Thursday, November 30, 2000

neat-o. right before finals week is the best time for procrastination.

Boy, when Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers (vice #3) are bad, they're BAD.

I just bought my three vices, then another of a different nature (where the actual vice-ness is constituted in the act of buying) and milk. Milk isn’t a vice. It was a sadly pleasureless experience.

I don’t christmas shop, per se. It’s just 2 and a half months of impulse buying until I get to unload all this random crap onto the people I love. The buying vice was a pair of cds, one of which was a gift, and the other might get me in trouble because MY other might have already gotten it for me, which would be get-mad-able-about because we promised to let each other know when we were planning on buying something for ourselves or had just bought something. So there’s that. And, by the way, I fucking hate the holidays, and I feel like some invisible hand is indeed controlling the market, but it does so by forcing people like me to spend money on items whose only purpose in existence is to be bestowed on some poor schmuck by some other poor schmuck by staking everyone’s potentially hurt feelings on this completely fucking pointless act. “here, look, I bought you something.” Happy Consumer Day to all yons.

I’m not against buying things for people. I give things to my friends on a fairly consistent basis, but it’s not on any time schedule and it’s not shit that they won’t have any possible use for.

So as I was walking home, I was thinking about playing the cd with the others that are in my player at the moment (namely They Might Be Giants and Sleater Kinney) and I thought it would make a funny mix, but then I realized that while I love all three of these cds, I don’t own any of them. Not ‘own’ in the ‘I can get mad at you if you steal this from me’ sense, but ‘own’ in the ‘have any right to act like I discovered this band’ sense.

Sleater Kinney is Matthew’s. I now hate Matthew because he had this whole fucked up image of himself as some sort of tragic poet and while it was my fault for not seeing through his multi-tiered mirage of bullshit, I can still hate him because he was a complete ass to me. But see, I like Sleater Kinney. I no longer associate it with Matthew, because I bought one of their cds this summer and listened to it all the way through during a very very stylized couple days of my life, and it’s now completely frozen into the images that were surrounding me then. But you can’t deny the source, can you?

They Might Be Giants is Neecole and Tessi’s. It’s fused with riding around downtown Indianapolis, lost, at 3am in the rain in Tessi’s periwinkle Dodge Neon, which smelled of a combination of cloves, bubble gum, and Country Apple spray from Bath and Body works. What a smell.

Mazzy Star is the Other’s.

My 7:30 camera ran out of film a couple days ago. Since then, my life at 7:30 pm has become exponentially more exciting than before. Could’ve captured dinner with the family, dinner out with my love, and Mac’s play. Heh… Mac’s play… Heh…

Got one! (A reason, that is.) bluishorange is back!
Or maybe I'll lay on my back in the blue x-mas lights listening to "Twisting" by They Might Be Giants over and over and over and over...

She set your goldfish free
and now she's sighing
blew out your pilot light
and made a wish

Whee!!! Some guy I don't know thinks I'm funny!!!

A day that began on a good note ended on a good note. In between, it was a train wreck. Not like the one on Unbreakable, one caused by... hmm... while I really really want to ruin this movie for you, if not just to spare you the pain of being forced to sit through the suckiest movie I personally have EVER seen, I just can't bring myself to do it. (I haven't seen many movies, compared to some people, but I have seen a few.) This movie totally blew. It was terrible. It was a mockery of everything that was good about the Sixth Sense. If you wish to maintain any shred of respect you have for the Sixth Sense, for the love of everything sacred, do NOT see this movie. They apparently didn't have a big enough budget to buy an actual plot, and opted instead for the completely expected "twist" at the end. I hear you can pay for completely expected twists in just three easy payments of $19.95 these days. They probably got a credit card especially for it.

While I could ramble on and on and on about how terrible Unbreakable is, I will restrain myself for now. If you'd like more information about how and why exactly this movie BLEW, e-mail me and I'd be happy to provide you with the information.

I'm having problems with my life philosophy. Because I have realized how much people and this culture and most of the other cultures around here completely suck, and yet we are completely dependent on it. We don't have instincts, we have culture. Instead of inborn mechanisms, this silly earth bore creatures that have consciousness that they themselves can't understand yet desperately need to, and depend not on inherent learning, but a culture that puts Vitamin D in the milk and Fluoride in the water, along with the extra hormones that women on birth control pee out. Those hormones are making male babies sterile. We're killing our environment, and by doing so killing ourselves. We're whoring out labor to people who are living on the pennies a day that the 14-year olds are bringing home from the factories, but nobody thinks about it. They just buy, buy, buy, want, want, want, buy, buy, buy.
I'm so scared of dying, but at the same time it would be such a relief, wouldn't it? Heaven would be non-existence. You find your soul mate and he tears you apart; you find your calling and you'll never be as good as anybody else; you pay all your money to finally learn that nobody can actually know anything other than that these thoughts being thought exist... and things are seeming to be perceived... but nobody can believe it except you, all the people who are getting paid for it cling to the notion of meaning in words and perceptions. but you know it's all bullshit; you don't know what you need, but you know it's not what you're getting. but you're getting a lot, and to refuse it would be madness; you sometimes would just rather not exist. nah, it's not for me, life. leave it to those people who don't seem to understand; you might be going mad, but nobody's coming with you and that makes you sad and lonely and unsure...

So I have several choices, and several alternatives for each of them.
I could decide not to play. I could move out west to some town and work some silly little job and read and write and take pictures and live alone and be all tragic yet somehow at peace. To finish school, not to finish school? Why worry about something that won't matter? I would spend absurd amounts of money on film development (no, fuck that, I'll have a darkroom) and supporting my local Humane Society. I'd have about 12 dogs, 7 of whom would be named after a deadly sin. Because dogs are innocent and good-natured and are truly grateful for love.
I could play. I could do the whole academy thing and try to shake the idea that I'm somehow selling out by saying that I couldn't have gotten out anyhow and that this is the only place I could've been happy and I wanted this and I can "make a difference in >x< field" and rear children earnestly only for them to be eaten alive by a world they couldn't have been defended against.
I could play a different way and get a silly yet high-paying job in something that screams "sellout" so loud that they couldn't help but write it on the tombstone that my family would have to take out a second mortgage on the house for when I die of a stress-induced heart attack at age 42. I could buy an SUV and a flat television and wear smart pants and matching jackets and get a trendy haircut and wear makeup and wrinkle cream and name my kids who would attend the most private school in the state "MacKenzie" and "Ashlie" and marry some guy whose last name begins with "von".
Hum. How tempting these all seem.

I should sleep. I'm not tired. I think I'll lay here in the blue christmas lights thinking up reasons not to kill myself.

Tuesday, November 28, 2000

Note to self: "scandal" not like "candle."

Monday, November 27, 2000

Aarg! Why is mailstart so slow? And why is it that my e-mail is shown in army time?

I miss my boss, and why is it that the second the g.d. answering machine picks up, someone walks in the door and needs to be helped when there hasn't been a non-employee soul in here for an hour?

This day just got rather frustrating. Turned in *not* the worst philosophy paper I've ever written this morning, which is sad because that there is something out there that I've written than what I wrote this morning indicates that I don't deserve to live.

Saturday, November 25, 2000

Dog, I hate it when I'm reading something and taking it seriously and after a while I realize that it's coming from a religious standpoint and not an objective data collecting source. "Oh... this person is obviously against cohabitation, but it's because he thinks it's a sin... never mind." (Same goes for premarital sex, in case you were wondering.)

Friday, November 24, 2000

Man... I didn't realize that I was expecting at least one e-mail until I didn't receive any. And that fact makes me rather sad.

Had fun hanging out with the high school friends and the random others my high school friends seem to have accumulated. There're scandals to get all caught up on and people to bitch about. Ahh, home.

Thursday, November 23, 2000

Update: I've gone through the box, trashed lots of stuff, primed lots of stuff for recycling, organized lots of stuff, and am completely stuffed.
Thanksgiving always reminds me that I lack any cooking skills at all. They put me in charge of the mashed potatoes tonight, and it took no less than 20 minutes. (Mashed potatoes from a box.) I don't think that my mom or grandma ever notice that they haven't passed on this knowledge of "how to cook anything" to the only female offspring of the family. The immediate family, at least, although I don't think any of my female cousins can cook either. Sometimes I feel bad about it...

Quote of the week: "I don't have taste, I have stuff I can afford." -on getting compliments on things one owns, like cars and shoes.

It's weird how getting a compliment on your blog is like getting complimented on your life.

My little brother builds kick-ass fires, and Thanksgiving is the perfect day to sit by the fire and blog. My grandma, brothers, and mom are playing Euchre at the kitchen table, and football's on television. My dog's curled up on the couch. My high school buddies should be calling up any minute.

God, I love listening to people talk.

Hey, there she is now! Weehoo for high school buddies!

Well, being back home has once again plunged me into the massive amount of stuff that's bogging my soul down. I plan on cleaning a whole bunch of stuff out, and taking some important things back to school with me. There's one big box of stuff that I haven't looked at since I moved out of the dorm last year. Ugh. And the philosophy class that I've been successfully ignoring all quarter is crashing down these days.

Wednesday, November 22, 2000

...and, in a storm of wagging, I am reunited with me dog.

Tuesday, November 21, 2000

Woohooooo!

Blogger's back!

My favorite friend in Germany called me today, and I *missed* her. :(. She said she'll call back. Is it worth it to walk 20 minutes in the 17 degree Farenheit weather (real temp - not windchill) to a class I dislike anyhow and possibly miss her call again? Hrmm...

Had a lovely lunch indeed with the godparent, right after the recently arranged meeting with the Philosophy advisor, who seems slightly less than pleased about my progress with the major. Ah well...

The problem with not having to stay out all day on freezing days like this one is that every time I get home, staying out of bed requires a willpower usually beyond my means. Getting out of bed is beyond the realm of possibility.

Nov. 20th...

You schmooze, you…

have lots o’ fun. Philosophy Club Schmooze of Nov. 20th, 2000: not an unmitigated disaster. Am hesitant to call it a huge success, because ramifications of schmoozes might take a while to show themselves. But it was fun. Profs, grads, and undergrads all showed up, and there was some inter-worth-level schmoozing. Can’t ask for more than that.

Good CHRIST it be cold out. Dios mio. Luckily, proper attire for schmoozing includes wool sweaters. Otherwise, I’d be dead.

Darn that blogger won’t even come up anymore. Feel like whining, but that would even annoy myself, so I won’t.

Sunday, November 19, 2000

no riots, no worries

...at least in Grandview. My street was apparently a different story. Reported damage: 3 cars overturned (none of which were my roommate's), and one person stabbed (neither of my roommates). Our street and another got completely blocked off on account of all the hostile drunks throwing things. Charming, eh? We figure that it's because nobody checked their e-mail before the game. If they had, they most certainly would not have rioted on account of the e-mail from the school's President, urging the students "to respond with a winning spirit and in a responsible manner befitting one of America's finest institutions of higher learning." Additionally he expected "everyone on and around campus to celebrate safely and peacefully." Whoops.

I attended my first real baby shower ever yesterday. It was for my hip boss, who's due in a couple weeks. She completely made out. If you ever spawn, you should seriously consider having one. You don't even have to plan it, all you do is show up and get showered with expensive baby stuff. When you step back and think about it, such showers serve a quite serious purpose in addition to tradition. The financial responsibility for a new life gets dispersed over a large group of people who have basically all been able to attain a comfortable living. It's pretty... not base, really, but something like that. Pragmatic, at the least.

Things are looking up, kiddies. I've got 3 projects, 4 really, two with sort-of deadlines, in the works. I love projects. This, of course, isn't counting school work, so I guess we'll see about that. Holy cow, there's a lot to remember for next week. Schmoozes, irregular work hours, lunch dates with godparents, and... man, it seems like there was something else...

Wednesday, November 15, 2000

Weeeeehooooo!!! See ya in hell, GeoCities!!!
Hey, if this actually works, and I move successfully to Blog*Spot, then A) I'm going to be happy that I can post again and B) I'm going to yell at myself for being such an idiot and not noticing that little button until I'd created and deleted a whole blog and wandered in circles and circles of links. Cheers, wish me luck.
My room is BLUE!!!!! The blue christmas lights are back, baby, and they're uplifting as ever. Something had been missing from my normally peaceful existence, and apparently that was it. Candles and blue christmas lights in winter. Bliss.

Completely useless thought of the day: My dad's cell phone number rhymes in Spanish.

New literary endeavor of the day: Reading The Professor and the Madman. A novel... about words. Heh, that kicks ass.

*finally* Some decent election humor: the Onion.

Tutoring revelation of the day: I love helping people write personal statements.

Tuesday, November 14, 2000

Well, I haven't been able to come up for publishing air in days. You'll be glad to know that you really haven't missed much except text about how much it sucks that I haven't been able to post.

It's so cold in this apartment that my fingers are having trouble typing.

Sunday, November 12, 2000

l
Okay, if it doesn't publish for me today, it will be time to start sending helpless and stupid e-mails to the people who work customer support for... geocities, I guess. I'll bet they hate me already. Ah well.

Friday, November 10, 2000

Blogger will let me post, but won't publish. Maybe today, maybe today.

Well, it's observed Veteran's Day today. For students and student workers, at least. I don't know how many Veterans happen upon my blog every day, but if you're a veteran, thank you very much for defending this country.

Thursday, November 09, 2000

Jong Seon told me it was raining, and…

he wasn’t kidding. Bolts light up the sky. Halfway home a plastic bag, probably from the Singing Dog on High Street, catches my attention, flopping like a fish out of water. I start as a dumpster bangs open across the street; I look up because it’s echoed off the vacant apartment building on my side. Girls scream. The gust of wind that must have caused it pushes me forward, toward home. Finally, something’s behind me, I think, as I half run. The air has the smell of a load of wet laundry that someone forgot to put soap in. The plastic garbage bag window goes taut with a ripping sound. Leaves and raindrops assault everyone, including the umbrella girl way in front of me. She passed me at the High Street crossing. I walk faster and faster, and catch up. I hope she doesn’t think I’m going to jump her. Her feet squeak against her wet flip-flops. I overtake her running, finally, toward my building. Look to cross Indianola, but really only from a spectator’s viewpoint because I probably couldn’t stop anyway. Some smartass watching from a window across the street yells, “Run for your life!!!” but I’m really only running for my new tape recorder, old cd player, and journal that are in my non-waterproof bookbag.

Wednesday, November 08, 2000

Interesting Nader stuff...

I'm at work. Just finished writing the e-mails to professors about my tutorials with their students. We're supposed to sign them, "so-and-so, Writing Consultant," which makes me think of Randy's roommate's short lived porn career, the name for which he adopted was "Bo Galaxy, Porn Star for Hire."

In other news: it's dark out, and it's only 6:30. Weehoo! And it's Wednesday, and that means: a new onion.

I'm feeling incredibly glum. Just glum. :( The weather's beautiful - all foggy and dreary and not too warm. I hope it rains later (like when I'm back inside.)

The election was interesting, which was the best I was hoping for considering that my affiliations and concern over the outcome was completely wuzzled. I'm disappointed at what happened with Nader, though. Was hoping he'd at least get 5%.

As for my personal life (and the glumness), I'm feeling all cut-off and isolated and frenzied. Dragging all my stuff everywhere every day is just too much of a pain in the ass. I'm so tired of it. I want to just lay down. We're staying in our separate quarters tonight (I think my glumness has bled into the Other's perception of me) and I plan to sleep in my new stiff jeans and wear my retainer tonight, two things I haven't been able to do for a while. {oh goody, the television's finally on. grr...} Anyhow, I have very little food here, or there for that matter, and no cash on me (and haven't for a while) and am barely keeping up with my laundry, and don't know where most of my books are at this exact moment, and I just feel strangled. Ugh.

So I think aloneness will do well to eliminate the glumness factor. Wish I didn't have to go to club tonight. I'm presenting, though, so they might notice if I don't show.

Oooh, an "agonizing vigil". Nice wording, CNN. ... Alright, I have to go write a pre-rant that will serve as an abstract for the next paper -"strapped into a juggernaut of emotions"? who's writing this stuff?- that I'll write for Philosophy class. Nothing can be proved objectively, language and our system of concepts is the closest we'll ever get to knowledge, blah blah blah.

Tuesday, November 07, 2000

Vote vote vote, people! I voted a couple days ago via absentee ballot, so I need someone to be vicarious through.

In other news, I barely even held out for 3 hours, and that fight is way in the past. We look back and laugh already.

Off to perform poorly on yet another Anthropology midterm.

Thursday, November 02, 2000

Project: Be Generally Unhappy With Each Other - coming along nicely. I gave back the parking pass. I got my stuff. E-mails were sent, words were said. Standing in the way of reconciliation? My Linguistics project progress report. It's due tomorrow. So I'm putting off thinking about the relationship until tomorrow afternoon. If I can hold out. I really do have to work on this project.
We got in a fight today (surprise surprise). He dropped me at work, and as I got out of the car, he said, "stay home tonight." I said, "no" and closed the door. So I finally get over there tonight (I had no choice but to go considering that most of my stuff is there) and he's locked the deadbolt that can only be locked from the inside and can't be unlocked from the outside. So after spending half an hour banging on his door (and I know he's there - I can hear him, for one thing, and there's no way he could've locked the deadbolt from outside), I took the parking pass from his car. He's going to need that parking pass around 2 o'clock tomorrow. I don't get back to campus from work until 3:30 and go straight to class then. Heh heh heh. This has gotten completely juvenile, but you know what? He started it.