Friday, November 30, 2001

Nature is starving, and the bare bones of chaos are sticking out under the pale stretched skin.

There is a lot right now. I'm always here, awake in here, but a lot of it is taking form now. I always miss the bus after this class - from 50 yards away I watch it leave, not to return for half an hour. So I come hang out and type on a computer about nothing, and read my blogs and think about how I'd like to make comments but just can't. I don't know why. I guess I feel like if these people knew me in real life, they wouldn't choose to hang out with me, so commenting and getting to know them through their sites is cheating.

Saw Waking Life again last night, and holy shit is it better the second time around. It was mind-blowing the first, but that was exactly the problem - you can't think anything but "whoa." This time I was able to process it, and it didn't make me seasick at all. A short film was playing with it - last night was the last night that would be running. So if you live in Missoula, Montana, get your ass to this film. It really added to the Waking Life experience.

Tonight I'm working on the project mentioned below. ("Dr Pepper, cake, boxing".) And I'm going to ignore the fact that I have a massive amount of work that I really could be doing. Perhaps I'll make this a really big project. Too bad I don't have any idea what I want to write a Master's Thesis on, and therefore no material for a personal statement. If only I had creativity for things I could get paid for...

Wednesday, November 28, 2001

Tuesday, November 27, 2001

Niet. Bork, bork, bork, bork. Si.

These are the things I said repeatedly over the weekend in order to ignore the fact that the 4 of us had nothing to say to one another. Being home changes each time.

I've been looking at 1000journals.com courtesy of alice, and I'm really starting to wonder about the truth of what critics of the internet are saying about communities being broken down by new technology. Because that really isn't the type of project that would exist with the power that it actually has without the internet. Alison has added comments to her website, which is making the site much much more interactive, for lack of a better word.
I just wonder what people supposedly got out of the communities that existed face-to-face in the 17th or 18th centuries. I'm not doubting that people did, and that they were good and supportive and positive to some extent, but I have to suspect that we are all guilty of idealising the past when thinking about how communities used to be. Because those were the same communities that would shun people like Hester Prynne and look down on women in general, etc. If we can build different communities, though, that don't necessarily exist in person, then who's to say that that's not for the better?

Saturday, November 24, 2001

Dr Pepper, cake, boxing

i'm going to do a project with a bunch of questions and photos and handwriting and the end product will be a portfolio. many portfolios. one from each person.

Monday, November 19, 2001

He just stares at me,

head on his paws, eyebrows moving up and down, waiting, anticipating the nice thing I'm about to do for him. Any second now...

And this goes on for hours.

Dogs are machines that convert pleasure to wagging.

**

I looked forward all day to coming home and eating couscous, and then I got home and ate half a bag of M&M's. (A big bag.)

Saturday, November 17, 2001

To my delight,

the philosophy paper from hell that I'm working on is on Demonstratives, and it shows up as "473Demons" in Microsoft Word.

That is all.

Friday, November 16, 2001

What I should have said:

"The fact that we do not share a common native language does not actually prevent me from noticing that you're leering at me."

What I did say:
[muttered]: hi...

I am not a c***. And I'm not a liar.

:(

Thursday, November 15, 2001

and, AND, AND,

The business-oriented director of the writing center mentioned at one of the last meetings that in e-mails, because they're so informal, one doesn't even need a salutation, so one shouldn't bother with the professor/GTA issue. How dehumanizing is that? Why the hell is everyone so obsessed with saving the 300 milliseconds that it would take to write a frickin' salutation? If I'm going to start living my life that way, I may as well change my major to accounting and maximize every last millisecond to better serve the clients who I need to make myself completely subservient to in order to develop ulcers at 28 and then die of a stress-induced heart attack at 42.

The world is rotting, ounce by ounce.

Why would I care?

For my job, we have to write to the people who are teaching the people who we tutor to tell them about the tutorial and what we did, if the people we tutor want us to. So I just call everyone I'm writing to "Professor," even though some of them are TAs or Adjuncts or whatever. Usually nobody says anything about it, but this one guy e-mailed me back and said thanks for the notification, and by the way, there's no need for the formality because he's only a GTA.

[**note to reader** I'm not saying I have the right to be as miffed as I am about this - in fact, it's quite stupid that I'm wasting the time it takes to write and then read about it. But it is bothering me, and rather than resist it, it might be good to just get it out of my system.]

I guess it was the tone of it that really bothered me. TAs and profs both tend to take this condescending tone toward the people they teach, at least in the comments written on the papers, and that was very much the tone of that little comment. Who the fuck cares if you're only a TA? "Take it as a compliment and move on with your life," I wanted to write back. But I didn't. I told you instead.

Monday, November 12, 2001

You know, marijuana is nice

in that it gives people an escape of some sort, and possibly even prods people who normally don't like to spend time alone and ponder existence into doing so. But it's really bad that in some people's minds, being high gets conflated with thinking about anything more theoretical than one's plans for the next day. Take, for example, the following exchange:

me: but what the hell is the point of trying to live a creative life if there's no receptacle in the society for that brand of creativity?
my dad: well, you never know, there could be. just look at the people who've tried and succeeded -
cousin who has just walked into the room: whoa, are you guys like smoking pot or something?

What I said: yeah, you can't have any.
What I should have said: why do you assume that any amount of reflection about one's place in a greater society requires chemical enhancement? go away!

This happened in June, which would've been 5 months ago, and I'm just getting mad about it now. But boy, it's really pissing me off. This cousin of mine is actually working on a PhD, yet it sounds as if he hasn't once stopped and asked why he's doing what he's doing. It's not even that so much that pisses me off as insinuating that I'm a stoner if I choose to ask myself the same thing. And it's not even the stoner part so much as the idea that nobody would be saying things like that if they were completely sober.

Sunday, November 11, 2001

If anyone reading this

happens to be a high-powered executive at the Dannon company, please hear the cries of the masses (me) and bring back Dannon Fruit Juices yogurt, the kind without chunks of strawberry, cherry, or blueberry floating randomly throughout the otherwise nicely textured yogurt. It was on the market sometime between 1986 and 89. Thanks.

You can make the strongest wish *ever* in approximately 7 minutes. 11:11:11 on 11/11. If I had a fairy genie show up (fairy genies are more reliable than clock-wishes) and grant me 3 wishes, I'd use the first one to go back in time and appear to Alfred Eistein in a dream and tell him that the cosmological constant that he posited and then later gave up on wasn't, in fact, bunk.

Monday, November 05, 2001

Get out of here,

and go here, to jason fush because it is good and you will like it.

Friday, November 02, 2001

"Together we can make a change. Get rid of this ad"

Ahh, juxtapositions.

It's the weekend. Or at least it will be in about 5 hours, and that's close enough for me to be happy about it. Hopefully it will not turn out like last weekend - I need rest. The weeks are flying by, and there's so much work to be done and so much less motivation to do it.

One of the things sapping that motivation is Nickel and Dimed, which I borrowed from someone and am really glad to be reading. I'd noticed it several times in stores, but hadn't gotten around to reading it.

Thursday, November 01, 2001

I've been so caught up in being myself that I didn't notice I'd changed.