real, and perfect, and reflective of so many humans in my life. Variety described the film as "piecemeal," but I would definitely disagree. Sure, the whole "enjoy life" theme may be a bit cliche, but the film really elegantly handled the overused mantra and used it to tie the seemingly unrelated elements of the film together. Aside from the story and acting, I really enjoyed the visual aspect of the film--lots of symmetry (I have a mild symmetry fetish) and well-orchestrated images. The soundtrack is also brilliant. Go see this film.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
"Vacation" Pictures
So, instead of going on a real, far away family vacation, my parents had to buy a new furnace for their house, so we've just been doing things in and around Chicago. Here are some pictures from yesterday's North Side tour.
Yuki at Loyola Beach. Having never been to abeach before, she'd never experienced sand. Not only that, but she'd obviously never experienced land that met up with water--this theory was proven when, after chasing birds to the waterfront, she just bounded in to the lake, surprising herself and the rest of us.
Me, administering water to get the sand out of her mouth, which you can see in picture one.
Three generations of Solems, on the Loyola campus.
So, instead of going on a real, far away family vacation, my parents had to buy a new furnace for their house, so we've just been doing things in and around Chicago. Here are some pictures from yesterday's North Side tour.
Yuki at Loyola Beach. Having never been to abeach before, she'd never experienced sand. Not only that, but she'd obviously never experienced land that met up with water--this theory was proven when, after chasing birds to the waterfront, she just bounded in to the lake, surprising herself and the rest of us.
Me, administering water to get the sand out of her mouth, which you can see in picture one.
Three generations of Solems, on the Loyola campus.
Thursday, August 05, 2004
"BTW"
So, I officially live in the ghetto--both in the traditional sense of a community strung together by a common social category, and in the contemporary sense of a community riddled with crime and other ickiness. Besides the brutal murders that have occured within the past year (three and counting), the suicide that happened yesterday right next to my old apartment building, now my own building has been uncovered as a drug house. My downstairs-across-the-hall neighbor was arrested a few weeks ago for (what I gather from the patchwork of gossip) selling crystal meth out of his apartment.
Theo came home, dog in tow, to find a swarm of "police cops" in our stairwell, in front of to battered-down door of our otherwise-reclusive neighbor Eddie. He was carted away to jail (and promptly evicted because of the insistence of my upstairs neightbor, the prude hypocrite), and we've been surveyed not-so-subtlely ever since, by burly "undercover" officers wearing oh-so-discreet Sox jerseys. (Note: I live a stone's throw away from Wrigley Field; Sox jerseys are ritually burned here, with or without their person still inside.)
Then, tonight, yet ANOTHER alleged bust took place, hearladed by police cars, man-looking women, and two skinny young guys oddly handcuffed to each other. I'm getting tired of feeling like I live in...well, Chicago. I suppose it goes with the terrain, though.
So, I officially live in the ghetto--both in the traditional sense of a community strung together by a common social category, and in the contemporary sense of a community riddled with crime and other ickiness. Besides the brutal murders that have occured within the past year (three and counting), the suicide that happened yesterday right next to my old apartment building, now my own building has been uncovered as a drug house. My downstairs-across-the-hall neighbor was arrested a few weeks ago for (what I gather from the patchwork of gossip) selling crystal meth out of his apartment.
Theo came home, dog in tow, to find a swarm of "police cops" in our stairwell, in front of to battered-down door of our otherwise-reclusive neighbor Eddie. He was carted away to jail (and promptly evicted because of the insistence of my upstairs neightbor, the prude hypocrite), and we've been surveyed not-so-subtlely ever since, by burly "undercover" officers wearing oh-so-discreet Sox jerseys. (Note: I live a stone's throw away from Wrigley Field; Sox jerseys are ritually burned here, with or without their person still inside.)
Then, tonight, yet ANOTHER alleged bust took place, hearladed by police cars, man-looking women, and two skinny young guys oddly handcuffed to each other. I'm getting tired of feeling like I live in...well, Chicago. I suppose it goes with the terrain, though.
Difference/Indifference
I received a substantial raise today. I mean, like a really really substantial raise. Like, I could live semi-comfortably on this pay now in Chicago if I worked full time at Gap. Not that I'm going to do that, but it's big enough to make my checking account sublimely happy.
It's Market Days weekend again--and I'm feeling really indifferent about it. After last year's debacle, when the actual setup of the streetfest kept me up all night long, and I ate breakfast with a violent homeless man the morning after, I'm wishing I was just out of town for the whole thing. Basically, Market Days is just another weekend for my fellow gays to get drunk and shirtless and obnoxious, and buy things like rainbow boas and earthy lesbian jewelry. Oh well--hopefully Allison et.al. will spice it up.
Do you want the code for this weekend's Friends and Family days? If so, contact me.
I received a substantial raise today. I mean, like a really really substantial raise. Like, I could live semi-comfortably on this pay now in Chicago if I worked full time at Gap. Not that I'm going to do that, but it's big enough to make my checking account sublimely happy.
It's Market Days weekend again--and I'm feeling really indifferent about it. After last year's debacle, when the actual setup of the streetfest kept me up all night long, and I ate breakfast with a violent homeless man the morning after, I'm wishing I was just out of town for the whole thing. Basically, Market Days is just another weekend for my fellow gays to get drunk and shirtless and obnoxious, and buy things like rainbow boas and earthy lesbian jewelry. Oh well--hopefully Allison et.al. will spice it up.
Do you want the code for this weekend's Friends and Family days? If so, contact me.
Thursday, July 29, 2004
Straight Music
In high school, when somehow I was even more insecure than I am now, I would actually create CD playlists to further purport my veil of heterosexuality. I used what I'll call "straight music" to reassure myself and others that I held "normal" music tastes. Back then, a burned of mine CD might have started off with 311, Blink-182, or some other popular, mainstream rock band who targeted the 18-29 male population. I didn't dislike these songs, per se, but I certainly didn't listen to them when I was alone in my car. For some reason, I've recently become reattached to some "straight" songs. Really mainstream songs that would probably be considered "overplayed" or "soooo last month," but new to me because I don't listen to popular radio or watch MTV.
Does this suggest something? Am I subconsciously slipping into my old ways--creating a character for me to play, so that I don't have to deal with what's really going on with the actor behind it? I don't know.
I've also proven just how cynical I am. Apparently, some guy I work with (who's always been really really really creepy with me, in that touching-me-saying-awkward-complementary-things-to-me way) has some mad gastro-intestinal issues, which prevent him from controlling his gas. Well, he's apparently also working at Gap while on disability (illegal?), and has recently been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and kidney troubles. I didn't even believe it for a minute when someone was telling me, and had no real interest in even supposing it might be ue. Do you normal humans have another reaction when issues of this nature are presented to you? I'm assuming so.
I've started reading Cyndi's journal again, after losing the link to her journal when my computer crashed. Her writing has become a bit of an indulgence for me--it just enthralls me and makes me feel weird inside.
And I feel really guilty about everyone I abandon and pick up again as friends. Why do I do this? I mean, this relationship pattern is an obvious alternative for some people for whom I care less about. But Erin? I just don't get it. Nothing at all. Joe? And let's not even get started on how much of an asshole I've been to Zoe. But, I suppose, unless you are one of these people, this means nothing to you, which means it means nothing to me, since me and my "straight songs" exist to serve everyone but me.
In high school, when somehow I was even more insecure than I am now, I would actually create CD playlists to further purport my veil of heterosexuality. I used what I'll call "straight music" to reassure myself and others that I held "normal" music tastes. Back then, a burned of mine CD might have started off with 311, Blink-182, or some other popular, mainstream rock band who targeted the 18-29 male population. I didn't dislike these songs, per se, but I certainly didn't listen to them when I was alone in my car. For some reason, I've recently become reattached to some "straight" songs. Really mainstream songs that would probably be considered "overplayed" or "soooo last month," but new to me because I don't listen to popular radio or watch MTV.
Does this suggest something? Am I subconsciously slipping into my old ways--creating a character for me to play, so that I don't have to deal with what's really going on with the actor behind it? I don't know.
I've also proven just how cynical I am. Apparently, some guy I work with (who's always been really really really creepy with me, in that touching-me-saying-awkward-complementary-things-to-me way) has some mad gastro-intestinal issues, which prevent him from controlling his gas. Well, he's apparently also working at Gap while on disability (illegal?), and has recently been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and kidney troubles. I didn't even believe it for a minute when someone was telling me, and had no real interest in even supposing it might be ue. Do you normal humans have another reaction when issues of this nature are presented to you? I'm assuming so.
I've started reading Cyndi's journal again, after losing the link to her journal when my computer crashed. Her writing has become a bit of an indulgence for me--it just enthralls me and makes me feel weird inside.
And I feel really guilty about everyone I abandon and pick up again as friends. Why do I do this? I mean, this relationship pattern is an obvious alternative for some people for whom I care less about. But Erin? I just don't get it. Nothing at all. Joe? And let's not even get started on how much of an asshole I've been to Zoe. But, I suppose, unless you are one of these people, this means nothing to you, which means it means nothing to me, since me and my "straight songs" exist to serve everyone but me.
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
Showered and Shaved Before Noon?
I'm deeply involved in season two of Six Feet Under, now out on DVD. That's what I've been spending my free time watching.
My poor, ugly car is broken again. As I drove into the city for the unpteenth time this week, all electrical functions in my car flickered and stopped working. Then, my battery's meter slipped into uncharted territories, and soon after, my car would not move forward. Luckily, I pulled off of heavily-trafficked Lawrence into a residential area. My alternator, it seems, decided to go on strike. THEN...after receiving a rediculous estimate of $600 for the replacement job--apparently, an alternator's average price is only $120, while the fucks at Midas wanted to charge me $300--my father decided that he and I coudl fix it ourselves. SO...I drove out to the suburbs once again, and after taking apart my engine, he and I realized that we had no idea what we were doing. The last time my father had fixed an alternator was thirty years ago. So, now it has to be towed to Sears.
As the previous anecdote reveals, my life is really quite boring right now. I just spent two minutes of my life typing about an ALTERNATOR. What is wrong with me?
I'm deeply involved in season two of Six Feet Under, now out on DVD. That's what I've been spending my free time watching.
My poor, ugly car is broken again. As I drove into the city for the unpteenth time this week, all electrical functions in my car flickered and stopped working. Then, my battery's meter slipped into uncharted territories, and soon after, my car would not move forward. Luckily, I pulled off of heavily-trafficked Lawrence into a residential area. My alternator, it seems, decided to go on strike. THEN...after receiving a rediculous estimate of $600 for the replacement job--apparently, an alternator's average price is only $120, while the fucks at Midas wanted to charge me $300--my father decided that he and I coudl fix it ourselves. SO...I drove out to the suburbs once again, and after taking apart my engine, he and I realized that we had no idea what we were doing. The last time my father had fixed an alternator was thirty years ago. So, now it has to be towed to Sears.
As the previous anecdote reveals, my life is really quite boring right now. I just spent two minutes of my life typing about an ALTERNATOR. What is wrong with me?
Thursday, July 22, 2004
Sunday, July 18, 2004
Wedding Prettiness and Related Atrocity
Lauren and Noah's wedding was a success. The bride looked stunning. I will post pictures eventually. Perhaps.
In related news, a certain character in the Wedding Play has a sour case of homophobia that inappropriately revealed itself to my mother and a hotel room full of Rs. I've thought about it, cried about it, and it's over. Nothing to be done.
Shannno and I didn't go to sleep until 6AM this morning, and woke up not long thereafter for Lauren's post-wedding brunch, so I am ready to pass out.
Lauren and Noah's wedding was a success. The bride looked stunning. I will post pictures eventually. Perhaps.
In related news, a certain character in the Wedding Play has a sour case of homophobia that inappropriately revealed itself to my mother and a hotel room full of Rs. I've thought about it, cried about it, and it's over. Nothing to be done.
Shannno and I didn't go to sleep until 6AM this morning, and woke up not long thereafter for Lauren's post-wedding brunch, so I am ready to pass out.
Sunday, July 11, 2004
The Bell Doesn't Toll For Thee
How depressing--to be the groomsman in one of my best friend's wedding just as the Senate begins debating the Federal Marriage Amendment. This week, depending on what happens in DC, could be very awkward.
I went to Lauren's bachelorette party last night, which featured the most powerful Cosmos in the cosmos, a "sex toy" Tupperware-style party segment, where a woman came and sold us "erotic supplies" (Anal Eze = lidocaine for one's ass...nasty), and a barrage of BFF-ing. I'm quite excited about next weekend, but will miss Laurne McLaurne when she moves to New York (temporarily) with Noah.
In other news, the successes of the summer include mending my finances, the Pink Party, and my summer class, while the failures include my job, the second summer session class that I'm not taking but am still registered for, a fraudulent seller on eBay who has my money, and being a god friend unilaterally.
Yawn. Work on a Sunday. A hungover Sunday.
How depressing--to be the groomsman in one of my best friend's wedding just as the Senate begins debating the Federal Marriage Amendment. This week, depending on what happens in DC, could be very awkward.
I went to Lauren's bachelorette party last night, which featured the most powerful Cosmos in the cosmos, a "sex toy" Tupperware-style party segment, where a woman came and sold us "erotic supplies" (Anal Eze = lidocaine for one's ass...nasty), and a barrage of BFF-ing. I'm quite excited about next weekend, but will miss Laurne McLaurne when she moves to New York (temporarily) with Noah.
In other news, the successes of the summer include mending my finances, the Pink Party, and my summer class, while the failures include my job, the second summer session class that I'm not taking but am still registered for, a fraudulent seller on eBay who has my money, and being a god friend unilaterally.
Yawn. Work on a Sunday. A hungover Sunday.
Monday, June 21, 2004
The Pink Party
Theo and I are co-hosting a Pink Party along with Allison (who must be credited with the idea of having a party in the first place). To celebrate the illustrious Pride weekend, we insist that you wear some sort of pink, so that you can match the food and mood of the party. We'll be serving hors d'oeuvres and cocktails from 8:00 on, until you pass out or get bored. It'll be on Friday, June 25. Who's invited?
1. You, if I like you/know you.
2. Your friends, if you like/know them.
Call my cell phone or E-mail me (Boyinbrownshirt@aol.com) if you'd like to come and want directions.
A more thorough update will ensue once I don't have an obnoxious test to study for.
Theo and I are co-hosting a Pink Party along with Allison (who must be credited with the idea of having a party in the first place). To celebrate the illustrious Pride weekend, we insist that you wear some sort of pink, so that you can match the food and mood of the party. We'll be serving hors d'oeuvres and cocktails from 8:00 on, until you pass out or get bored. It'll be on Friday, June 25. Who's invited?
1. You, if I like you/know you.
2. Your friends, if you like/know them.
Call my cell phone or E-mail me (Boyinbrownshirt@aol.com) if you'd like to come and want directions.
A more thorough update will ensue once I don't have an obnoxious test to study for.
Friday, June 04, 2004
King David
Theo, Allison, and I saw David Sedaris read tonight at my favorite bookstore, Unabridged. Well...we didn't actually see him read. We got there too late due in large part to a fight Theo and I had this morning, but we heard him and it was mostly alright. He read one of my least favorite stories from his new collection, Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, "Blood Work," and a few entries from his journal. Between two of his entires, he practically flipped out due to people taking his picture. It wasn't very pleasant. He later apologized, and I still was left with an unpleasant feeling in my stomach.
I then waited in line for two hours to have the Mr. Sedaris sign my copy of the aforementioned book. After spending the two long hours of waiting trying to figure out something interesting to say or an insightful question to ask him, I came up with a whole bunch of nothing. Finally, when it was my turn to address him, I asked, "So, is Hugh with you on this tour?" He lowered his voice, and sullenly said, "Um...Hugh and I broke up a few months ago...Yeah..."
Of course, I felt absolutely horrible. I didn't feel horrible about the fact that they broke up, like a NORMAL person would. Rather, I felt bad because I felt like I should have known that, like there was a story in his book that I skipped over or something. Instead of feeling like a bad human, I felt like a failed fanatic.
Then, he laughed, and said, "Oh, I'm just kidding. Hugh just doesn't like these book tours, because there's nothing for him to do. He'll be coming with me on a tour in Germany, though." Fooled by the great man himself. How perfect--and what a great payoff for waiting two hours to see him.
David Sedaris's book, however, is not so great. It's pretty much hit-and-miss. There are a few selections--"The Girl Next Door," "Nuit of the Living Dead," "Forgive Me," and the two stories about his brother--that I absolutely adore and am about to reread, but everything elase lacks direction and purpose. Sometimes, as Allison accurately pointed out, he tacks on these didactic, moralistic endings to otherwise alright stories that ruin the piece. I still think that Me Talk Pretty... is my favorite, but a few selections in his latest will remain in my mind for quite some time.
Theo, Allison, and I saw David Sedaris read tonight at my favorite bookstore, Unabridged. Well...we didn't actually see him read. We got there too late due in large part to a fight Theo and I had this morning, but we heard him and it was mostly alright. He read one of my least favorite stories from his new collection, Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, "Blood Work," and a few entries from his journal. Between two of his entires, he practically flipped out due to people taking his picture. It wasn't very pleasant. He later apologized, and I still was left with an unpleasant feeling in my stomach.
I then waited in line for two hours to have the Mr. Sedaris sign my copy of the aforementioned book. After spending the two long hours of waiting trying to figure out something interesting to say or an insightful question to ask him, I came up with a whole bunch of nothing. Finally, when it was my turn to address him, I asked, "So, is Hugh with you on this tour?" He lowered his voice, and sullenly said, "Um...Hugh and I broke up a few months ago...Yeah..."
Of course, I felt absolutely horrible. I didn't feel horrible about the fact that they broke up, like a NORMAL person would. Rather, I felt bad because I felt like I should have known that, like there was a story in his book that I skipped over or something. Instead of feeling like a bad human, I felt like a failed fanatic.
Then, he laughed, and said, "Oh, I'm just kidding. Hugh just doesn't like these book tours, because there's nothing for him to do. He'll be coming with me on a tour in Germany, though." Fooled by the great man himself. How perfect--and what a great payoff for waiting two hours to see him.
David Sedaris's book, however, is not so great. It's pretty much hit-and-miss. There are a few selections--"The Girl Next Door," "Nuit of the Living Dead," "Forgive Me," and the two stories about his brother--that I absolutely adore and am about to reread, but everything elase lacks direction and purpose. Sometimes, as Allison accurately pointed out, he tacks on these didactic, moralistic endings to otherwise alright stories that ruin the piece. I still think that Me Talk Pretty... is my favorite, but a few selections in his latest will remain in my mind for quite some time.
Saturday, May 29, 2004
Movie of the Week
Saved! is just brilliant. Criticism of Christianity--especially in America--is commonly something that filmmakers (and large media corporations) shy away from, but this film accurately and successfully parodized both the Willow Creek-style belief-less attitude many churches have, and the inane right-wing fundamentalist virus that has crept into politics. And it was cuuuute too! I like Patrick Fugit. But I LOVE Jena Malone.
IKEA fieldtrip tomorrow!
Saved! is just brilliant. Criticism of Christianity--especially in America--is commonly something that filmmakers (and large media corporations) shy away from, but this film accurately and successfully parodized both the Willow Creek-style belief-less attitude many churches have, and the inane right-wing fundamentalist virus that has crept into politics. And it was cuuuute too! I like Patrick Fugit. But I LOVE Jena Malone.
IKEA fieldtrip tomorrow!
Saturday, May 22, 2004
Clueless
I just returned from a brief sojourn in suburbia to see my high school's production of "Clue." What's that, you say? There's a stage version of that film I fell in love with so long ago? Nay, nay. They simply ILLEGALLY printed the film script off some internet source and staged it. Hm.
Now, knowing full well that some Jacobs people read this, I'll be nice. And truly, the brunt of my issues with the show stem from the fact that I COULDN'T HEAR IT. I think (and had I been elected drama club pres. my senior year, this was my main goal...but, who wanted to elect a fag to be president of drama club? that's positively unheard of.) that some sort of parentally-run booster club MUST be erected, so that the theater program can succumb to a much-needed rehabilitation. If there were a booster club on the level of Vocal-Strings or whatnot, a new sound system (A MUST) could be purchased, more money could be spent on costuming, sets, PUBLICITY (I could have spat on the entire audience in one fell loogie, it was so minute) and lighting, and perhaps the school could put on a play that they'd BOUGHT THE RIGHTS TO. Otherwise, the show was alright. Just a poor show to pick, I think. But talent-wise, it was alright.
Another blah weekend. I work all day and all night tomorrow, and I have an 8AM meeting on Sunday. Rumor has it Zoe's in town, which is frustrating because I have no time to spend with her. Luckily, i have several events to look forward to in June: David Sedaris on the 4th, Rufus sometime in the middle of the month, and pride at the end. And my superexciting Af-Am history and politics class.
'Tis all.
I just returned from a brief sojourn in suburbia to see my high school's production of "Clue." What's that, you say? There's a stage version of that film I fell in love with so long ago? Nay, nay. They simply ILLEGALLY printed the film script off some internet source and staged it. Hm.
Now, knowing full well that some Jacobs people read this, I'll be nice. And truly, the brunt of my issues with the show stem from the fact that I COULDN'T HEAR IT. I think (and had I been elected drama club pres. my senior year, this was my main goal...but, who wanted to elect a fag to be president of drama club? that's positively unheard of.) that some sort of parentally-run booster club MUST be erected, so that the theater program can succumb to a much-needed rehabilitation. If there were a booster club on the level of Vocal-Strings or whatnot, a new sound system (A MUST) could be purchased, more money could be spent on costuming, sets, PUBLICITY (I could have spat on the entire audience in one fell loogie, it was so minute) and lighting, and perhaps the school could put on a play that they'd BOUGHT THE RIGHTS TO. Otherwise, the show was alright. Just a poor show to pick, I think. But talent-wise, it was alright.
Another blah weekend. I work all day and all night tomorrow, and I have an 8AM meeting on Sunday. Rumor has it Zoe's in town, which is frustrating because I have no time to spend with her. Luckily, i have several events to look forward to in June: David Sedaris on the 4th, Rufus sometime in the middle of the month, and pride at the end. And my superexciting Af-Am history and politics class.
'Tis all.
Friday, May 14, 2004
Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes
So, I leave the Blogging world for one month, and the setup is completely different. Ah, life.
The fact that my computer decided to finally stop working altogether IN THE MIDDLE OF FINALS WEEK not only hindered me while writing my seminar papers, but prevented me from applying to, and eventually getting--I have connections--a meeting planning internship with the American Library Association. As it violently shuts down every time I try to reformat it, my computer has prevented me from a multitude of things that I would normally be able to access through Theo's computer...except that he's a computer Nazi.
I didn't do as well as I would have liked this semester. And that's all about that. Looking forward to summer/fall classes.
I painted my room a wretched color of lavenderpurple today. It's hideous and fit to be a tween girl's room.
I've already run out of negative adjectives, I think.
I've been reading a lot--catching up on books I wanted to read all semester but didn't have time to.
- Yann Martel's Life of Pi: Brilliant; fun theological things woven into a delightful "adventure" story.
- Augusten Burroughs's Running With Scissors and Dry: I don't think he should be an author. His latter title epitomizes his writing--dry like a week-old piece of bread.
- Lynne Truss's Eats, Shoots, and Leaves: Love the topic, hate her writing. I wanted to scratch my eyeballs out at times. British punctuation is sometimes queer.
Theo and I, after inevetable rollercoaster weeks, are fine as of all day after this morning. Mornings are not good for us--I like sleeping in, and he gets upset when I don't wake up. Then, I usually say something really insulting that I forget about when I fall back asleep five minutes later. Then, I officially wake up and he isn't speaking to me.
Yuki is wonderful; a bit hot, because I haven't had time to have her shorn, but otherwise great. A disgusting, soaking wet Bassett Hound tried mounting/humping her at the dog park on Monday. She would have none of it.
I chauffered my sister around for her pre-prom appointments a week or two ago. She looked lovely in a strapless mint green gown. I think she had a good time with her boyfriend, WHO IS GOING TO THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO IN THE FALL--ahhhhh. So jealous.
I think that is all. Oh! As usual, I have a laundry list of people to call, and I get to see Erin tomorrow. Hopefully.
So, I leave the Blogging world for one month, and the setup is completely different. Ah, life.
The fact that my computer decided to finally stop working altogether IN THE MIDDLE OF FINALS WEEK not only hindered me while writing my seminar papers, but prevented me from applying to, and eventually getting--I have connections--a meeting planning internship with the American Library Association. As it violently shuts down every time I try to reformat it, my computer has prevented me from a multitude of things that I would normally be able to access through Theo's computer...except that he's a computer Nazi.
I didn't do as well as I would have liked this semester. And that's all about that. Looking forward to summer/fall classes.
I painted my room a wretched color of lavenderpurple today. It's hideous and fit to be a tween girl's room.
I've already run out of negative adjectives, I think.
I've been reading a lot--catching up on books I wanted to read all semester but didn't have time to.
- Yann Martel's Life of Pi: Brilliant; fun theological things woven into a delightful "adventure" story.
- Augusten Burroughs's Running With Scissors and Dry: I don't think he should be an author. His latter title epitomizes his writing--dry like a week-old piece of bread.
- Lynne Truss's Eats, Shoots, and Leaves: Love the topic, hate her writing. I wanted to scratch my eyeballs out at times. British punctuation is sometimes queer.
Theo and I, after inevetable rollercoaster weeks, are fine as of all day after this morning. Mornings are not good for us--I like sleeping in, and he gets upset when I don't wake up. Then, I usually say something really insulting that I forget about when I fall back asleep five minutes later. Then, I officially wake up and he isn't speaking to me.
Yuki is wonderful; a bit hot, because I haven't had time to have her shorn, but otherwise great. A disgusting, soaking wet Bassett Hound tried mounting/humping her at the dog park on Monday. She would have none of it.
I chauffered my sister around for her pre-prom appointments a week or two ago. She looked lovely in a strapless mint green gown.
I think that is all. Oh! As usual, I have a laundry list of people to call, and I get to see Erin tomorrow. Hopefully.
Wednesday, April 07, 2004
The Stupid One/Smart One Relationship
In all group/partner exercises, there's inevetably one or more people who act as "the smart ones": those who provide the interesting ideas and keep the group on-track. Consequently, there are also "the stupid ones": those who have nothing worthwhile to contribute, and end up completing all the banal things, like writing things "the smart ones" say and making posters and whatnot.
My whole life, I have been "the smart one"; I have always been frustrated with group activities because my ideas were generally better and more complete than those I worked with. I've always wanted to do everything my way, and ended up just doing the whole project by myself, voluntarily. But, now I know how it feels to be "the stupid one." I'm working on a presentation for my Feminist Theory and Gender Studies class with a brilliant girl I've befriended this semester, and invariably, if she's more brilliant than me, I must adopt the "stupid one" role. I know how it feels to be told, "oh, I can just write that," and have the entire project exist without hardly any of my input. And the thing that sucks about it, is that she's totally right in doing so, because I'm completely clueless about the article on which we're presenting. And, moreover, she isn't trying to be mean about it--the presentation will simply be better if she mans the "thought" part of it.
I can't stand not being the best--and even though I know that I'm not the best at everything (or anything, undoubtably), I hate that I now have to know it, and have proof of it. How did this happen?
On another note, this week, I'm going to put to an end the passive-agressive discourse I've had with a certain person. I'm just fed up.
In all group/partner exercises, there's inevetably one or more people who act as "the smart ones": those who provide the interesting ideas and keep the group on-track. Consequently, there are also "the stupid ones": those who have nothing worthwhile to contribute, and end up completing all the banal things, like writing things "the smart ones" say and making posters and whatnot.
My whole life, I have been "the smart one"; I have always been frustrated with group activities because my ideas were generally better and more complete than those I worked with. I've always wanted to do everything my way, and ended up just doing the whole project by myself, voluntarily. But, now I know how it feels to be "the stupid one." I'm working on a presentation for my Feminist Theory and Gender Studies class with a brilliant girl I've befriended this semester, and invariably, if she's more brilliant than me, I must adopt the "stupid one" role. I know how it feels to be told, "oh, I can just write that," and have the entire project exist without hardly any of my input. And the thing that sucks about it, is that she's totally right in doing so, because I'm completely clueless about the article on which we're presenting. And, moreover, she isn't trying to be mean about it--the presentation will simply be better if she mans the "thought" part of it.
I can't stand not being the best--and even though I know that I'm not the best at everything (or anything, undoubtably), I hate that I now have to know it, and have proof of it. How did this happen?
On another note, this week, I'm going to put to an end the passive-agressive discourse I've had with a certain person. I'm just fed up.
Monday, April 05, 2004
Tuesday, March 30, 2004
Just Prattling on About God Stuff
Today was a bad "faith" day. IN that, I mean to say, the day has left me with an ill feeling in my stomach (or is that from the BBQ potato chips I just inhaled?) concerning my faith.
I talked with my Hinduism professor today (who I have grown to like greatly) about how, even though there's no idea of "conversion" in the Hindu faith, whether or not a non-South Asian person can freely enter a "congregation" of Hindus. She responded by saying that Hinduism is really more about blood than belief, and that mose South Asians wouldn't accept an Anglo as a spiritual peer simply because of their ethnicity. that really disturbs me, in part because it unfounded my own Christian belief system, which dictates that religion is based on beliefs, tenets, and most crucially, faith.
I don't have a yen to commit myself to Hinduism--while I find it fascinating, and see a great sense of universality in their teachings that would allow me to effortlessly "convert" to their faith, I'm still wrestling with my own heretically-received God (thank you Gerard Manley Hopkins for the analogy). While on the back porch this evening, I, for the first time, admitted to myself that my faith isn't as strong as I'd like to think. This is a very hard admission to myself, because faith has always been an integral factor in my life, and even though I'm sure I've said these words before to people, I don't think I ever really believed them.
Perhaps, then, no faith is really about beliefs. Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism--these are all human-constructed ideas of morality that civilizations were constructed upon, and are passed on from parent to child. (Christianity, of course, doesn't fit this description so perfectly, since the main goal of the Christian church has always been prosletyzing to "unbelievers.") Where does biology stop and faith begin?
Damn you, Tracy.
Today was a bad "faith" day. IN that, I mean to say, the day has left me with an ill feeling in my stomach (or is that from the BBQ potato chips I just inhaled?) concerning my faith.
I talked with my Hinduism professor today (who I have grown to like greatly) about how, even though there's no idea of "conversion" in the Hindu faith, whether or not a non-South Asian person can freely enter a "congregation" of Hindus. She responded by saying that Hinduism is really more about blood than belief, and that mose South Asians wouldn't accept an Anglo as a spiritual peer simply because of their ethnicity. that really disturbs me, in part because it unfounded my own Christian belief system, which dictates that religion is based on beliefs, tenets, and most crucially, faith.
I don't have a yen to commit myself to Hinduism--while I find it fascinating, and see a great sense of universality in their teachings that would allow me to effortlessly "convert" to their faith, I'm still wrestling with my own heretically-received God (thank you Gerard Manley Hopkins for the analogy). While on the back porch this evening, I, for the first time, admitted to myself that my faith isn't as strong as I'd like to think. This is a very hard admission to myself, because faith has always been an integral factor in my life, and even though I'm sure I've said these words before to people, I don't think I ever really believed them.
Perhaps, then, no faith is really about beliefs. Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism--these are all human-constructed ideas of morality that civilizations were constructed upon, and are passed on from parent to child. (Christianity, of course, doesn't fit this description so perfectly, since the main goal of the Christian church has always been prosletyzing to "unbelievers.") Where does biology stop and faith begin?
Damn you, Tracy.
Sunday, March 28, 2004
The Gods are Making Me Crazy
If the weather weren't so amazing, I might actually be doing something I NEED to do. But, instead of writing my two papers and reading the 1,000+ pages of material I need to have completed for Tuesday, I've been playing with the dog outdoors for the past hour.
My car was struck Friday night. MY ENTIRE FAMILY came down to celebrate my mother's birthday that night, and I was about to pull out of a parallel spot (WITH ALL OF THEM IN THE CAR) when I was struck by an SUV. Instead of hitting me and stopping, he decided to continue dragging his car through my car ("I thought it was a bump in the road," he later said) until the entire right side of his car had been horribly damaged. All while going less than four miles an hour, might I add. It's not as if he couldn't have stopped immediately upon ramming into my car. So, everything is fucked, and I owe even MORE money. Cars and me were not meant to be. Esp. in Chicago.
I went on a "field trip" to the Hindu Temple of Greater Chicago this morning, for my Hindu class. It was so incredibly beautiful, and everything--from the offerings to the icons to the millions of flower arrangements everywhere to the icons' outfits to the buildings themselves--seemed so much more expensive than in Christian churches. For an incredibly impovershed country (it's like this in all temples, in India and abroad--the level of ornateness), India sure does love its religion. I took some pictures of the exterior of the building (I don't think I was supposed to, but...oh well) and will TRY to post them sometime this week.
In addition to the thousands of dollars I owe on my car (I got booted a few weeks ago; I don't think that was mentioned here) and the horrible stress school is giving me, my very best friend is angry with me. How does this happen?
I'm going to go wash off the yellow stuff on my forehead, and...yeah, probably play with the dog some more. Dammit.
If the weather weren't so amazing, I might actually be doing something I NEED to do. But, instead of writing my two papers and reading the 1,000+ pages of material I need to have completed for Tuesday, I've been playing with the dog outdoors for the past hour.
My car was struck Friday night. MY ENTIRE FAMILY came down to celebrate my mother's birthday that night, and I was about to pull out of a parallel spot (WITH ALL OF THEM IN THE CAR) when I was struck by an SUV. Instead of hitting me and stopping, he decided to continue dragging his car through my car ("I thought it was a bump in the road," he later said) until the entire right side of his car had been horribly damaged. All while going less than four miles an hour, might I add. It's not as if he couldn't have stopped immediately upon ramming into my car. So, everything is fucked, and I owe even MORE money. Cars and me were not meant to be. Esp. in Chicago.
I went on a "field trip" to the Hindu Temple of Greater Chicago this morning, for my Hindu class. It was so incredibly beautiful, and everything--from the offerings to the icons to the millions of flower arrangements everywhere to the icons' outfits to the buildings themselves--seemed so much more expensive than in Christian churches. For an incredibly impovershed country (it's like this in all temples, in India and abroad--the level of ornateness), India sure does love its religion. I took some pictures of the exterior of the building (I don't think I was supposed to, but...oh well) and will TRY to post them sometime this week.
In addition to the thousands of dollars I owe on my car (I got booted a few weeks ago; I don't think that was mentioned here) and the horrible stress school is giving me, my very best friend is angry with me. How does this happen?
I'm going to go wash off the yellow stuff on my forehead, and...yeah, probably play with the dog some more. Dammit.
Thursday, March 25, 2004
Cooking With Chestnuts
The beginning of finals season has taken its toll on me, sendingme into a period of passivity, frustration, lethargy, and the like. I've fallen behind on the readings in almost all of my classes--and I've been so good about that this semester!--and this weekend will not allow me the time needed to catch up. Not only has the temptress of spring weather made designs on my weekend, but I'm traveling to Lemont on Sunday to visit the Hindu Temple of Greater Chicago for my Hinduism class. I have papers, at least 1,000 words to write, and a teensy shift at Gap.
I'm shopping for a new job right now (aren't I always?). I'm thinking about Borders--while I'd rather not support their monopoly on the bookselling business, all the "ma-and-pa" bookstores in the area are run by one or two people, or are highly coveted positions that are full-time (a la Unabridged). Oh, or "bookstore" means "porn shop," in which case, I morally object to it.
Good things, good things...I saw the first movie in the theaters since December this week--Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I'm really not a fan of Kaufman's previous two films, but I fell in love with the concept of this film even before I screened it. Now, after seeing this beautiful, smart film, I no longer HATE Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet. I just have no feeling for them whatsoever. Which is an improvement. (Improvment?) (Why can't I spell.)
Oh, and I finally had a chance to listen to "David Sedaris Live at Carnegie Hall" this week--a gift from Tim for my birthday--and have re-fallen in love with the man. When I first bulleted through his three books a few years ago, I set my heart on one day becoming a prose essayist like him. (I've since abandoned the aspiration, chalking it up to another literary trend that will surely fade in time. Have you seen all of the bourgeois collections of women shopping-and-men stories out there?) Strangely enough, one of his pieces from his upcoming collection discusses the morality of writing about personal experiences, and how his family and friends react to him writing about their intimate anecdotes. I'd just like to add that, from now on, if anyone's going to add my personal experiences into a Souffle of Trite Tripe, asking permission or something would be greatly appreciated. I thought there was an understanding within the writing community that a level of professionalism and courtesy was to be upheld at all times. If you don't know what I'm taking about...don't ask, because I'm still stewing about it.
Otherwise, I've got nothing.
The beginning of finals season has taken its toll on me, sendingme into a period of passivity, frustration, lethargy, and the like. I've fallen behind on the readings in almost all of my classes--and I've been so good about that this semester!--and this weekend will not allow me the time needed to catch up. Not only has the temptress of spring weather made designs on my weekend, but I'm traveling to Lemont on Sunday to visit the Hindu Temple of Greater Chicago for my Hinduism class. I have papers, at least 1,000 words to write, and a teensy shift at Gap.
I'm shopping for a new job right now (aren't I always?). I'm thinking about Borders--while I'd rather not support their monopoly on the bookselling business, all the "ma-and-pa" bookstores in the area are run by one or two people, or are highly coveted positions that are full-time (a la Unabridged). Oh, or "bookstore" means "porn shop," in which case, I morally object to it.
Good things, good things...I saw the first movie in the theaters since December this week--Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I'm really not a fan of Kaufman's previous two films, but I fell in love with the concept of this film even before I screened it. Now, after seeing this beautiful, smart film, I no longer HATE Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet. I just have no feeling for them whatsoever. Which is an improvement. (Improvment?) (Why can't I spell.)
Oh, and I finally had a chance to listen to "David Sedaris Live at Carnegie Hall" this week--a gift from Tim for my birthday--and have re-fallen in love with the man. When I first bulleted through his three books a few years ago, I set my heart on one day becoming a prose essayist like him. (I've since abandoned the aspiration, chalking it up to another literary trend that will surely fade in time. Have you seen all of the bourgeois collections of women shopping-and-men stories out there?) Strangely enough, one of his pieces from his upcoming collection discusses the morality of writing about personal experiences, and how his family and friends react to him writing about their intimate anecdotes. I'd just like to add that, from now on, if anyone's going to add my personal experiences into a Souffle of Trite Tripe, asking permission or something would be greatly appreciated. I thought there was an understanding within the writing community that a level of professionalism and courtesy was to be upheld at all times. If you don't know what I'm taking about...don't ask, because I'm still stewing about it.
Otherwise, I've got nothing.
Thursday, March 11, 2004
I just want to make sure everyone understands that my away messages are generally not autobiographical. Theo and I have not broken up; Ani is not singing about the "bubble" that is Theo and I. Ok?
I am just in a shit shit shitty mood. My father is so angry with me right now, and I have to go take care of some expensive fucking things.
I am just in a shit shit shitty mood. My father is so angry with me right now, and I have to go take care of some expensive fucking things.
Sunday, February 22, 2004
Gestures
Over dinner at the ever-annoying Clarke's, Theo and I were discussing how sincerely and wonderfully grateful Allison is. And, it just made us think about how some people he and I know are not as grateful, and how simple an earnest "thank you" is to deliver. It's an effortless action that really makes a difference for a friendship.
And of course, as I type this, I realize how overdue a thank you is to Tim, who gave me--without a doubt--the best birthday present ever. Its perfection stemmed from how simple it was, and yet how meaningful and unforgettable it is. It really serves as a testament to how well he knows me, and I hope that it's proof that our frienship is not as doomed as he once thought.
Over dinner at the ever-annoying Clarke's, Theo and I were discussing how sincerely and wonderfully grateful Allison is. And, it just made us think about how some people he and I know are not as grateful, and how simple an earnest "thank you" is to deliver. It's an effortless action that really makes a difference for a friendship.
And of course, as I type this, I realize how overdue a thank you is to Tim, who gave me--without a doubt--the best birthday present ever. Its perfection stemmed from how simple it was, and yet how meaningful and unforgettable it is. It really serves as a testament to how well he knows me, and I hope that it's proof that our frienship is not as doomed as he once thought.
Saturday, February 21, 2004
Cigarettes and Deep-Fried Chocolate
Life is nothing but circuitous patterns, in which the same situations arise again and again. Why, while some people recognize these patterns and make efforts to transcend them, do others listlessly subject themselves to the same misery over and over again? Perhaps there is no end to our patterns, and like some M.C. Escher portrait, while we think there's a source and an end to everything, there really isn't. Yeah, reading other people's journals, even when you KNOW they'll upset you (I have a list of several), sucks.
Allison came in from Iowa yesterday, and as always, I enjoyed her presence. We saw Rufus' show last night, which was excellent--a few new songs that I had't heard, including one about a 14-year old girl (him) falling in love with her art teacher. I wish we were able to SEE him, but just being there was good enough.
After searching for non-permit parking for the better part of an hour (Theo, much to my dismay, used all the permits without telling me), we parked in a garage. Then we did something I have been DYING to do for years--we deep fried things! We started off with some mini candy bars, moved on to Cadbury's Eggs (kind of a mistake), and had a grand greasy finale with the immolation of a CAR-O-MEL HO HO (Which are the best things ever)! Between that, the smoke alarm screaming, and many glasses of wine, I had one of the better weekends of the year.
I hear chewing. must investigate.
Life is nothing but circuitous patterns, in which the same situations arise again and again. Why, while some people recognize these patterns and make efforts to transcend them, do others listlessly subject themselves to the same misery over and over again? Perhaps there is no end to our patterns, and like some M.C. Escher portrait, while we think there's a source and an end to everything, there really isn't. Yeah, reading other people's journals, even when you KNOW they'll upset you (I have a list of several), sucks.
Allison came in from Iowa yesterday, and as always, I enjoyed her presence. We saw Rufus' show last night, which was excellent--a few new songs that I had't heard, including one about a 14-year old girl (him) falling in love with her art teacher. I wish we were able to SEE him, but just being there was good enough.
After searching for non-permit parking for the better part of an hour (Theo, much to my dismay, used all the permits without telling me), we parked in a garage. Then we did something I have been DYING to do for years--we deep fried things! We started off with some mini candy bars, moved on to Cadbury's Eggs (kind of a mistake), and had a grand greasy finale with the immolation of a CAR-O-MEL HO HO (Which are the best things ever)! Between that, the smoke alarm screaming, and many glasses of wine, I had one of the better weekends of the year.
I hear chewing. must investigate.
Thursday, February 19, 2004
End of a Short-Lived Era
As unceremoniously as I placed my Howard Dean sticker on my bag--after attending his prophetic Navy Pier speech on a hot, rainy summer day--I removed it today, while traveling to class on the El. As he rightfully claims, Dean introduced a new generation to the political game of baseball, and while he may not have scored any much-needed bases in the latter few innings, it is the home runs he sent soaring out of the park at the game's beginning I will remember most. I'll still vote for him in the upcoming primary, since I'm not ready to take a seat on the John Kerry bandwagon, but with less of that giddy glee that once filled me up when thinking about my first voting experience.
Now, I'm just worried about my future--not as a political yuppie, but as a gay man hoping to one day marry. After Bush stumbled over his words yesterday about how angry he is at the judical processes in Massachusetts and San Fransisco, I'm feeling lost. Very lost.
As unceremoniously as I placed my Howard Dean sticker on my bag--after attending his prophetic Navy Pier speech on a hot, rainy summer day--I removed it today, while traveling to class on the El. As he rightfully claims, Dean introduced a new generation to the political game of baseball, and while he may not have scored any much-needed bases in the latter few innings, it is the home runs he sent soaring out of the park at the game's beginning I will remember most. I'll still vote for him in the upcoming primary, since I'm not ready to take a seat on the John Kerry bandwagon, but with less of that giddy glee that once filled me up when thinking about my first voting experience.
Now, I'm just worried about my future--not as a political yuppie, but as a gay man hoping to one day marry. After Bush stumbled over his words yesterday about how angry he is at the judical processes in Massachusetts and San Fransisco, I'm feeling lost. Very lost.
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
Oh, the Minnesotans...
No offense, Zoe, but..."grey duck?" Give me a break.
The dog has officially caught on to my biggest insecurity. We were playing (well, I was trying to pet her and she was pouncy and riled up), and she bit my nose. Doesn't that only happen in cartoons, and the person whose nose is bitten/honked/squashed/pulled has a really really huge nose? Anyone want to donate $4000 to me for the Save Brian's Dignity Fund?
No offense, Zoe, but..."grey duck?" Give me a break.
The dog has officially caught on to my biggest insecurity. We were playing (well, I was trying to pet her and she was pouncy and riled up), and she bit my nose. Doesn't that only happen in cartoons, and the person whose nose is bitten/honked/squashed/pulled has a really really huge nose? Anyone want to donate $4000 to me for the Save Brian's Dignity Fund?
Another Letter.
Dear friend,
During this year's Super Bowl, you'll see ads sponsored by beer companies, tobacco companies, and the Bush White House. But you won't see the winning ad in MoveOn.org Voter Fund's Bush in 30 Seconds ad contest. CBS refuses to air it.
Meanwhile, the White House and Congressional Republicans are on the verge of signing into law a deal which Senator John McCain (R-AZ) says is custom-tailored for CBS and Fox, allowing the two networks to grow much bigger. CBS lobbied hard for this rule change; MoveOn.org members across the country lobbied against it; and now the MoveOn.org ad has been rejected while the White House ad will be played. It looks an awful lot like CBS is playing politics with the right to free speech.
Of course, this is bigger than just the MoveOn.org Voter Fund. People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) submitted an ad that was also rejected. We need to let CBS know that this practice of arbitrarily turning down ads that may be "controversial" – especially if they're controversial simply because they take on the President – just isn't right.
To watch the ad that CBS won't air and sign the petition to CBS to run these ads, go to:
http://www.moveon.org/cbs/ad/
MoveOn.org will deliver the petition by email directly to CBS headquarters.
Thanks.
Dear friend,
During this year's Super Bowl, you'll see ads sponsored by beer companies, tobacco companies, and the Bush White House. But you won't see the winning ad in MoveOn.org Voter Fund's Bush in 30 Seconds ad contest. CBS refuses to air it.
Meanwhile, the White House and Congressional Republicans are on the verge of signing into law a deal which Senator John McCain (R-AZ) says is custom-tailored for CBS and Fox, allowing the two networks to grow much bigger. CBS lobbied hard for this rule change; MoveOn.org members across the country lobbied against it; and now the MoveOn.org ad has been rejected while the White House ad will be played. It looks an awful lot like CBS is playing politics with the right to free speech.
Of course, this is bigger than just the MoveOn.org Voter Fund. People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) submitted an ad that was also rejected. We need to let CBS know that this practice of arbitrarily turning down ads that may be "controversial" – especially if they're controversial simply because they take on the President – just isn't right.
To watch the ad that CBS won't air and sign the petition to CBS to run these ads, go to:
http://www.moveon.org/cbs/ad/
MoveOn.org will deliver the petition by email directly to CBS headquarters.
Thanks.
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
Overload
I've officially begin my semester sliding ritual. In said ritual, I find myself sliding behind in one or more classes--in this case, four of the total five. For Thursday, I have 1.5 novels to read, as well as thirty pages of St. Agustine's dry Confessions, a book meriting no correlation to my history class. Somewhere between these three texts, I must study for my massive Hinduism midterm, slated for Thursday afternoon. Why do I do this to myself? Or, better yet, how do I do this to myself?
The answer to this latter question seems rooted in my inbalance of work and play. While at the time, my "play" (including reading Newsweek cover to cover, watching The Simpsons, scouring the Internet for religious-based groups, such as the Alliance Defense Fund, who hate homosexuals, exercising my dog, eating, and sleeping, among other things) seems justified and minute, in retrospect, I realize that those precious hours could have been spent prewriting papers, reading assigned texts, and preparing intelligent things to say in class (an activity I generally shy away from). Work, therefore, occupies my hours of 8:00PM-1:00AM, Monday and Wednesday (IF I have a paper to write or an entire novel due the following day), and 7:00AM-9:00AM Tuesday and Thursday (to read as much as I can before class). This is radically unhelathy, and while my grades thus far have been nothing short of stellar, it opens up the possibility of future failure. I'm just not sure how I can escape my lethargy.
I've officially begin my semester sliding ritual. In said ritual, I find myself sliding behind in one or more classes--in this case, four of the total five. For Thursday, I have 1.5 novels to read, as well as thirty pages of St. Agustine's dry Confessions, a book meriting no correlation to my history class. Somewhere between these three texts, I must study for my massive Hinduism midterm, slated for Thursday afternoon. Why do I do this to myself? Or, better yet, how do I do this to myself?
The answer to this latter question seems rooted in my inbalance of work and play. While at the time, my "play" (including reading Newsweek cover to cover, watching The Simpsons, scouring the Internet for religious-based groups, such as the Alliance Defense Fund, who hate homosexuals, exercising my dog, eating, and sleeping, among other things) seems justified and minute, in retrospect, I realize that those precious hours could have been spent prewriting papers, reading assigned texts, and preparing intelligent things to say in class (an activity I generally shy away from). Work, therefore, occupies my hours of 8:00PM-1:00AM, Monday and Wednesday (IF I have a paper to write or an entire novel due the following day), and 7:00AM-9:00AM Tuesday and Thursday (to read as much as I can before class). This is radically unhelathy, and while my grades thus far have been nothing short of stellar, it opens up the possibility of future failure. I'm just not sure how I can escape my lethargy.
Thursday, February 12, 2004
Fantasies and Realities
Thank you, San Francisco. Although this will probably not become a trend among metropolitan cities--especially not Chicago--it still tickles me.
I had a relatively good day, that was mired by one bothersome trend. I got an A on my first Border Literatures essay (Thank you, Cyndi!), but my prof. suggested I not be so wordy. Later, in a "response essay" (waste of time essay with no grade) for my Feminist Theory course, my prof. write something along the lines of, "Great ideas--if you'd like, come see me so we can talk about some of your choices of words." WHAT? This is quite frustrating. Not since junior year of high school, when my AP Lit. teacher called my writing "circumbendibus" has my actual style been criticized (content notwithstanding). I happen to enjoy reading my own prose. I suppose I'll have to conform to the wishes of these two word-conservationalists for the semester.
My weekend was good--Theo and I went out to dinner on Friday, and Saturday my parents and sister came down to visit. Theo bought me a new wallet, with sort of a linen-y pattern in the leather. For the big day, my parents bought me a fun camera cell phone, a new rug, some wine (that I distinctly recall seeing in their fridge, unopened, at Christmas), and dog things. We ate at Erwin, my favorite Lakeview restuarant, and came back to our apartment to open some gifts and eat cake. Yuki, in the midst of all this, decided to urinate on the new rug that my parents JUST gave me. Of course, my parents were horrified, and did not touch her for the rest of the evening. I was much more angry at them than the dog--she was just a bit overwhelmed by all of the people. My parents, on the other hand, probably assume this is a regular thing (it's not) and think that this "dog thing" was a terrible idea. Otherwise, 'twas a good weekend.
I bought some fun new spring clothes today at H&M. Before this season, I'd never really distinguished spring clothes from the rest of my seasonal wardrobe. For whatever reason, this year I've had a fashion epiphany and decided to adorn myself in a very Gatsby-esque palate of white and pastels. (This will only last for about a week, since I now own...five "spring"-ish tops, but it's fun to pretend.) (I pulled off a snazzy ensemble last week, with slim-fitting khakis, a white Oxford, and a black-and-pink-striped tie coyly tucked between the buttonfolds of my shirt.) (Buttonfolds? You know what I mean.)
I've also considered undertaking yet another field of study--the Asian Studies minor. My Hinduism professor happens to be the chairperson of the organization, and she passed the propaganda-esque brochures out today, outlining the requirements. I'd like to extensively study South Asian literature--that of the diasporic cultures established in "Western" countries, and of the region itself. Wouldn't that rock?
Thank you, San Francisco. Although this will probably not become a trend among metropolitan cities--especially not Chicago--it still tickles me.
I had a relatively good day, that was mired by one bothersome trend. I got an A on my first Border Literatures essay (Thank you, Cyndi!), but my prof. suggested I not be so wordy. Later, in a "response essay" (waste of time essay with no grade) for my Feminist Theory course, my prof. write something along the lines of, "Great ideas--if you'd like, come see me so we can talk about some of your choices of words." WHAT? This is quite frustrating. Not since junior year of high school, when my AP Lit. teacher called my writing "circumbendibus" has my actual style been criticized (content notwithstanding). I happen to enjoy reading my own prose. I suppose I'll have to conform to the wishes of these two word-conservationalists for the semester.
My weekend was good--Theo and I went out to dinner on Friday, and Saturday my parents and sister came down to visit. Theo bought me a new wallet, with sort of a linen-y pattern in the leather. For the big day, my parents bought me a fun camera cell phone, a new rug, some wine (that I distinctly recall seeing in their fridge, unopened, at Christmas), and dog things. We ate at Erwin, my favorite Lakeview restuarant, and came back to our apartment to open some gifts and eat cake. Yuki, in the midst of all this, decided to urinate on the new rug that my parents JUST gave me. Of course, my parents were horrified, and did not touch her for the rest of the evening. I was much more angry at them than the dog--she was just a bit overwhelmed by all of the people. My parents, on the other hand, probably assume this is a regular thing (it's not) and think that this "dog thing" was a terrible idea. Otherwise, 'twas a good weekend.
I bought some fun new spring clothes today at H&M. Before this season, I'd never really distinguished spring clothes from the rest of my seasonal wardrobe. For whatever reason, this year I've had a fashion epiphany and decided to adorn myself in a very Gatsby-esque palate of white and pastels. (This will only last for about a week, since I now own...five "spring"-ish tops, but it's fun to pretend.) (I pulled off a snazzy ensemble last week, with slim-fitting khakis, a white Oxford, and a black-and-pink-striped tie coyly tucked between the buttonfolds of my shirt.) (Buttonfolds? You know what I mean.)
I've also considered undertaking yet another field of study--the Asian Studies minor. My Hinduism professor happens to be the chairperson of the organization, and she passed the propaganda-esque brochures out today, outlining the requirements. I'd like to extensively study South Asian literature--that of the diasporic cultures established in "Western" countries, and of the region itself. Wouldn't that rock?
Friday, February 06, 2004
"Beautiful beautiful"
That was my scribble in the margin of Toni Morrison's Sula, after ruminating momentarily on the sheer powerfulness of the following passage. Of all the books I've read, of all the intimate moments ever recorded in American literature, I think Morrison has created the most delicate, beautiful, and mind-tingling love scene here.
Ajax came sopping wet into the room and lay down on the bed to let the air dry him. They were both still for a long time until he reached out and touched her arm.
He liked for her to mount him so he could see her towering above him and call soft obscenities up into her face. As she rocked there, swayed there, like a Georgia pine on its knees, high above the slipping, falling smile, high above the golden eyes and the velvet helmet of hair, rocking, swaying, she focused her thoughts to bar the creeping disorder that was flooding her hips. She looked down, down from what seemed an awful height at the head of a man whose lemon-yellow gabardines had been the first sexual excitement she'd known. Letting her thoughts dwell on his face in order to confine, for just a while longer, the drift of her flesh toward the high silence of orgasm.
If I take a chamois and rub real hard on the bone, right on the ledge of your cheek bone, some of the black will disappear. It will flake away into the chamois and underneath there will be gold leaf. I can see it shining through the black. I know it is there. . .
How high she was over his wand-lean body, how slippery was his sliding sliding smile.
And if I take a nail file or even Eva's old paring knife--that will do--and scrape away at the gold, it will fall away and there will be alabaster. The alabaster is what gives your face its planes, its curves. That is why your mouth smiling does not reach your eyes. Alabaster is giving it a gravity that resists a total smile.
The height and swaying dizzied her, so she bent down and let her breasts graze his chest.
Then I can take a chisel and small tap hammer and tap away at the alabaster. It will crack then like ice under the pick, and through the breaks I will see the loam, fertile, free of pebbles and twigs. For it is the loam that is giving you that smell.
She slipped her hands under his armpits, for it seemed as though she would not be able to dam the spread of weakness she felt under her skin without holding on to something.
I will put my hand deep into your soil, lift it, sift it with my fingers, feel its warm surface and dewy chill below.
She put her head under his chin with no hope in the world of keeping anything at all at bay.
I will water your soil, keep it rich and moist. But how much? How much water to keep the loam moist? And how much loam will I need to keep my water still? And when do the two make mud?
He swallowed her mouth just as her thighs had swallowed his genitals, and the house was very, very quiet.
I'm looking forward to a calm Friday.
That was my scribble in the margin of Toni Morrison's Sula, after ruminating momentarily on the sheer powerfulness of the following passage. Of all the books I've read, of all the intimate moments ever recorded in American literature, I think Morrison has created the most delicate, beautiful, and mind-tingling love scene here.
Ajax came sopping wet into the room and lay down on the bed to let the air dry him. They were both still for a long time until he reached out and touched her arm.
He liked for her to mount him so he could see her towering above him and call soft obscenities up into her face. As she rocked there, swayed there, like a Georgia pine on its knees, high above the slipping, falling smile, high above the golden eyes and the velvet helmet of hair, rocking, swaying, she focused her thoughts to bar the creeping disorder that was flooding her hips. She looked down, down from what seemed an awful height at the head of a man whose lemon-yellow gabardines had been the first sexual excitement she'd known. Letting her thoughts dwell on his face in order to confine, for just a while longer, the drift of her flesh toward the high silence of orgasm.
If I take a chamois and rub real hard on the bone, right on the ledge of your cheek bone, some of the black will disappear. It will flake away into the chamois and underneath there will be gold leaf. I can see it shining through the black. I know it is there. . .
How high she was over his wand-lean body, how slippery was his sliding sliding smile.
And if I take a nail file or even Eva's old paring knife--that will do--and scrape away at the gold, it will fall away and there will be alabaster. The alabaster is what gives your face its planes, its curves. That is why your mouth smiling does not reach your eyes. Alabaster is giving it a gravity that resists a total smile.
The height and swaying dizzied her, so she bent down and let her breasts graze his chest.
Then I can take a chisel and small tap hammer and tap away at the alabaster. It will crack then like ice under the pick, and through the breaks I will see the loam, fertile, free of pebbles and twigs. For it is the loam that is giving you that smell.
She slipped her hands under his armpits, for it seemed as though she would not be able to dam the spread of weakness she felt under her skin without holding on to something.
I will put my hand deep into your soil, lift it, sift it with my fingers, feel its warm surface and dewy chill below.
She put her head under his chin with no hope in the world of keeping anything at all at bay.
I will water your soil, keep it rich and moist. But how much? How much water to keep the loam moist? And how much loam will I need to keep my water still? And when do the two make mud?
He swallowed her mouth just as her thighs had swallowed his genitals, and the house was very, very quiet.
I'm looking forward to a calm Friday.
Thursday, February 05, 2004
Blues in the News
Dean Says He Will Quit Race if He Fails to Win Wisconsin
I'm rather upset about the impending failure of Dean's campaign--how can one man have so many people supporting him one week, and then lose them all to a less-capable candidate the next? The media really took the "Howard Howl" story too far; why can't a man show an affective response to things? Kerry's stone-faced delivery of his speeches evokes less memories of great Democratic leaders than of men like George W. Bush. I'm not going to be happy if/when I'm going to have to vote for Kerry in November.
Court Deems Civil Unions Insufficient, Discriminatory
Ok, this is a great thing, but the fact that 38 states have passed bills opposed to this same thing is not such a great thing. I like how a state that takes a pro-gay stance receives throngs of media attention, while a state like Ohio, which recently passed stong, horrible anti-gay laws only gets minimal coverage. It's like they want the gays to be surprised when they suddenly have no rights.
FCC to Examine Super Bowl Halftime Show
Thanks to the Christian right--whose power has infiltrated our political system and controlled practically everything since the Regan administration--the childish, immature Jackson/Timberlake "scandal" may be paid for in the millions by CBS and/or MTV. Because Ms. Jackson had to prove her youthfulness and counteract her lack of talent with "sex appeal" and her "rebellious nature," the FCC may be able to persuade America that strict limitations on not just live shows but all television and radio programming must be enacted. (And, just for the record, this was clearly NOT an accident, and the entire breast was CLEARLY supposed to be revealed, not just her bra. Otherwise, just the hideous latex "boobcap" would have detached, not the cap and bra cup as well. They think the American people are incredibly gullible--which they/we are.) As Cyndi put it, "...hasn't everyone who owns a television seen a breast?" So, thank you, Janet and Justin, for allowing the Federal Censorship Comission to run amok.
I don't have a link to my next story, because none exist. To commemorate Black History Month, Loyola asked Amiri Buraka (Black Power poet, one of my faves) to be the key-note speaker. But, because of some anti-Israel epithets he included in one of his more recent poems, about September 11 and the chaos of the world, the Hillel Center at Loyola (the Jewish society) requested that he be "dis-invited." First of all, that's incredibly rude--to ask someone to speak, and after all plans have been made, ban him from speaking--and unprofessional. Second of all, as my feminist theory prof. (who seems quite passionate about how ludicrous this situation is) noted, "Universities are supposed to be about bringing diverse and provocative ideas together, so that students can form their own set of values. When an institute of higher learning starts filtering personal philosophies, something is very wrong."
Aah! Everything is falling apart!
Dean Says He Will Quit Race if He Fails to Win Wisconsin
I'm rather upset about the impending failure of Dean's campaign--how can one man have so many people supporting him one week, and then lose them all to a less-capable candidate the next? The media really took the "Howard Howl" story too far; why can't a man show an affective response to things? Kerry's stone-faced delivery of his speeches evokes less memories of great Democratic leaders than of men like George W. Bush. I'm not going to be happy if/when I'm going to have to vote for Kerry in November.
Court Deems Civil Unions Insufficient, Discriminatory
Ok, this is a great thing, but the fact that 38 states have passed bills opposed to this same thing is not such a great thing. I like how a state that takes a pro-gay stance receives throngs of media attention, while a state like Ohio, which recently passed stong, horrible anti-gay laws only gets minimal coverage. It's like they want the gays to be surprised when they suddenly have no rights.
FCC to Examine Super Bowl Halftime Show
Thanks to the Christian right--whose power has infiltrated our political system and controlled practically everything since the Regan administration--the childish, immature Jackson/Timberlake "scandal" may be paid for in the millions by CBS and/or MTV. Because Ms. Jackson had to prove her youthfulness and counteract her lack of talent with "sex appeal" and her "rebellious nature," the FCC may be able to persuade America that strict limitations on not just live shows but all television and radio programming must be enacted. (And, just for the record, this was clearly NOT an accident, and the entire breast was CLEARLY supposed to be revealed, not just her bra. Otherwise, just the hideous latex "boobcap" would have detached, not the cap and bra cup as well. They think the American people are incredibly gullible--which they/we are.) As Cyndi put it, "...hasn't everyone who owns a television seen a breast?" So, thank you, Janet and Justin, for allowing the Federal Censorship Comission to run amok.
I don't have a link to my next story, because none exist. To commemorate Black History Month, Loyola asked Amiri Buraka (Black Power poet, one of my faves) to be the key-note speaker. But, because of some anti-Israel epithets he included in one of his more recent poems, about September 11 and the chaos of the world, the Hillel Center at Loyola (the Jewish society) requested that he be "dis-invited." First of all, that's incredibly rude--to ask someone to speak, and after all plans have been made, ban him from speaking--and unprofessional. Second of all, as my feminist theory prof. (who seems quite passionate about how ludicrous this situation is) noted, "Universities are supposed to be about bringing diverse and provocative ideas together, so that students can form their own set of values. When an institute of higher learning starts filtering personal philosophies, something is very wrong."
Aah! Everything is falling apart!
Monday, February 02, 2004
About Photos and the Perils of "Webhosters"
I am angry at everything having to do with the Internet and why no one will let me store my pictures and show them to other people and have each picture have its own URL. So, until then, just click here.
I am angry at everything having to do with the Internet and why no one will let me store my pictures and show them to other people and have each picture have its own URL. So, until then, just click here.
Sunday, February 01, 2004
Photos
In preparation for the two papers and two books due on Tuesday, I've begun my regiment of procrastination, beginning with fixing my printer and scanning some photos I've taken over the past year.
Erin and I, a year ago in my old apartment
Theo, helping me prime the stripes in the living room
Theo with his birthday cake
Allison, looking sexy sexy as we pre-party at Grinnell
Theo, hung over the day after, clutching the glasses case he would later lose at a truck stop somewhere between Chicago and Iowa
New Year's Eve:
Theo, Chris, and Cyndi, awaiting permission to eat their salads
Erin, Tim, and Sonja pre-food
Theo, Sonja, and Tim in the living room
Erin, posing next to Sonja's non-existent butt
Chris, Cyndi, and Erin looking beautiful
Yuki (I guess we've settled on that for her name):
Clearly NOT just German Shepherd--I think she gets the nose from me
Guarding her bed
Have you ever tried to take a dog's picture? They hate it.
In preparation for the two papers and two books due on Tuesday, I've begun my regiment of procrastination, beginning with fixing my printer and scanning some photos I've taken over the past year.
Erin and I, a year ago in my old apartment
Theo, helping me prime the stripes in the living room
Theo with his birthday cake
Allison, looking sexy sexy as we pre-party at Grinnell
Theo, hung over the day after, clutching the glasses case he would later lose at a truck stop somewhere between Chicago and Iowa
New Year's Eve:
Theo, Chris, and Cyndi, awaiting permission to eat their salads
Erin, Tim, and Sonja pre-food
Theo, Sonja, and Tim in the living room
Erin, posing next to Sonja's non-existent butt
Chris, Cyndi, and Erin looking beautiful
Yuki (I guess we've settled on that for her name):
Clearly NOT just German Shepherd--I think she gets the nose from me
Guarding her bed
Have you ever tried to take a dog's picture? They hate it.
Sunday, January 25, 2004
Fall In Love, or Fall in Line?
Yet another attribute to my creepiness is that I have people on my "buddy" list with whom I've never spoken. One such character, a freshman who decided he was going to be the leader of Loyola's Dean for America chapter and then only held one mundane meeting, has the following as his away message:
"don't yell at me for switching camps from Dean to Kerry... i'm just trying to be a good democrat :-)"
First and foremost, ew for the smiley face. Second, 49 primaries are still to be held in this country, and this twat who was "all about Dean" suddenly decides to abandon his "camp" (who really says that?) and stand behind another candidate as an attempt to "be a good [D]emocrat?" If he applied this mindset to the November elections, and Bush were ahead in the polls, he would lie down and let W. scratch his belly (sorry about the dog analogy). At last fall's Harkin Steak Fry, Bill Clinton, the 20th century's quintessential Democrat, said, "Republicans fall in line, while Democrats fall in love." He went on to say that we should instead fall in love and THEN fall in line, which I agree with, but the subtext of this proverb is clear: One must support a Presidential nominee one truly believes in--not just someone who's popular in the polls.
I think I'm going to be tempted to watch the Golden Globes tonight--a first, for me.
Yet another attribute to my creepiness is that I have people on my "buddy" list with whom I've never spoken. One such character, a freshman who decided he was going to be the leader of Loyola's Dean for America chapter and then only held one mundane meeting, has the following as his away message:
"don't yell at me for switching camps from Dean to Kerry... i'm just trying to be a good democrat :-)"
First and foremost, ew for the smiley face. Second, 49 primaries are still to be held in this country, and this twat who was "all about Dean" suddenly decides to abandon his "camp" (who really says that?) and stand behind another candidate as an attempt to "be a good [D]emocrat?" If he applied this mindset to the November elections, and Bush were ahead in the polls, he would lie down and let W. scratch his belly (sorry about the dog analogy). At last fall's Harkin Steak Fry, Bill Clinton, the 20th century's quintessential Democrat, said, "Republicans fall in line, while Democrats fall in love." He went on to say that we should instead fall in love and THEN fall in line, which I agree with, but the subtext of this proverb is clear: One must support a Presidential nominee one truly believes in--not just someone who's popular in the polls.
I think I'm going to be tempted to watch the Golden Globes tonight--a first, for me.
Friday, January 23, 2004
Mlle. Dog
So our dog (who is tentatively named either Yuki, Priya, or Kali, after the Hindu goddess of cosmic destruction) is already a spoiled little bitch (pardon the unintentional pun). So, we buy her IAMS, which tends to be one of the costlier dog foods out there, and does she like it? Oh no. So, now, we're feeding her three parts dry food with one part wet food, which just baffles me, that she'll eat the damn hard crunchies if it's served "avec un lustre de poulet et de riz." Oh well.]--she IS wonderful and adorable and playful and sweet and NEVER BARKS (we have not heard her bark ever) and beautiful.
So our dog (who is tentatively named either Yuki, Priya, or Kali, after the Hindu goddess of cosmic destruction) is already a spoiled little bitch (pardon the unintentional pun). So, we buy her IAMS, which tends to be one of the costlier dog foods out there, and does she like it? Oh no. So, now, we're feeding her three parts dry food with one part wet food, which just baffles me, that she'll eat the damn hard crunchies if it's served "avec un lustre de poulet et de riz." Oh well.]--she IS wonderful and adorable and playful and sweet and NEVER BARKS (we have not heard her bark ever) and beautiful.
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
Dean & Dog
I was listening to "Roll With It," and immediately became inspired to post the Dean For America link as my away message. There are still 49 more states, including NH (which he most certainly WILL win), the billion states holding primaries on Super Tuesday, and so on and so forth. "Keep the home fires burning 'till America is in the clear."
Yes, the rumors are true: Theo and I have adopted a dog, whom we'll be picking up this afternoon from her hisdirectomy (okay, fine..."her spaying"). She's a 1-year-old German Shepherd mix, but much smaller than the average GS (about 40 lbs.). Wish us luck! Oh, and if you have any name ideas, we're welcome to any suggestions. Even though we probably won't use them.
I was listening to "Roll With It," and immediately became inspired to post the Dean For America link as my away message. There are still 49 more states, including NH (which he most certainly WILL win), the billion states holding primaries on Super Tuesday, and so on and so forth. "Keep the home fires burning 'till America is in the clear."
Yes, the rumors are true: Theo and I have adopted a dog, whom we'll be picking up this afternoon from her hisdirectomy (okay, fine..."her spaying"). She's a 1-year-old German Shepherd mix, but much smaller than the average GS (about 40 lbs.). Wish us luck! Oh, and if you have any name ideas, we're welcome to any suggestions. Even though we probably won't use them.
Monday, January 19, 2004
On Marriage.
Why is it that two grown women, who have been together for more than five years, are unable to officially marry in this country, while my white-trash cousin, who has sired two children (whom he never sees) with an HIV-positive woman, is allowed to suddenly marry some other woman he has known for less than a year, who just happens to be carying his now third child? Something is terribly wrong with this picture, on so many levels.
The more and more I think about it, the more delighted I am about the Ani DiFranco concert Erin, Cyndi and I attended on Saturday. After her brief hour-long set, in which she played mostly songs from her upcoming album Educated Guess and previous album, Evolve, I was silently frustrated that the concert was so brief, and that she didn't play any of her "classics." But, after playing Educated Guess over and over (an album that, on its own, is not very good, but one that Ani fans will probably enjoy--Val, I'm burning a copy for you and giving it to you Tuesday), I've finally settled on my most prominent thoughts about that overall sublime hour. Just being a witness to this ephemeral being who has played such a strong influence on my past three years (nealy every song of hers evokes some moment in my life) changes my thoughts on her so much. Strangely enough, seeing her felt like seeing God--now I know she really does exist, and has a voice and a body and breathes and drinks water, and her albums weren't long-lost relics hidden in the catacombs of some tomb in the Pyrennes for ages and ages--they have come from this fairy woman with dreds and toned arms who IS ALIVE and can be seen with the naked eye and has crafted these "relics" within the past ten years. It's a very dismembering feeling. I hope this doesn't change my love of her music.
Why is it that two grown women, who have been together for more than five years, are unable to officially marry in this country, while my white-trash cousin, who has sired two children (whom he never sees) with an HIV-positive woman, is allowed to suddenly marry some other woman he has known for less than a year, who just happens to be carying his now third child? Something is terribly wrong with this picture, on so many levels.
The more and more I think about it, the more delighted I am about the Ani DiFranco concert Erin, Cyndi and I attended on Saturday. After her brief hour-long set, in which she played mostly songs from her upcoming album Educated Guess and previous album, Evolve, I was silently frustrated that the concert was so brief, and that she didn't play any of her "classics." But, after playing Educated Guess over and over (an album that, on its own, is not very good, but one that Ani fans will probably enjoy--Val, I'm burning a copy for you and giving it to you Tuesday), I've finally settled on my most prominent thoughts about that overall sublime hour. Just being a witness to this ephemeral being who has played such a strong influence on my past three years (nealy every song of hers evokes some moment in my life) changes my thoughts on her so much. Strangely enough, seeing her felt like seeing God--now I know she really does exist, and has a voice and a body and breathes and drinks water, and her albums weren't long-lost relics hidden in the catacombs of some tomb in the Pyrennes for ages and ages--they have come from this fairy woman with dreds and toned arms who IS ALIVE and can be seen with the naked eye and has crafted these "relics" within the past ten years. It's a very dismembering feeling. I hope this doesn't change my love of her music.
Tuesday, January 13, 2004
Annoyance No. 388b
Theo's big threat, when I make mistakes, is to cal his mother and tell her about it. I suppose threat is the wrong word, since it implies something to resort to as a last option, and Theo regularly regails his mother with tales about my few moments of idiocy. Her dislike of me has become a recurring topic of conversation, and every time Theo shares a negative story about me with his mother, he further reinforces the disdain his mother feels toward me. Call me crazy, but I thought being a part of a long-term relationship involved strengthening the bond between your lover and your friends and family (ESPECIALLY PARENTS). Clearly, he just has no interest in establishing my presence in his life as something anywhere near as important as his parents or friends.
Theo's big threat, when I make mistakes, is to cal his mother and tell her about it. I suppose threat is the wrong word, since it implies something to resort to as a last option, and Theo regularly regails his mother with tales about my few moments of idiocy. Her dislike of me has become a recurring topic of conversation, and every time Theo shares a negative story about me with his mother, he further reinforces the disdain his mother feels toward me. Call me crazy, but I thought being a part of a long-term relationship involved strengthening the bond between your lover and your friends and family (ESPECIALLY PARENTS). Clearly, he just has no interest in establishing my presence in his life as something anywhere near as important as his parents or friends.
Thursday, January 08, 2004
Even Better...
While the Club For Growth's commercial may only be amusing to me because it's so rediculous, MoveOn.org is hosting a contest for the best anti-Bush commercial, and many of them are wonderful and funny and true. Apparently, MoveOn.org has recruited Michael Moore, Gus Van Sant, Janeane Garafolo, Margaret Cho, and a few others to judge these fifteen finalists. My personal favorites are "What are we teaching our children?" and "Child's Pay," but they're all great. I'm assuming/hoping the winning ad becomes part of a real television campaign. We shall see. Enjoy.
While the Club For Growth's commercial may only be amusing to me because it's so rediculous, MoveOn.org is hosting a contest for the best anti-Bush commercial, and many of them are wonderful and funny and true. Apparently, MoveOn.org has recruited Michael Moore, Gus Van Sant, Janeane Garafolo, Margaret Cho, and a few others to judge these fifteen finalists. My personal favorites are "What are we teaching our children?" and "Child's Pay," but they're all great. I'm assuming/hoping the winning ad becomes part of a real television campaign. We shall see. Enjoy.
Freak Show
This might be one of the most amusing political stunts I've seen in some time. The Club For Growth, a right-wing organization aiming "to help conservatives take action against the crazy liberalism put forward by the Left" has started airing this hilarious commercial to combat the popularity of Howard Dean. It reminds me of a similar commercial submitted by a similar-minded organization during Clinton's administration concerning his health care plan. Enjoy.
I am giddily excited about four of my five classes this semester. My Border Literatures course, dealing with the diasporic literature bred from zones of diversity where two unique cultures collide (think Southern Texas, Florida, South Asia during Birtish colonization), is taught by Paul Jay, a professor whose astounding reputation precedes him. He already likes me, since he and I chatted about some of my favorite South Asian authors, and we both support the ringleader of the "left wing freak show," Howard Dean. My Intro. to Hinduism professor seems semi-condescending, but knowledgable and at times amusing. The material will make up for her mildly patronizing personality. My Literary theory Studies in Gender and Feminism class will undoubtedly be my favorite, since Dr. Caughie seems fun, and her teaching style is easily accessible and free of pretense. The class I'm least enthused about, History of Western Civ. through the 1700s, is instructed by a very, very, very old Jesuit who repreats everything three times. I despise history in and of itself, and when taught by "the dinosaur guy from Mrs. Doubtfire," as my friend Marianne dubbed him, the class will certainly not entertain me.
Other than that, I've not done much these past few days. I finally took down the Christmas tree, returning my apartment to its grand appearance. I went shopping with my holiday money, and bought some clothes and whatnot. I live a very boring life, as you can see.
This might be one of the most amusing political stunts I've seen in some time. The Club For Growth, a right-wing organization aiming "to help conservatives take action against the crazy liberalism put forward by the Left" has started airing this hilarious commercial to combat the popularity of Howard Dean. It reminds me of a similar commercial submitted by a similar-minded organization during Clinton's administration concerning his health care plan. Enjoy.
I am giddily excited about four of my five classes this semester. My Border Literatures course, dealing with the diasporic literature bred from zones of diversity where two unique cultures collide (think Southern Texas, Florida, South Asia during Birtish colonization), is taught by Paul Jay, a professor whose astounding reputation precedes him. He already likes me, since he and I chatted about some of my favorite South Asian authors, and we both support the ringleader of the "left wing freak show," Howard Dean. My Intro. to Hinduism professor seems semi-condescending, but knowledgable and at times amusing. The material will make up for her mildly patronizing personality. My Literary theory Studies in Gender and Feminism class will undoubtedly be my favorite, since Dr. Caughie seems fun, and her teaching style is easily accessible and free of pretense. The class I'm least enthused about, History of Western Civ. through the 1700s, is instructed by a very, very, very old Jesuit who repreats everything three times. I despise history in and of itself, and when taught by "the dinosaur guy from Mrs. Doubtfire," as my friend Marianne dubbed him, the class will certainly not entertain me.
Other than that, I've not done much these past few days. I finally took down the Christmas tree, returning my apartment to its grand appearance. I went shopping with my holiday money, and bought some clothes and whatnot. I live a very boring life, as you can see.
Friday, January 02, 2004
Two Days, Two Years
I had a splendid evening last night, and it was all tossed together at the last minute, which I fid most surprising. Erin, Cyndi, Chris, Tim, and Sonja joined Theo and I at our apartment for dinner (my favorite salad, bread, pasta w/sauce, creme brulee and truffles--and 5 bottles of wine), and then we all lept down to the Roscoe beach to watch the fireworks glisten atop Lake Michigan's surface. Everyone made my evening happy: from my bedcuddling with Erin, to my late-night in-bed politics discussion with Theo, to the sound of Tim actually TALKING to Theo (and Tim's voice in general, a welcome treat), to the look on poor Sonja's face as she dutifully and wonderfully blew up the air mattress, to constantly accidentally walking in on Cyndi and Chris (my vote for Couple of the Year) kissing and exchanging whispers. I truly enjoyed myself, and wish every day was the beginning of a new year.
My New Year's resolutions are as follows:
1. Create relationship between myself and Theo's parents (Who were married on the SAME exact day in time as my parents)
2. Strengthen my bond with my sister (Her birthday began with her and I staying up until 5AM talking about everything and anything)
3. Start actually doing homework (This semester's grades? Eh.)
4. Host more dinner parties, after I...
5. Make more friends and show more respect to those already near and dear to my heart
I may add more.
Two film reviews: Cold Mountain stands as this year's typical Oscar contender. I adored the film from start to finish. Michael Wilminton of the Tribune said its artfulness took away from the reality of the storyline, but I disagree. Fine performances were had by all, from the protagonists and secret special celebrity co-stars alike.
I saw Big Fish tonight, a film many hailed as Tim Burton's greatest film ever. I disagree on that point in itself; Burton's best film is most certainly Edward Scissorhands. The movie wasn't wonderful, but tonight I was looking for something to warm the cockles of my heart, and it deftly accomplished that goal. Ewan McGregor with a southern accent is about as strange as Nicole Kidman or Jude Law with a Southern accent. I'd have to say the latter two actors were more convincing than McGregor, who I'm convinced slipped back into his mother tongue a few times. Big Fish serves as a delightful change of pace from the heavier films of the season but, regrettably, nothing more. I did cry, which was unusual based on the quantity and the fact that I rarely cry in films (Last film I cried in? Camp, ladies and gentlemen.), but only because my grandparents are having severe health problems, and films about fathers and sons with bad relationships always makes me weepy.
Work through Sunday, and the na whole other form of work begins: school. I am really not ready for school to begin yet. At all.
I had a splendid evening last night, and it was all tossed together at the last minute, which I fid most surprising. Erin, Cyndi, Chris, Tim, and Sonja joined Theo and I at our apartment for dinner (my favorite salad, bread, pasta w/sauce, creme brulee and truffles--and 5 bottles of wine), and then we all lept down to the Roscoe beach to watch the fireworks glisten atop Lake Michigan's surface. Everyone made my evening happy: from my bedcuddling with Erin, to my late-night in-bed politics discussion with Theo, to the sound of Tim actually TALKING to Theo (and Tim's voice in general, a welcome treat), to the look on poor Sonja's face as she dutifully and wonderfully blew up the air mattress, to constantly accidentally walking in on Cyndi and Chris (my vote for Couple of the Year) kissing and exchanging whispers. I truly enjoyed myself, and wish every day was the beginning of a new year.
My New Year's resolutions are as follows:
1. Create relationship between myself and Theo's parents (Who were married on the SAME exact day in time as my parents)
2. Strengthen my bond with my sister (Her birthday began with her and I staying up until 5AM talking about everything and anything)
3. Start actually doing homework (This semester's grades? Eh.)
4. Host more dinner parties, after I...
5. Make more friends and show more respect to those already near and dear to my heart
I may add more.
Two film reviews: Cold Mountain stands as this year's typical Oscar contender. I adored the film from start to finish. Michael Wilminton of the Tribune said its artfulness took away from the reality of the storyline, but I disagree. Fine performances were had by all, from the protagonists and secret special celebrity co-stars alike.
I saw Big Fish tonight, a film many hailed as Tim Burton's greatest film ever. I disagree on that point in itself; Burton's best film is most certainly Edward Scissorhands. The movie wasn't wonderful, but tonight I was looking for something to warm the cockles of my heart, and it deftly accomplished that goal. Ewan McGregor with a southern accent is about as strange as Nicole Kidman or Jude Law with a Southern accent. I'd have to say the latter two actors were more convincing than McGregor, who I'm convinced slipped back into his mother tongue a few times. Big Fish serves as a delightful change of pace from the heavier films of the season but, regrettably, nothing more. I did cry, which was unusual based on the quantity and the fact that I rarely cry in films (Last film I cried in? Camp, ladies and gentlemen.), but only because my grandparents are having severe health problems, and films about fathers and sons with bad relationships always makes me weepy.
Work through Sunday, and the na whole other form of work begins: school. I am really not ready for school to begin yet. At all.