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BewilderedAndBefuddled
CarnivorousDanus
DapperDave
Itsmekris
KnowledgeNOW
Matt
MaybeItsABaer
Mondry
As I get ready to lay down and go to sleep, as the sun is rising beyond my linen curtains, I wish you could be here. I wish you were here, and if not, I wish you could see me. See my clothes in a heap on the floor, my naked, freckled shoulder peaking above my blankets. You could leave me sweet messages about my angelic face (which is probably a lie because my face could never be angelic) and how you wish you were here.
I should buy a web cam.
Classes ended yesterday. I pulled an all-nighter Tuesday, finishing my profile for CO201 and working on my final paper for Russian Lit. — and working on the JOE Magazine site, which should be up later today. When it is, the magazine will be available for download as a .pdf. I'm having issues though, because the "print to .pdf" option in quark creates a 18.9 mb file. I know I can make it smaller with distiller, but I don't have distiller (I used to, but in ran in Classic, so I deleted it, and now I can't find it online). So I think I'll just have to save all the pages as .eps files and run them through distiller at work. I really want to get the issue up there.
I didn't post yesterday because I was super-busy. And tired. But I had class at 10 a.m., noon and 2 p.m., housing meeting at 4:30 and then work at 5 p.m. It was pretty hectic. I did, however, get a single in the Russian House on Bay State Road. It's the best on-campus housing ever. Hopefully I can get a friend to let me in the building tomorrow, and I'll take pictures.
It's 70 degrees out, I have no real work to do — other than magazine stuff — so I'm going outside. In the meantime, anyone who wants to can read the mostly-final draft of my profile, "Sanity and Sausages".
A while back, I listed my three addictions (underwear, ice cream and poker). Now for my three fears — the physical ones, not the psychological ones. (I'll save those for a later post.)
In order, I suppose they are spiders, bridges and microwaves. Years ago, I popped a variety of pills and stayed up for three days straight, but began seeing spiders everywhere (after I saw one real one ... I think). I was convinced they were trying to get me. Ever since, I've been absolutely terrified. Once, last year, I made my mom come kill one that was in the corner of the shower — while I was in it.
Bridges. I'm always afraid they're going to come crashing down and I'm going to end up in the water, unable to get out of the car, or get to land if I do. It's really terrifying. Only going across the Sagamore with Z did I feel safe, although it's then I should have feared for my life.
Microwaves. Not a very sensible fear, either. Yes, I know the radiation from my cell phone is far worse ... But when I stand near a microwave, I can feel it. I swear. It creeps me out.
Coming soon: a list of qualities I want in a boyfriend, because it's the cool thing to do.
But for now ... My friend made this, and it rocks.
Fill in the blank: I write best when ...
For me: when I'm in good stretchy pants (so I can twist myself around in my chair), my jewlery is off, it's sunny outside, and I'm not (too) hungry.
Figuring out these conditions really helps me get things done.
I have a date. Planned in advance, to go see They Might Be Giants in Columbus, Oh. July 2. With a guy who is cute and funny, not to mention from the South. (The dirty dirty.) Well, Oklahoma/Kentucky. A gentleman who thinks I'm "the hottest girl on the East Coast." (Not kidding. Check it out here.)
Plus a camping trip near Black Mountain, N.C., which means I'm close to the mountain and to Cheerwine, with which I'm sure we'll fill the Jeep.
The summer is finally starting to look good.
Yup, it's raining again. And it's only 45 degrees, although I thought it was supposed to be rainy and 60. That I could handle. I went to Russian lit. earlier, but my teacher didn't show up. So after 15 minutes, we left ... For once, I didn't object to having class. Now I don't have anything to do.
Plus, unbeknownst to me, if you sign on and off of AIM a bunch of times in a row, it blocks you. But it doesn't tell you that if you keep trying, it'll take longer for you to sign back on. I'm still waiting. I downloaded the new version of Adium, which seemed cool the one time I got it to actually work. It keeps beach balling whenever I try to launch the app, except for one other time a few minutes ago, during which it told me I was still blocked.
The post position drawing for the Derby will be shown live online on Wednesday. I'm pretty excited about that. It's also free scoop day at Baskin-Robbins. And the day I find out about my housing. Oh, and I'm supposed to work. Okay, so Wednesday seems a little full. I really don't want to work this week. (I'm scheduled for Monday, Wednesday and Thursday, and I have to go in early on Thursday.) Plus a bunch of days next week, because I'm filling in. It's kind of crappy. I'm going to have to study, go to work, come home at 11 p.m., then party. What a life.
Okay, I guess I'll try to be productive.
I've started writing my profile on The Sausage Guy, even though I don't have my outside information yet. Here are the first two grafs (the lede and the nut graf):
"The Sausage Guy" has led a crazy life. It's the only word he can think of to describe it. Asking him to reflect on the past few years nearly drives him crazy. Other people who work with him say he's crazy.
But it seems being a sausage vendor should be a pretty easy job. Not if you're David Littlefield, known in the Boston-area more frequently as The Sausage Guy. Littlefield, xx, has this idea that people want to have a good experience when they go to eat. "It's food, fun and entertainment," he says, in a very philosophical manner, sitting at a table in Boston's Cask 'n Flagon for lunch.
Feedback? Unless you're talon87, it's welcome.
Mostly as a reminder to myself, and to others who might be doing these things also.
Castle Rock during the day sometime. Z back in town Wednesday. JOE articles to write. Sleep to be had.
Well, the paper is finished. Well, rough-rough draft finished. Needs some serious copyediting, formating, and citing. But that part can wait — probably until I'm at work tomorrow, where they're paying me bank to proofread anyways. I might as well keep myself in top form between pages, right?
Took a break today for ice cream, even thought it wasn't very warm out. Baskin-Robbins was literally all out of ice cream, so we walked down to J.P. Licks and sat outside, listening to this awesome synthesizer and custom drum kit duo. Turns out they're part of a really interesting group called Urban Electronica.
What should I do now? More work? I guess I should, but I'm not sure what project to tackle. I think I'll just read Susan Orlean, because that's like doing work. (My COM201 professor wants me to be inspired by Orlean's profiles.)
And I'm out.
I've wanted to be a journalist since sophomore year of high school. My first ever job was being the Web master for The Spencer Magnet. But within a few weeks, I was asked to write a story, if I was interested. "Sure," I said, because I've always had a knack for writing, and wouldn't it be cool to see my name in the paper? I became addicted.
I love journalism for many reasons — I love to write, and it makes me proud to know people are getting their information from me. I like being the "first to know"; I like being a storyteller. It's those two things that drive me: writing and narration. It's a good combination, I think.
I believe steadfastly in journalistic ethics, regardless of the piece, the deadline, the whatever. Do it right or don't do it at all. But journalism, unbeknownst to many outsiders, is a viciously competitive competition. So competitive, in fact, I consider future journalists in my COM201 class a threat and am battling with them already.
The USA Today scandal is just another example of a journalist caught up in the competition. It really depresses me when writers cave in like that. We aren't working for the money, so our greatest reward is recognition. Getting that takes an extra ounce of talent, with a lot of luck — or, if you're desperate for attention and have no ethical standards, you fake it.
I wish newspapers would put more emphasis on ethical reporting. It has, in my experience, never seemed to be a big issue. You're expected to do the right thing, and you know your editors might bust you if you don't, but there's no dialogue about it. J-schools try to teach it, but many journalists never even step foot into one. I don't even know how one could teach it. It seems like you either inherently know it, or you don't. If you don't, you're not meant to be a journalist. But how to weed those people out? I have no idea. Kelly McBride, at Poynter, does.
I've been hard at work on my final paper for Russian Lit. since 4 p.m. (Including several breaks, two of which were for dinner — yes, I had dinner twice.) It's halfway finished. It's a struggle, though. I'm writing about the quest for simple language in Soviet Russia, as seen in Isaac Babel's works and Lenin's ideas. (It's a fun compare/contrast type piece, because I'm lazy.)
Halfway through the paper, I accidentally deleted the entry from MacJournal. I seriously went into a panic, although I knew there was a back up copy saved every five minutes. Fortunately, it allowed me to undo the delete, so all was well.
Hopefully this will be finished soon. Then I have a profile to work on tomorrow, and a Web site to build. In the meantime, check this out. I kinda want to do it.
Yesterday the weather was perfect. Today it is awful. I hate weather. Why can't we just live in a giant biodome? (Please refrain from movie comments.) Today is a little crazy anyway — I had a meeting with Professor Panich at 9 a.m., class at 10, studying now for my quiz at noon, then it's down to the Cask 'n Flagon at 1:30 p.m. All while it's pouring down rain. Gross. And I need to make a trip to the grocery.
I was going to go out tonight and lock myself up for the next two days to write, but I may stay in tonight because the weather sucks. Plus, the people I thought I was going out with are talking about going somewhere else — and I wanted to go to a particular club for breakbeat night. No interest in other clubing.
I've almost been impaled by umbrellas twice today. I think I hate umbrellas more than anything else in the world. People are constantly forgetting they've added several feet to their personal space. It's really, really annoying.
More later, because I feel guilty about not posting yesterday. Comment in the "guestbook" on the left, because I want to know who's coming by. Inquisitivity is one of my few good qualities. (Although it could be argued it's not really a "good" one.) And I'll give my two cents on the USA Today scandal, with reference to other recent reporting scandals.
Much thanks to Morndry for pointing out my typo earlier, which has since been corrected.
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Well, my interview got cancelled. Of course. Something about having to stay home with his kids, but I couldn't really hear what he was saying over the kid wailing in the background. I'll cross my fingers and hope for a fast rescheduling.
Speaking of rescheduling ... I changed my schedule today. Now I'm taking History of Folk Songs, Feature Writing, Russian II and Greek and Roman Mythology. Should be a fun year. Actually, it will be. I can't imagine how it wouldn't. So that's exciting. I really wanted the folk song class, but it was closed when I registered. But lo-and-behold, there was a single seat open today when I checked it. And I swapped history and principles of journalism for feature writing, because there was a time conflict with folk songs. I have to take both, so it doesn't really matter.
In other news ... April 28 (read: the last day of classes) is also free scoop night at Baskin-Robbins. They just opened one in Kenmore square, thus reducing my walk for ice cream to five minutes, instead of 15. Life is good.
This city is catering to my tastes, it seems. There's the new Baskin-Robbins, the Qdoba and the Krispy Kreme. Now I'll need is an Olive Garden and a Sonic. I'm going to eat out so much as soon as I get home.
And, a change of scenery:
More New Englanders should be president. It seems to me they could make major improvements to our economy. I say this as I recall the numerous arguments I've had about Dunkin' Donuts while I've been here. The native Bay Staters insist "Dunkies" is far superious to Krispy Kreme. Anyone who truly respects doughnuts knows KK is tops. I will admit Dunkies has more breakfast food variety, and the other food they have is quite good. But the doughnuts are second-class (or should that be coach?). I, like often, digress.
This, I maintain, would be great for America during these uncertain times. I should clarify that Dunkies began in Massachusetts. Bay Staters cling to local businesses with pit bull tenacity. So it can be assumed New Englanders would insist the United States support businesses at home, giving the economy the boosts it needs by keeping American's money in America.
I'm often reminded of something my friend told our English teacher senior year. It was an explanation of how we got through the week. It went:
"On Monday, you're still recovering from the weekend. Tuesday is half-way to Wednesday, which is half-way through the week. Wednesday is hump-day, the half-way mark. Thursday is the day before Friday, and Friday is Friday."
Just one more day before it's Friday, and just one more day before school is out.
Finally, I have a person for my profile. He goes by The Sausage Guy and he's sort of a local legend. Meeting at the Cask&Flagon tomorrow ... Should be interesting.
In the laundry room downstairs, you can use a dryer for free by pressing the "start" and "high heat" buttons at the same time. Wish I would have known that before the end of the year.
Now it's time for class, then lunch ... and a good entry will be coming forthwith.
Well, well, well. Here we are again. It's just you and me, computer screen. That final paper has to be written sometime. Granted, not tonight, even though it would have been nice. Well, maybe we'll start on it tonight. You've really just been a distraction lately — not very productive. I need you to help me. Otherwise I'll never get this paper done.
Yes, yes, nothing is stopping us from working on it. But my muse is missing. (For the record, I'm partial Erato, Euterpe and Melpomene, if anyone sees them around.) Research papers? Where is the pleasure in that? It's so tedious, so boring. You and I, PowerBook, were meant for better. At least we have the profile to look forward to. That should be a delight.
But for now, we should probably work. Should. Probably. The chances of such? I'd estimate a 75 percent chance I'll do some research, and a 25 percent chance I'll write some more. Hey, that adds up to a hundred ...
I miss honeysuckle. It kind of smells like it in my room, but I think I'm just imagining it. I'm so sick of this building, with it's cinderblock walls and single window.
I'm ready to go back to Kentucky. I miss grass and trees and animals. Crickets, frogs, birds. But I realized last night I could never give up Boston for good. Well, I could, but that requires a far-fetched situation that I'm not willing to post.
It's Marathon Monday. That means no school. Hopefully I'll get my Russian Lit. final paper written. And eat some ice cream — it's already 63 degrees (F) out.
I haven't done too much today, just my Russian homework. I should be working on my final paper for Russian Lit., but I just don't feel like it. I need to do something, but I lack the motivation. I feel like I'm being slighted by my favorite scoundrel, and that's the only thing I can attribute my laziness to — even thought that explanation doesn't make much sense.
I scheduled today, though. Russian II, History and principles of journalism, Greek and Roman mythology (counts as an English course!) and the Communications revolution. Shouldn't be too bad. If I get into the poetry workshop class I want, I'll drop mythology. Then I'll have class from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. every day.
I think I'm going to make nachos now. And I'm going to try not to mope, because then I feel guilty for moping, and then I mope more.
Not depressed, just lackadaisical. A wants to do something "fun" tonight (it's a three-day weekend), and I'm inclined to agree, but I have limited ideas about what sounds fun. I wish I could just snap my fingers and have plans come together. And I'd like someone to ask me out on a date. A real, true date. Haven't been on one of those in a while ... Almost a year, I guess. Unless one counts the Cape. But I don't think it really was such, and I doubt Z does either. Now, going to the movies would be another story. Oh well.
It smells like Easy Mac in the hallway. Gross.
I'm going to the Cape. Right now. Or at least in the next 30 minutes. I'll tell the story sometime ... Like Sunday. But I'm well and safe, even if I'm not around. Take care.
It's been such a good day ... well, the morning/afternoon were nice. Right now I'm tired and bored. Nothing to do, and most of the people on the floor are gone or asleep.
Z and I got to the Cape at 8 a.m., napped a bit for a few hours (I say a "bit" because we were just nodding off for five or 10 minutes, then waking up again), then went to the beach. It was gorgeous. I didn't see the ocean till I was 16, and I guess this is only the second time I've been to a beach — and both times it's been this same one (Nauset Light).
So I've had less than two hours of sleep, plus an hour nap earlier. I think I could just go to sleep right now and wake up tomorrow, but that seems silly. I was hoping to maybe see Z again this evening ... he's an addiction. I think he's out for the time being though.
Z was wearing the most interesting assortment of clothes — orange soccer rec league jersey, light blue track jacket, khaki shorts and plaid pajama pants (and a gray baseball cap). The drive up seemed short, filled with chatter and banter. Sometimes I would zone out, basking in the sun shining directly in my face. The Sagamore Bridge crosses over the Cape Cod Chanel, as an official gateway to the Cape. It's a gorgeous bridge, and today was the first time I didn't feel petrified crossing a bridge. I'm never scared or worried when I'm riding with Z, although I probably should be. Maybe subconsciously I've decided dying with him wouldn't be a bad way to go.
Turning onto Bayside Drive, where the house is, brought back waves of memories of the other time I stayed at the house (that time with my family). Even though it's been years, I remembered where the house was on the street; I recalled it's small, cozy, weathered appearance. It was chilly inside, as well as out, but Z and I didn't care. We didn't even turn on any lights before going to sleep.
Several hours later, we got ourselves together and headed out. The house was still nippy, but it was in the 60s outside. I'm having a hard time not thinking it was a dream. I stayed up all night, didn't really go to bed, walked outside into a whole other world with Z ... and watched the waves roll onto the beach. The water had a greenish tint I don't recall from before; Z and I noted the beach has subcumbed to the apparently stronger waves. The wind was blowing as I stood there, enjoying the company, the weather and the view. I swear, if I had dreams like this, I'd never wake up. But it wasn't a dream, and that part confuses me.
Napping in the car, listening to the BoSox play the Yanks. I doze off, wake up and ask what the score is. We're on the bridge, and I'm unfazed by the waters lurking below. We get close to the city, and I start feeling nervous, nervous that after he drops me off, I'll wake up and I'll never find that kind of happiness, completeness, again. Actually, I still feel that way. And I remembered feeling that way three years ago, after my family's vacation on the Cape, when Z was taking me to the airport.
But my sadness caused by Z's impending trip to Argentina has subsided. For now, everything seems okay. I did feel like he would leave and forget all about me, for good, but I've been reassured it'll be okay.
I'm going to find something to do. Other than sit and reminisce, which isn't bad, but probably not very entertaining for anyone else.
I feel like breaking hearts and wrecking lives. I feel absolutely unimportant and useless and, I suppose, unloved. Not really depressed ... just bitter, jaded, remorseful. I wish I meant something to someone. I just want someone to take care of me.
This is fucking ridiculous. Who's life is this? It certainly doesn't seem like mine. Never have I felt so rejected ... it's just a never-ending stream of rejections.
But who cares? Probably few of you who read this but don't know who I am. So I'll shut up. And in the morning, I'll write something inspired, something insightful, something engaging.
I think I want to date a journalist. Someone who understands the dream, the drive ... Someone who has the same need to tell stories to the world — the stories of the world around us, the world most people don't see. I have this passion I cannot even begin to explain, and I want someone who can understand.
This world is really getting me down.
It's sunny outside. I swear I'm suffering from seasonal depression. I feel like myself again — plus, it's going to be in the 70s all weekend, then 84 on "Marathon Monday" (the Boston Marathon), a.k.a. Patriots' Day, a.k.a. no school day. I can't wait. It's incredible that school is almost over — just seven more days of class and two finals.
I'm going to see Kill Bill vol. 2 in about an hour. Some of my friends just got back and said it was good ... I don't often eagerly await movies, but I've been anticipating this one. Also on my can't-wait-to-see list: The Agronomist and Coffee and Cigarettes. Hey, Mondry, you should come visit me opening weekend and we'll see it together. It can be our honeymoon.
After not getting called back by the Fenway groundskeeper, and being unable to schedule an interview with the slang teacher, I've decided to try and interview a hot dog stand owner who is always on Landsdowne, even in the off-season. (Landsdowne is a street by Fenway; it's also a haven for clubs — there are at least five on a single block.) I'm going to go down there tomorrow. Should be interesting. It's going to take some guts, though, so I need to start pulling myself together for it.
The hair cut went well today. Took some pictures — links below. Also shot my shadow, and I think the pictures are really interesting.
I should do some homework ... I have a profile, a final paper, some Russian homework and two stories for JOE that I need to get on.
So the pictures:
Haircut I
Haircut II
Shadow I
Shadow II
I finally broke the cycle. Nobody was doing anything interesting when I got in last night, so I came in my room and started reading Two Pounds of Feathers, an old collection of editorials by my editor, Richard Des Ruisseaux. Good stuff. I hit the bed at 12:30 a.m., though, and slept till 8:30. I've since then showered, eaten, gone to the bank and CVS. At the moment, I really should be studying for my quiz at noon.
And damn CVS for knowing how to get me. They're having buy-one-get-one-for-one-cent sales. Fortunately, I didn't buy much that I didn't intend to. I did end up buying more Mirado Black Warrior pencils for a cent, after buying a pack of really good ink pens (like the ones I used to steal from my physics teacher). And I bought communal soap for the bathroom, which I hadn't done this semester. Yay for spending money. (And that reminds me I have bills to pay ... ick.)
On my way to CVS, I saw a guy who looks exactly how my friend Mike might have looked ten years ago. It was really disconcerting. They looked the same, walked the same, dressed the same ... Mikey, sure you don't have a younger brother in the Boston area?
My co201 professor just e-mailed me today and asked if I would give her my advice on her working title for her upcoming book. It felt very weird to critique the writing of a much more professional writer — the person who is grading my own papers ...
I'm feeling a little stressed out about my profile. The groundskeeper hasn't called me back; I just keep leaving voicemails. I really want this story. I'm going to call everyday this week, and if he never calls back, I'm just going to walk down there on Friday. So there. If that fails ... I'll be scrapping something together over the weekend, I guess.
Well, I guess it's time to study.
The sun is streaming through my window as it often does — except it hasn't been for days, because all it's done is rain. It's glorious. The sun, I mean, not the constant raining. Maybe it'll stay nice out ... Adam and I are going to Subway at 5 p.m., and to pick up tickets for Kill Bill vol. 2. (For tomorrow night.) Then I have to work — again. Silly work.
I'm going to get my hair cut tomorrow. It's doing this weird thing in the back where it's not growing out in a sensible fashion, so instead of just letting it grow, I'm going to cut it. No idea what it'll look like — everyone will just have to wait till tomorrow afternoon to see. (I promise pictures for all those of you who don't actually see me.
I'm starting to think Thursdays aren't too bad. My schedule for the day isn't great, but it's not bad either. All day I just think that tomorrow is Friday, and I drag myself through it. It's the last day of the week for the Metro, so everyone there acts as if it's already Friday (because for them it is), which keeps me happy. I just pretend it's Friday too.
Logic lecture in five minutes. I love logic, hate the lectures. My proffessor is always telling stupid stories mid-tableaux, and I fall asleep waiting for him to get to the next step. It sucks.
It's a video my co-worker made one day at Snitch. It's particularly funny because he used really depressing music, but the place is never very depressing. At least not when I'm around. You can see Des, the aforementioned editor, in the video. He's the old one.
My urge to sleep has disappeared as of late, strange considering just a few weeks ago I couldn't stay up past midnight. Now, though, I have trouble falling asleep. It's just too depressing. I lay in bed and just get depressed. So here I am.
A second ago I had some lofty ideas about which to write. Then I forgot them, while having convos over AIM. I really just want someone to come hold me while I sleep. And a back massage. That'd be nice.
It's been raining all day. I don't like the rain, because then it's usually cloudy, and I need the sun to be a good, functioning human being. It's pretty windy out, too, and the hubcap on my windowsil keeps rattling. It's a sturdy, metal Buick hubcap I picked up off the sidewalk. Adam and I washed it off in the COM lawn fountain, and I think we killed half the fish in the Charles. But it's a nice hubcap.
I have to make a going away gift this weekend. I can't forget. I'm only going to be here for a few more weeks (till May 10 or so), so I need to do it soon.
Well. My online companion is going to bed, so I have no one to talk to. I guess it's back to bed. G'night strangers, since I don't know most of you who read this.
I feel obligated to post this, since the directions say to. And I love potentially awkward situations.
I want everyone who reads this to ask me 3 questions, no more, no less.
Ask me anything you want.
Then I want you to go to your journal, copy and paste this, allowing your friends (including myself) to ask you anything.
For a Monday, yesterday rocked. Classes weren't bad, the JOE magazine proof is gorgeous, and Adam and I went to a 10 p.m. showing of Eternal Sunshine. It was cold and rainy when we left the theater, but Adam took the time to snatch 10 feet of caution tape. Then I found a hubcap on the sidewalk — it's in my windowsill.
I'm kind of tired; I blame it on the rain. It's just gloomy out. I can't work like this. It's snowing in Kentucky, I've been told. And I had amost forgotten how ridiculous the weather is at home ... Boston's weather has been odd enough in the past few months — 60 one day and snowing the next — but it still pales in comparision to Kentucky.
This whole week should be alright — today, a discussion at noon and lecture at 3:30, then off to work ... Tomorrow is our discussion of Byron and Pushkin in Russian, and we have another quiz in there on Thursday (I just had one yesterday). Thursday Adam and I are going to subway — it's free cookie day, we have coupons and it's the day our donated meals are pulled. Friday is (hopefully) the Museum of Science. And I want to get my hair cut this weekend, sometime. Maybe Saturday.
Oh, and there's only 18 days till the Derby. I'll post a revised picks list later.
If you see me in your dreams tonight, keep me there, because I don't want to be here anymore.
I can't sleep. I wish I could though, and I wish I could stay asleep until everything is right again. I don't know what "right" entails anymore, but it has to exist, right? I don't like all this drama, all this stress and depression. I just want to be happy and I don't understand why it has to be so hard.
Sorry to sound like an emo kid. I'm having a rough time, and I don't like these posts any more than anyone else does. (I'm trying to see how many times I can use the word "any" in this post.)
I never thought I'd be one of those girls that guys only liked when they're drunk, but it's starting to seem like I am. I don't like this game any more. Can I go home yet?
(Times I used "any": five.)
Blogger was down yesterday, so the post for Saturday just showed up this morning. I feel tired still, even though I had nine hours of sleep and I've been awake for three hours now. I went to bed at 1 a.m., about 30 minutes after I came back from the movies. Saw Intermission, with Colin Farrel. I liked it — it was set in Ireland and done a lot like Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels, one of my favorite movies. It was a maybe 50-seat theater, the screen was tiny and the seats terrible, but it was fun nonetheless.
I'll dwell on a better post as I do my homework, and I promise an update before the day is over. And I'm hoping to add links to the site, both to other Web sites, permalinks for select entries on my site and I'd like to add an "about me" style page.
The worse thing about this school has to be the library. It's a confusing maze with weird policies I dislike. The reserve section really pisses me off. My teacher, to help us out, I suppose, put a bunch of books on reserve. But what this means is I can't check the books out of the library. I can deal with that. But then I'm supposed to pay to make copies – and most of the copiers only take this strange card you have to pay for. And there are probably ways around all this, but the library certainly doesn't have anything posted about it. There's a complex Web site for the BU library system, but it doesn't have the policies on it (or they're hidden on the site somewhere). I'm quite frustrated.
I looked up the books I wanted and walked down the street to the library. I found one of five in the open stacks, the other four are on reserve or checked out. I looked through two from the reserve list, and they were pretty useless. So hopefully I can find plenty of online sources to help me out. The professor will probably only give me a B no matter what, because the A's are reserved for Russian speakers (nevermind that it is Russian prose in translation).
I want dinner and a nap. But the sun is shining through my window and I have to take advantage of it. Back to work.
Some people have addictive personalities. Fortunately, I don't think I'm one of them. However, as I discussed with a friend today on the return from Ben & Jerry's, I have three small addictions: ice cream, underwear and poker. My new Victoria's Secret undies came in today, I had "coffee, coffee, buzz buzz buzz" ice cream and I think we're playing cards tonight. It's the perfect day. Plus it's absolutely gorgeous outside.
What are you addicted to?
The show was awesome last night, even with all the drama surrounding it. Junkie is awesome. He started with his Elvis remix, and after that it was just an awesome mix. I tore up my knee and my feet are blistered, but I don't even care. It was so good.
Thus far today, I haven't done any homework. I need to at least pick my topic for my final paper in Russian lit. My prospectus and annotated bibliography are due Friday. I'd also like to do my Russian homework (that I forgot to do for Friday) today. Since I don't think I'm going out tonight, I guess it won't be too hard.
Off to do that. Or not.
I'm confused (as I often am) by something I just saw on the street. I think it was a Chinese truck. By that I mean it was an ice cream truck that served Chinese. Ingenious. I should have chased it down.
A quick childhood tidbit: My grandmother works in one of the taller buildings in Louisville. It has maybe 20 floors. It was an older building, which made it creepy enough, but what troubled me most was the lack of a thirteenth floor. I could never understand how they thought calling the thirteenth floor the fourteenth would help. "Momma, why isn't there a thirteenth floor," I asked plaintively nearly every time I was there. "Because it's bad luck," she always told me. Even at the age of eight (or maybe even younger), this just didn't make sense. On at least one occasion, I went to the fourteenth floor just to check it out. Is it different? I wondered to myself. In my mind, it was still the thirteenth floor. No dice. Nothing interesting.
Well. It's almost the weekend. I just have to make it through Russian at noon ... Then I'm going to live it up. Well, at least tonight. Saturday and Sunday will be pretty low-key I think. I can't wait. Two more hours.
This whole school thing is starting to get to me. I've made it to just six classes thus far this week (out of 10). I'm just in such a funk. I skipped my logic lecture today to go get ice cream. That made me feel a lot better, actually. I just need a break — I'm so glad tomorrow is Friday, even if I need to work on my final paper for Russian literature and my profile sometime over the weekend. But I'm probably going to the MFA tomorrow, and staying on the floor the rest of the time, I think.
Fortunately there is only one more full week of school left ... then a long weekend, four days of school, then three ... then finals. I really need it to be over. And I need to figure out my summer. I really want to do this DNC program in July. We'll see.
I added a site meter to this site a few days ago, and so I'd like to welcome all the people who are showing up — there are at least 50 visitors a day, which is 40 more than I thought there were. If you're new here, and especially if I haven't ever met you, I'd love it if you left me comment about who you are, how you got here and what you think. Thanks!
Well, it's work time. I'll try to write something more interesting later tonight. Of interest, however: if you do an MSN search for "pictures wilderbeast," my blog is listed first. Strange.
Junkie XL, my favorite DJ ever, is coming to Avalon Boston Friday (tomorrow) night. Doors at 10 p.m., cover is $15. Come.
Today I'm wearing a broken watch. I could take it off, but I don't want to know what time it is. It's comforting, in a way, not knowing what time it is. The watch seems to almost represent how I feel: broken and stopped, for now, at a particular moment in time, not yet ready to begin moving again.
All this being depressed is just making me more and more confused about myself. It seems like a good time in my life to figure out who I really am, but I've no idea who I am. I'm full of internal conflicts and I don't know which paths to take.
I want to be a writer. I want to be a recognized, renowned, damn-good writer. I want a pulitzer. But I want to write about all sorts of things, and write stories that make a difference in the world. Can I do both?
At heart, I'm an enviromentalist indie girl. I want to buy organic clothes that were made under good working conditions where the workers are paid what they're worth. Same for food. But these clothes and foods are more expensive, and I'm poor. And part of me wants to have designer, trendy clothes, because then I'll blend in better with the rest of the world. It's easier to work when you're dresed nicely, and designer names command just a little bit of respect – and sometimes that's all you need to get your foot in the door. I don't really like to spend that much money on clothes and accessories, though.
And do I really belong in the city? I love the action, the opportunities, the excitement, but I miss being home where everyone knows who I am and they're nice. Where "doing something" on the weekend doesn't require advance planning or dressing up or $20.
I'm so confused. Oh-so-confused, but no time to dwell on it. I'm walking around, trying to hold the pieces of me together.
Just digging around, and I found this e-mail from Des after I sent in my test Zips.
From: Richard Des Ruisseaux <***@snitch.com>
Organization: Snitch
To: Tf Harris
Date: Tuesday, March 11, 2003 10:26 AM
Subject: Re: Zips
tracyfaye,
got 'em, read 'em, they worked for me, and i'm just slow getting back to
you.
if you can come in today (tues), we can sit down, talk turkey and put you
to work. or tomorrow. whichever works for you.
looking forward to seeing you again.
des
I feel so lethargic. While my professional career seems to be doing better, my personal/social life seems to be crumbling all around me. I feel pretty depressed, but I'm trying not to show it. I just wish I didn't have to go to my classes — I don't feel like being intelligent. I want to veg out for days and days, until I feel better. Sunday should have helped, but only made things worse.
I should have a Z memory of the day, because I'm constantly remembering random things. After discovering it's a 14-month trip, I started thinking back on the other times we've not talked for that long. But then I remember times when we talked non-stop — there was the summer of '02, and I remember spending a few hours a day talking to him while I was at work and receiving countless e-mails (many of which I believe are on a CD back up from when I left The Magnet). (That's when the "kyrudolph" screen name was created and my AIM addiction born.) But that was after I didn't talk to him for a year. Then I came up here and there was another almost year-long absence a few months later. I don't know why this should be any different ... It just seems like it is. I don't even have the possibility of calling, and I suppose it's doubtful he'll be able to get online. It's sad.
I know I'm acting very reminiscent. I'm also feeling pretty depressed, and remembering the good things makes me feel a little better. Especially the good things that don't have any bad things attached, like a break-up. They're all fond memories. ("You're so sexy when you smoke," he said, as we secretly smoked cigarettes in the woods. He leaned against the tree, so casual, like a modern day Pan. Me, exhaling smoke the way I always did, poised for trouble in my schoolgirl-esque outfit.)
It's probably easier for me to make this observation because I use a third-party client. For the Window's using crowd, it's probably been overlooked. AOL Instant Messenger is taking over our lives.
Look at the evolution of aim. In the beginning, people were on dial-up connections. You would sign on for an hour or two, talk to people and sign off. No big deal. Away messages and profiles weren't important, because you weren't on enough for most people to see them. But cool new features kept being introduced, and the program was used more and more often. Schoolchildren began to use it more than the phone to talk to their friends. Instead of talking to just one friend, you could talk to all of them, at once. You could even start a chat room for you and your friends, all of whom had snazzy color schemes and creative buddy icons.
Then came broadband. Ah, broadband. If the computer is the wheel of the modern world, broadband must be the sandwich. (I'm sorry if that's an unclear metaphor. Just think of important inventions.) People could be online all the time. AIM was left running non-stop; away messages told what you were doing, when you'd be back – they're better than an answering machine.
I'm bringing this whole issue up because I'm worried. I'd like to cite the "invisible" option as my main source of concern. In the newest release of AIM (for windows, at least), there's an option to make yourself "invisible." You're still online and you can still view your buddy list, but to everyone else it appears you're offline. Now broadband users have no reason to actually sign off. Our dependency on AIM is increasing. Why sign off? Why? There's no reason to. If you're not there, put up an away message so your friends and family know where you are. Don't want to be bothered? Go "invisible," so you can still see if someone you need to talk to comes online.
Has the government figured out the possibilities yet? If they haven't, they will. Soon, soon, the government will begin to track our keystrokes over aim. What are we saying? Their computers will search for key words, and they'll be able to keep track of almost everything we say. It's like phone taps, only easier. It's harder to find out if your key strokes are being tracked, and it's easier for the government to scan.
Maybe I'm paranoid. Maybe I just know the Bush administration is up to no good. But watch out. And yes, I have an addiction to aim. But I don't have all those snazzy features. I'm already trying to out-think the system. Just watch out.
During my trip to Shaw's today, I saw:
On my way to work, I watched a blind woman at the Park Street station. She wore electric-blue sweatpants and held a huge shopping bag full of papers – all covered in Braille. She was tall and thick, with long, gray hair pulled back neatly. She stood with her eyes closed, often rocking, a smile crossing her face. When people walked by, her head would twitch, following their movements slightly.
Once the train arrived, she tapped along the side of it until she found the door. She got on the other car, so I couldn't watch her anymore.
Sometimes I turn into a blathering idiot. The most logical reason is because I probably inherited bipolar disorder from my mother, but it seems like a lame excuse. What happens is I sometimes just lose control and break down. In my mind, these moments are accompanied by a loud crashing noise — only not really the noise, just the way the word sounds. (Does that make any sense? No? Oh well.)
Last night (as many of you know) was one of those. I apologize for all the stupid things I know I said. Even though nothing really significant had really happened, it just seemed like my whole world was falling apart. The one thing I was looking forward to this weekend didn't happen, which made me kind of depressed. Normally, I would have gotten out of my room and talked to other people until I felt better, but J IM'd me instead. So I felt obligated to talk to him — I haven't since the break-up. All he's doing is asking about Z and me and rambling about how Z and I should be together ... and here's Z in the other window, reminding me that even though he may have told the truth the other night, he's leaving in three months, which somehow renders his feelings null-and-void until nine months from now, when he gets back from Argentina.
So for now, I have an ex-boyfriend who is still in love with me and wants to talk to me all the time and a guy who says he loves me too, but doesn't want anything to do with me because he's getting ready to leave. However, he does want something to do with at least two other girls. It makes me want to pull my (now brown) hair out.
I just want someone to love me, but these two aren't quite what I meant. I want that guy Z told me about three years ago, sitting on a swing in North Carolina: nice enough to buy me flowers and take me out to eat, cute and smart and funny. I think Z was just trying to sell himself, but he hasn't really pulled through on any of those. (Well, being cute/smart/funny, maybe.) And he owes me a trip to that island place.
Well ... Yeah, this is starting to sound like a whiney emo blog, and the 11c blog ring mission statement includes preventing that, so I'll leave with a good blog entry to read.
Strippers must be tan. A proper suntan (whether authentic or phony) conceals cellulite, enhances the complexion, and lends one a burnished Girls Gone Wild -esque aura of health, wealth, and desirability.
I'm trying to resist fretting about my schedule for next semester. I was hoping to overload, but I can't. It requires a 3.0 cummulative GPA just to do it, and a 3.3 to waive the cost. To get a 3.0 average for the year, I'd have to get a 3.5 this semester. The best I think I can do is 3.1 — unless I start busting some ass, which I guess I should do. But if I get a 3.1 for the semester, I need a 3.3 in the fall to overload in the spring — or a 4.22, to do it without paying extra. Hah.
The situation is more problematic because the English class I want to take requires submissions, then they pick the best 15 or so. If I get into that, I really want to take it. But if I don't, there's no real problem. It's only one day a week for two hours, so it wouldn't burden my courseload too much.
So pretty much, I have to wait all summer to find out if I get into it. If I do, I'll consider two things: droping Soviet politics, or seeing if they can save me a spot for the next semester. Unless I somehow get a 3.5 for this semester ... In which case it doesn't matter.
Alright, now I feel better.
I'm doing my first ever week-straight stint at the Metro. Monday-Thursday. It'll probably end up driving me insane, but since the editor wants me to interview for a full-time spot if I want it, I should probably test it out. I may stay in Boston for the summer for a BU program covering the DNC, in which case I'll try to get the full-time spot. But I could also try to have them save it for next semester — no one gets here till around 3 p.m., and I'll be finished with class by 1 p.m. So I could do it during the year, if I want to.
On a side note about the Metro: tonight I had three doughnuts and a bowl of mint-chocolate-chip ice cream for dinner. It was good, but I feel like I need to brush my teeth.
And more about the summer: I received an e-mail from a Snitch'ite, about updating my contact info. I e-mailed him back and asked about the summer. The response made me remember why I want to go back. (Other than the fact Des is the greatest person I know.)
From: "Mat Herron" <****@snitch.com>
Date: Mon Apr 5, 2004 8:38:53 PM US/Eastern
To: "Tracy F. Harris"
Subject: Re: Is this correct?
don't sweat it. if i have a say in it, you will be here this summer.
we are literally fucking slammed right now with two new editions and no
staff. i drink a lot more.
Well, the weekend is almost over. It's been a pretty uninteresting weekend, except for that my sister was here. But no really good stories. Last night Adam, Joy, Neal and I went walking at 10:30 p.m.: we walked down Comm. Ave., down Mass Ave., all along the E line ... Over Huntington street and down by Mass. Ave. train station (on the Orange line), then talked to a legless guy with a scooter for about five blocks. Then we traversed most of Northeastern's campus, around the Fens, then eventually found ourselves back on Boylston near Ipswitch. Up Landsdown and back down Comm. Ave., where we found ourselves back home two hours later. Then I went to sleep.
Last night was the first time I really felt boyfriend-less. The hours of 7 p.m.-2 a.m. (on the weekends) usually involved several conversations with Jacob, and last night no one called me on the phone. I could have called Z, but he's in Montreal. Stupid Montreal.
Today I'm writing my query letter for my profile; tomorrow I'm actually going to call for the interview. I just couldn't find time to call while my sister was here, and it's been raining. I need it to not rain.
I dyed my hair brown today. I'll put up a picture sometime today. I think I like it, although it wasn't the radical change I half-hoped for. I look exactly the same no matter how I do my makeup or what color I dye my hair.
Update: Hair picture. The camera's color is off; my hair is actually a much darker, richer auburn. It was supposed to be golden brown. (Here's another picture I took at the same time, but my hair looks even less brown. I really like the shot though.)
Globe Magazine article.
I've had one thing to look forward to all weekend. I've been promised a visit by a certain someone, once he gets back into town. I haven't heard from him since Thursday, and I don't know what time he'll be back. I'm starting to get antsy tho'. I can't get myself to actually focus on anything; I'm all scatterbrained and fidgety. Story of my life, I think. Get excited about doing something with someone, and then they let me down everytime. Hopefully tonight will be different.
(Hey, Jols, that makes your dream sound even more realistic. I wouldn't get mad at you tho', I promise.)
It's an hour after I wrote the paragraph above. At least I had something to look forward to all weekend, otherwise I would have spend the past three days as depressed as I feel right now. Everything just clicked back into focus. I'm going to go lay down. I need a cigarette. Oh, wait, I don't really smoke. But I really want one.
I was talking to J and Z online tonight, at the same time. J kept talking about me and Z, and at one point said he hoped Z could love me, because I deserve it. Which, I think, is why I'm now so depressed. The guy I was in love with just dumped me and is practically trying to give me away, and that person doesn't want me either.
Yeah, I think that sums it up. And now you all know why it hasn't been a good night. But I wish one to everyone else.
I want you to take me to the beach. We've been on the beach together once.
I want you to make me happy like I know you can. Tell me those things that I never expect to hear but make me smile nonetheless.
Tell me again you've wanted to be yours for years, and regret that it has never happened. And then tell me we're going to do it.
But leave out the part about leaving, and about the other girls, this time.
I want to live in a dream world, if only for an instant. I want you to take me to the beach. Just one day, or one night. Just us. The beach.
I saw the movie tonight. I feel like I should be depressed, and on at least three levels I am. But I have this overwhelming desire to go to the beach, and be as happy as they were. All I want from life is happiness, but it seems to be too much to ask for.
I can even see myself happy — perfect situations in which everything is ideal. They never pan out. But the beach ... I can hang on to that dream for just a little longer, I think. I'm going to try. I'm not going to actually ask, you know. So don't tell me we can't go. If we can, just take me, and if we can't ... I'll never have to know, right?
Listen to the poetry of the words, and don't try to figure it out. There's only one person who can.
I don't have much homework this weekend, so I'm taking it easy. It's officially "T-shirt-and-underwear-Day," during which I'm avoiding wearing pants as much as possible. (I haven't left my room much.) And I'm not wearing a bra. It's odd, but liberating. I can shake 'em during rap songs, which is kind of fun.
| I can't wait for this movie. Not sure when it's coming out yet, but it's going to be good. |
The week's almost over. Just two classes, and I'm free. Sadly, the freedom only lasts three days, but I take what I can. Today Missy (my sister who's in town) and I are going to go out. Hopefully the rain will hold off, so we can go around campus and to the Pru, at least. We need to get back relatively early, because we need to leave here at about 5 a.m., because her flight leaves at 6. Sucks, eh?
After that, I have to do all the homework I can, because I'm working Monday-Thursday this week. Our managing editor quit, and I'm the one who always fills in for him (plus he was the one who was always an ass towards me). So I get to make hella bank for the next week or two, but it means I have zero time to do my homework. That part really sucks.
Zach and I are doing something Sunday, when he gets back from Montreal, but we'll see. There's probably a 25 percent chance he won't call me when he gets back, and a 50 percent chance even if he does call, he won't come see me. (Hey, man, these are statistics and I have the stories to back them up.)
In other not-interesting news ... I'm thinking of dying my hair brown. Egads! Brown hair? How absurd. Adam's truffle hair inspired me. I need some feed back though, because it doesn't really matter to me. I need someone else to say, yeah, it would look good. I'm thinking a dark brown, with some gold tones. Like this one.
This is how he's going to get reelected.
U.S. employment rose last month at the fastest pace in nearly four years, easily outstripping expectations, as workers returned after a grocery store strike and construction hiring bounced back on better weather, a government report on Friday showed.
People are too damn stupid to realize those four years were all his. They'll go to the polls thinking, hey, jobs are going up, forgetting that they were ridiculously far down the other three years of his presidency. Just thinking about it makes me sick.
Air America is broadcasting ... And they got their streaming audio set up. Tune in for the O'Franken Factor from noon to 3 p.m. I can't wait.
More on the station later. I just bought a program, RadioLove, so I can save the streams as .mp3s and listen to the O'Franken Factor whenever I want to. Yay!
I woke up this morning to go get my sister from the airport. It's raining and absolutely miserable outside. It got me to thinking.
I'm starting to wonder what I'm doing here. Here can be any number of things. Right now it means both my life in general, and my life at B.U. Did I make a mistake going to school here? Where the hell are all the new friends I thought I would make?
Since I've been here, I've made friends, I guess. I think, however, if I shut myself in my room for no reason, they would never come and find me. It's a depressing thought. All these people are willing to hang out with me if I'm around, but they don't really want to hang out with me. And people who I thought I was close to seem to be ignoring me, even though I've been told otherwise.
So I think I'm going to transfer home ...* Go to UofL with Mallory and work for Snitch or something. It'll be fun, and I'll be back with my friends.
Oh, and many thanks to everyone who's been around for me the past few days. Z — you especially. Don't read this at work.
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*Haha, suckers! Sadly, everything except for the transfer part is true, tho'. | |
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