Field Notes and Side Trips

Since I've Been Sort of Kind of Playing Chess Lately...

2008-08-20T12:46:00.000-07:00

Your result for The Chess Mess Test...

The Queen's Knight

Congrats! Only 4-5% of the population score this!

The Queen’s Knight is armed with rose-colored glasses. The mundane comes to life and nature becomes expressive of spirit. The interesting thing about this Knight is the ability to switch from fantasy to reality. There are exceptions to the rule, but this is the type that may have had imaginary friends as a youngster. Their stuffed animals also were great companions. The Queen’s Knight will see the good in almost anyone or anything – but their depth of emotion can remain hidden even from themselves. Circumstances tend to reveal sudden responses.

Not all life is rosy and this Knight is not exempt from disappointment or frustration with humanity. They may feel incompetence when dealing with their own ethical values. Things aren’t simply white black, but a grand battle of Good versus Evil. Evil must be reckoned with but Good shall eventually win. It is not that they fight evil, but that they fight for the essence of moral good. Doing something good is quite satisfactory for them and indeed increases their happiness. It is when something is not reciprocated to them that they are saddened and disappointed by others. They learn that others aren’t as self-sacrificing.

The Queen's Knight is dominated by an inner world of intense feeling and deeply rooted ethics. They seek to form their life based on their views. They are highly curious of those around them so are readily accepting of others unless their values are being threatened. They promote insight and understanding amongst others and contribute well thought ideas. They however can be a bit too idealistic.

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Changeling Type | Mage Sorter

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Hedviga Golik

2008-05-16T12:05:00.000-07:00

I read this story today and it bothers me...

www.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/europe/05/16/croatia.body.ap/index.html?iref=mpstoryview

Basically, Hedviga Golik died 30 years ago in her apartment, and they just found her now when neighbors decided to break in.

I just found this story as well, which is creepier but a little more comprehensible.

www.javno.com/en/croatia/clanak.php?id=147979

I just wanted to put her name out there, and encourage other people to say it and maybe light a candle for her. 30 (or 40 or 50, depending on who you talk to) years is too long to be unseen.

The Divinity Student and the Science Library: a Story of Mutual Bewilderment

2008-05-11T12:02:00.001-07:00

So, just now I went to put a book on the book truck, and I saw another book that was already on the book truck.

This book, I thought, was called God. Huh, interesting, I thought, I like books called God. I went for a closer look.

Alas, it is not called God. It is called Cod. It is about the fish. According to the subtitle, Cod changed the world.

Well, so did God.

:) Happy finals!

From Me, With Love

2008-01-08T17:01:00.000-08:00

Hi all,

So, my throat is sore and my head is spacey, and ironically this is making it difficult for me to focus on the book I have with me, called The Body in Pain, by Elaine Scarry. Instead, I think I will make a nice survey for you to take, if you feel so inclined. And I will answer my own questions now, so as to be fair and not pave a road with good intentions like the last time.

1. Close your eyes. Turn your head slightly to the right. Open them. What do you see? A white table, chairs with gray cushions, a sign detailing what is prohibited in Cabot Science Library.

2. Are you reading a good book now? What is it? I am almost done with Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie, but can't quite bring myself to finish it. I think this is because it is the last novel I have to read for class, and beyond that it's all scholarly stuff. Not that I'm not reading the scholarly stuff now, but somehow this is psychologically relevant.

3. It's 2008. Do you believe this? Not really. I mean, I get the date right when I write it down or something, but I think sometimes I still believe it is 2004, when I graduated Bryn Mawr. I don't know why, but when I pick up a book or something that was written in 2004, I'm always like, wow, that's really new... wait... it's not.

4. Do you want to do a paper about Christian tattoos as icons? No.

5. Is it abnormally warm today where you live? Yes!

6. Have you ever been in a serious physical fight? Tell me about it. Why did it happen? What did it feel like? If you've been in many, pick one. I have not been in a serious physical fight. I have been in play-fights, and they feel like there's this energy I always carry that is suddenly focused, absorbed, and released.

7. Can you see out a window right now? If so, describe the first person you see out the window. If there's no person, or no window, tell me who is not there. I see a woman in a denim jacket with red-brown hair, walking on the rock fountain with a child who is out of view. I was going to make up a story about her, but it seems suddenly disrespectful.

8. What is right in front of you that you love? Right now I feel warmly toward this man sitting in a chair with his hands interlaced on top of his bald spot. He is wearing a tan jacket, a button down shirt of an indescribable browny-gray color, and a watch.

9. What is right in front of you that you find perplexing? I am perplexed by two small squares of velcro affixed to the circulation desk.

10. Are you tired? Yes.

11. When is the last time you made a conscious decision to lie? Why did you do so? It was a couple of weeks ago. I did it to preserve a man's good opinion of me across difficulties of language, culture, religion, sexual mores, etc. I did it to make my life easier. I don't know if it has or not.

12. What worries you right now? I am worried because I feel like I have a cold or something, and I need to be healthy when I go to Baltimore. I am worried about my school work. I am worried about the future.

13. What pleases you right now? I am pleased to be wearing shoes, not boots. I am pleased by the feel of the rim of the little garbage can against the arches of my feet. I am pleased that my shift is over in 45 minutes. I am pleased by seeing Charlotte every day, and I am pleased to be home with Rachel and Amy. In a general sense, not right at this moment, clearly.

14. What can you hear right now? Security guards discussing politics. It's interesting.

15. What (approximately) was happening in your life 5 years ago? I was 20 years old... I was still in Europe, I think, travelling with Rachel and Katie. Now I want to look up and see exactly where we were, or if we were coming back yet. I'm going to guess that it was a later part of the trip, perhaps Berlin or Paris or Dublin. Was it in Ireland that Katie told us about this blackcurrent ale or cider or something? And we got some in a pub? I remember the way the streets looked in Dublin, somehow, more than anything else. And I remember that statue of Oscar Wilde. That was in Dublin, right?

16. Has anything fundamentally changed about your emotional life since then? That's a hard question. But I have no one to blame for it but myself. I think I'm on a little more of an even keel than I was then, but fundamentally... I'm not sure that anything is fundamentally changed. Or, I think the way I understand my emotions is a bit different, but the sensations themselves are not, really. Oh... I have noticed that I am much more easily moved by things than I used to be. I find myself tearing up over lots of things, on TV or whatever, that never would have produced such a reaction before. I don't know why that is, but I think it has something to do with getting older, having a range of experiences that stretch out to contact more than they could before, and... something I can't describe, something about a broader awareness of just how vulnerable we are, of just how bad things can be. (That doesn't explain what I want to explain at all, and sounds weird. But still.)

17. Do you have any secret that you have never told anyone, at all, ever, even anonymously? I honestly didn't think so as I was writing that, but now I am thinking of things that I don't think I ever told anyone. However, I don't have anything that is a constant presence with me, that I have never told anyone, at all, ever, even anonymously.

18. Have you ever hugged a book? Yep.

19. Thrown one across the room? Yep.

20. Hit one? Yes.

21. Kissed one? I think so.

22. Destroyed one on purpose? No.

23. Yelled at one? Yes.

24. Refused to continue reading at one point due to a moral objection to certain events, but then just had to get back to it? Would I make up such a question if the answer was no? It was The Witching Hour by Anne Rice.

25. Have you done all those things to other people? I have not thrown a person across the room, nor destroyed one on purpose. And... this is interesting... I don't think I have ever explicitly refused to associate with someone because of moral objections. I think the only people I have had deep, sincere, lasting moral objections to with regard to their behavior have not been my friends. What does this mean?

26. What is the strangest thing you have ever hugged? Probably a dumbwaiter. It was a big one.

27. Kissed? A locker.

28. The very first time you were enamoured of someone, what did you do in immediate reaction? I ran weird circles around my room, sort of jumping over my bed, listening to an a capella tape of "For the Longest Time" and singing.

29. Name something unusual that had some influence in your sexual development. Lucius Cornelius Sulla.

30. And something cliched? Spin the Bottle. But I wasn't playing, really.

31. How about a minor guilty secret? Doesn't have to be about sex, just something not-huge that bugged you. Hmm... I never bought Annie on my Mind, in high school, even though I wanted to read it, because I didn't want the cashier to think I was a lesbian. And I thought that was dumb, especially since I was often buying books with gay men in them. But I still didn't buy it.

32. What about a small act of heroism? There was this man lying in the alleyway beside Merriam Theater, and everybody was sort of uncomfortably hoping he was ok and not dead and not in serious trouble, and I finally just went out myself and woke him up and made sure he was alright. That's pretty small, but it felt like kind of a big deal when everybody was older than me and technically more experienced in life.

That's all folks, time to leave work! Take my survey for a rip-roaring good time!

Merry Christmas! (Or, I saw this movie you should see)

2007-12-25T01:26:00.000-08:00

I forgot to say before, please see Charlie Wilson's War. I don't want to say much about it until people have seen it, but I want you to see it so I can talk to you about it.

If that's not reason enough... Philip Seymour Hoffman is fantastic and deserves your admiration and love, and is acting in this movie.

But seriously. See it. Then talk to me.

Merry Christmas some more!

Merry Christmas! (Or, random thoughts about my dad)

2007-12-25T01:20:00.000-08:00

Here I am, with my beautiful new laptop, having beautiful internet in my very own room at home, and sadly my phone has to be plugged in around the corner and so at the moment is more awkward to reach than my computer... but no one is online to talk to me!

Well, that's not true... the automated moviefone thing is online, as is a person I only knew on the internet except for meeting once randomly in person, but with whom I have not spoken in any context for some time. And some people have away messages up.

But that's ok, because I have a delightful public-private inner-thoughts-to-outer-world forum to keep me company until my phone gets more charg-y. Or until I just get sleepy, and forget all the things I wanted to say, which seems to be happening right now.

It's been an interesting time so far. I spent some time with my dad Saturday and Sunday, and that was good. It's amazing how I can feel so connected to him in some ways, like when we talk about the big stuff of life and the spirit, which sounds, as such things often do, ridiculous to write down, except that I really mean it... and I feel like we're really sharing something important, and special, and we are... and then I try to tell him what I think about a movie, or what I'm doing next year, and it seems like we're communicating but suddenly he says something that has all the ingredients of what I've been saying, but isn't actually my point at all... and then I look at the picture we took together using Photo Booth, and our smiles do the same thing to our faces, our noses are the same, the stretch of our mouths... or I see him almost-sleeping on the couch and he moves his thumbs against each other restlessly like I know I do, or his feet, absurdly high arch tucked and rubbed against the top of the other foot, and that is just like me. And somehow all these things, connections, disconnections, awkwardness, alikeness-- come from the same person, in not even 48 hours. And he tells me he wants to know more about what I like and I am quiet, not knowing what to say. (We are talking about music, should I give a list?) And sometimes I think he creates an idea of me quite fully out of pieces of true things, and sometimes I think he knows me in ways I cannot know myself.

This is ironic, since part of our discussion, a real heart of it, was how you cannot see yourself, how if you look for the self you cannot find it, that self-hood itself (ha) and everything around it is created... but if there is no self, created by whom? This is one of those statements that should maybe come with warnings, like the Cloud of Unknowing: Don't read me or think about me unless you're way gung-ho about the whole spiritual path deal. Or maybe I'm just posturing. (Who is? Ha.)

He can irritate me intensely, and I am terribly afraid of displeasing him in some small way. He bought me beautiful shirts-- in size extra-large. I take a stupid pleasure in being more educated than he is, in thinking silently that I understand more while he speaks. Especially about eastern religions.

I can see now how crippled he has been, because he is not so big and full of power as he used to be. When he hugs me, he is still the strongest person in the world, the whole world still goes away. I think he is trying to protect me from his family, or protect himself through me. I think he has systematically removed me from their reach... he may be fully conscious of this, or totally unconscious, or I may be incredibly wrong.

I love him. I can't decide if that statement encompasses all of this I have said before, or not.

So, there's actually a lot more I have to say, about things other than my dad, like... my mom! ;) Well, and how Christmas Eve went and how it was singing at Mass and how my extended family is responding to my telling them about Charlotte with a wonderful outpouring of love and support so far... and how I got some cool presents at Jeff's family's party, and... well, but this will all have to wait.

In the meantime, the merriest of Christmases to you all! I love you! (Or I don't know you, but you can have some love too, if you want!)

Notes to (or on) the World

2007-12-20T10:40:00.001-08:00

It's snowing. It's been a real winter so far. Several real snowstorms and lots of trudging through ice and snowbanks and having big snow crystals in my hair and finding my feet sliding out from under me. I think I'm happy about it. Or, it's a pain, and it's cold, and it's difficult to get around, but somehow I feel some kind of strange joy when I am out in it nonetheless. I did this morning, anyway.

And last night, I was cutting home through the woods and I suddenly noticed how beautiful it was, and how quiet. I looked over and I saw this small tree, thin and curvy and bent, standing by itself. I felt like this was Christmas, or Advent, this was something I'd been waiting for. So I stood there looking for awhile, debating whether I wanted to get my feet wet to go over to it, and then I got off the path and trudged through the snow, and when I made it to the tree I fit perfectly against the curve of it, with my arm around the side and my cheek against the cold, wet bark.

I hope this will do as a resumption of posting. If I have any faithful readers left. ;)

A more petty note is that people should not write in library books. Ever. Especially not if it's a complicated novel like Midnight's Children which I am trying to read and pay attention to, but somebody has underlined half of every page and written crap like "style" and "shows failure of omniscient narrator" all over the margins. Just read! Don't write! Or, if you must, get your own book or write notes on a notebook or something.

Hello

2007-09-08T14:54:00.000-07:00

This is just a note to let you all know that there are no disasters on my end. :) I will write something longer soon, really.

Not a Happy Camper

2007-08-21T06:50:00.000-07:00

I did not have a good day.

I'm feeling quite unsettled.

Understandably, I then had a dream about people being beaten to death in a movie.

Understandably, but not pleasantly.

Perhaps I should write something coherent about this that has paragraphs of more than one sentence.

Perhaps.

Sorry, this entry is kind of scary.

I am not sick, heartbroken, crazy, or failing out of school.

Happily, since school has not begun.

I will post something more informative soon.

Find the Treasure

2007-08-06T10:52:00.000-07:00

*Kind of like a treasure hunt!!*
What is on the wall closest to you?:	A Peanuts character, a no smoking sign, and a notice about overdue fines.
When you turn to the right, what is the first thing you see?:	A black chair with five wheels and the security guard, who is now switching places with another security guard.
Name each thing you hear right now:	The new security guard talking to another man in a non-English language, my typing, a girl's flip-flops as she walks across the library, pleather furniture squishing
Name each thing you smell right now:	My nose is runny. The library has a smell, but I don't know how to describe it.
What is the title of the book nearest to you right now?:	History and Description of the Steam-Ship Great Britain Built at Bristol for the Great Western Steam-Ship Company; To Which are Added, Remarks on the Comparative Merits of
go to page 86.. go to line 12.. share the first 8 words:	(Title continued) Iron and Wood as Materials for Ship-Building. Ironically, there is no page 86. On page 8: "A A A A represents the outline of the boilers"
go to your nearest window, then list 3 things you saw when you looked out:	A big, bright orange handbag. A woman with a green shirt either arguing with or bidding enthusastic farewell to a young man, a tow-headed child in a baseball cap.
How many steps take you to your bathroom?:	The 75th step puts me over the threshold.
Describe your main light source at this moment:	Flourescent lights in long rectangular bars, with checkered plastic grating.
list each thing on your work space right now:	Book due and cancelled stamps, a scanner with stand, a demagnitizer, computer parenphenalia, Cabot bookmarks, book plates with empty space for due dates, oversized rubber
How many spoons in your kitchen drawer right now?:	bands (continuing from the last question because I have no idea about this one), yellow tape with "reserve" written on it, and generally more thing than I can fit in this spac
Describe everything on your body right now in the from of clothes or jewels:	Black flip-flops with jeweled straps, pink underwear, a skirt with a waterside town on it, a white bra, a yellow T-shirt, my Bryn Mawr ring, my snake ring
How many plants are in your house:	None?
Are they fake or real?:	Fake?
Where did you buy your computer?:	I don't recall, and I don't think it works anymore.
If you have a purse, describe it.:	A yellow Strand bag with green pockets sewn in and Spanish writing on it.
If you just carry a wallet, describe it:	Don't, at present.
grab a piece of paper in either one, and tell us what it is:	The Spare Change News
what was the last reciept you had in your hands for?:	Probably a bank receipt for the withdrawal I made.
What is the last thing you wrote on?:	Um... an old card from the card catalogue.
If you carry a purse, name 3 things in it right now:	A broken pen, a flyer from a place where I did not get my haircut, a small lock
what is sitting on the floor closest to you?:	A blue plastic garbage can that I am bending with my feet.
Name something you can see right now that you should throw away:	Probably the stupid labels I made for the CD Roms while Anne, one of the librarians, also made labels. Since now they are useless.
name something you can see right now that you couldnt bear to throw away:	See previous answer, since I spent so much time on them, though I'm sure I'll overcome this eventually.
when you say goodbye to a pal, what do you say?:	I like to make goodbyes wordless and inscrutable. Keep them guessing.
Take this survey \| Find more surveys Bzoink - The Original Survey Site

Dear Alan Rickman

2007-07-16T13:50:00.000-07:00

Dear Alan Rickman and/or Professor Snape,

Yes. Ok. Whatever you want. I love your face, I love your voice, I am in complete thrall to the dark redemption thing you've got going on. Take me somewhere shadowy and penetrate my mind.

Yours sincerely,
Becky

P.S. It's a little weird that you are older than my father, but let's not worry about that too much.

Touching Base?

2007-07-01T21:06:00.000-07:00

I feel the need to post, but I don't quite know what I want to talk about. Maybe it's just that I've read interesting stuff in other people's blogs and I want to have conversations with them, or I just feel like it's time to say something.

Today was lovely. We went to Singing Beach and went swimming (just a little because it was very cold), and climbed barefoot onto big rocks and played in tide pools and made sand castles and had an absolutely stupendous dinner at a little restaurant by the train station. It felt like a real vacation, even though it was just a day.

I love Armistead Maupin!

2007-06-17T18:20:00.000-07:00

This is just a celebratory post to delight in the fact that Armistead Maupin has written a new book, called Michael Tolliver Lives. Rachel caught sight of it on display in the window belonging to Porter Square Books during a midnight excursion, and we both got so excited and started jumping up and down. It's narrated by Michael Tolliver, as you might imagine, and he is now 55! And that's all I will say, in case anyone wants to read it. I read it! It's lovely! :-D YAY ARMISTEAD!

New Job #1

2007-06-13T14:30:00.000-07:00

Here are some interesting things about my new job #1, which is working at the Cabot Science Library at Harvard. (These interesting things are brought to you at this point because I am avoiding doing more work on my new job #2, which is online writing tutoring.)

1. The other day I was shelf-reading, which is when you look at all the call numbers of the books on a shelf to make sure they are in order, and I found a book that was not. So, I was bringing it to its spot, and I saw that it was called Order Out of Chaos. This was so pleasing that I wrote it down.

2. I found a book for Charlotte called Newton's Darkness, which was actually two plays about Isaac Newton! But it was not good, so I brought it back.

3. My boss, before leaving to get a battery for her watch, which is two silver wildcats facing each other, came over and said, "Here. You can read about Polish Jews," and handed me a newsletter called "Gazeta" about Polish Jews.

4. My boss is a Polish Jew.

5. Directly after I wrote #4, a man came up and checked out a book called The Nazi War on Cancer.

6. Downstairs, there is a locked room, and inside there are lots and lots of old to very old books, mostly about engineering. When I first came, I thought that ENG stood for English, but not in a science library, it seems.

7. Also downstairs, there are the kind of bookshelves that all squish together until you press a button, at which time they move very slowly and mechanically to open where you want to go, and I am always a bit concerned that they will suddenly move swiftly and autonomously to squish me while I am walking between them to put back a bound volume of periodicals.

8. My boss has announced that she is going to lose 5 pounds "as if her life depended on it," using some newly approved diet pills. I said I doubt her life could depend on 5 pounds, and she said no, but her clothes could. I conceeded the point.

9. My boss has also said that she might go to NYC for some kind of crazy Japanese hair-straightening treatment that costs $500.

10. Another person who works here is a slight, graceful, quiet Hispanic man who kind of sways when he walks, but subtly. And whenever he uses the computer he brings up all kinds of tango websites and leaves them up when he goes.

11. My boss is named Lidia.

12. Lidia and another boss, named Allen, are having a conflict about how many hours I should work, which is confusing for me.

13. The man who just checked out a book was named Claudiu, which strikes me as highly unusual.

14. Somehow when I was closing up yesterday, I ended up trying to help this young Korean woman understand her registration instructions for whatever program she was doing here, but since she did not grasp all the English and I had no idea what her program might be about or require, we did not get very far.

15. I think Lidia thinks that I'm sleeping with Rachel, because she keeps commenting on my necklace, and when I told her it was my roommate she asked all these questions like how long have we lived together and did I get along with her family and kept saying how GREAT it was, and in other contexts kept talking about gay people, even though it was not really appropriate to the conversation.

16. Even though all these interesting things happen here, I am ready to go home now. But it is only 2:28. I guess I will do my other job.

Addendum

2007-05-20T16:57:00.000-07:00

The guy who tried to help me last night just came by and asked if I had gotten my paper back and how it was going. He's kind.

Hell Hath No Fury...

2007-05-20T10:28:00.000-07:00

... like me, right now. I was here in Lamont at 12:30 last night, happily using the last 15 minutes of library openness to put the finishing touches on the 8th page of my paper... why, then, was I here again before 9 AM, when the paper is not in any way due today? Let me tell you.

So, at 12:30, the computer abruptly stopped everything it was doing and told me it had gone into a "Deep Freeze" mode and that the keyboard and mouse were inaccessible. I got up to inquire as to why this had occurred, and discovered that all the student computers had, in fact, done this. I then was told that they do this EVERY SATURDAY at 12:30, but usually they are closed so it doesn't matter, and I guess they just didn't both to tell anyone that this was going to happen. If I had known even 5 minutes ahead of time, I could have saved my document and sent it to myself with NO TRAUMATIC EFFECTS whatsoever... but I didn't. A fairly nice young man came over and tinkered futilely with the computer, during which process an appallingly loud FIRE ALARM started going off literally in my ear for a minute and a half. This is apparently the way that Lamont informs its patrons that it is time to leave, and also permanently damages their hearing. My ear is still slightly achy/itchy this morning.

So I left, with no knowledge of how much paper I had lost, and no copy of the paper on anything but this machine. It was, of course, dark and rainy, though thankfully I had an umbrella. I started stomping home, and as I got to the science center, I caught sight of a very drunk young man in something like a slightly oversized suit jacket. And other clothes too, but not a whole suit. He was walking along, swerving all over the path like I've never seen, totally alone. So at first when I saw him I was nervous, not certain of what he was doing or what was going on, but as he got past me I realized, as he stumbled over to the rope that bounds off the grass and then confusedly to a bush, that he was probably totally disoriented and trying to go home. But in this state who knew if he even knew where his home was. I really didn't know what to do. I didn't want to approach him in case he was agitated or scary, and even if I had I wouldn't have known where to take him if he told me he lived in X dorm, but I also didn't want him to keep wandering around and get hypothermia, or stumble into the road, or just fall asleep with alcohol poisoning or something.

So I followed him. It was a bit awkward, since he kept stopping and drifting off in different directions, or just standing there for a long time, but I tailed him all the way back to the other end of the yard. At one point there was a hopeful moment when he seemed to be veering towards the door of what I hoped was a dorm, but it was short-lived, and the next thing I know he was, in fact, stumbling into the road across from the Au Bon Pain, heading on out into Harvard Square. Now I really didn't know what to do. It didn't make sense to follow him all the hell over Cambridge, but it was stupid to leave him now after all that, and when he was potentially in a more dangerous situation.

I was hestitating on my side of the road, when a shadow figure sort of loomed up toward me out of the darkness... and it turned out to be a nice, sweet-looking young man in a big bulky coat who wanted to know when the buses stopped running. For no reason I understand except that I wanted to give him hope or something, I said that I thought they were still running (I actually didn't have the slightest idea) but that I knew the subway had stopped, or stopped around now, or something. When I looked up again I saw that I had lost the drunk boy, and so I decided to go over to the ABP, which apparently is open very late, and ask them if they had seen him, and also if they would call the police. I should interject that my phone had run out of batteries in the early afternoon. As I made it over there, I saw there was a policeman standing in the doorway! I went over to him and explained the situation. He said he had seen the drunk guy and wasn't sure what was going on with him, but, after ascertaining that I didn't know him or where he was supposed to be, he told me that he would check up on him and help him get home, and disappeared purposefully around the corner.

So I continued walking home. At this point my feet and the bottoms of my pants were extraordinarily wet, and I was extraoridinarilly agitated. Being outside in the middle of the night by myself was NOT AT ALL acceptable, and now I had an even longer walk ahead of me than I normally would. At one point I gave up and hailed a cab, only to find that the cab driver didn't know where Beacon St. was. Now, under normal circumstances I could have told him how to get there, most likely, but at this point I was so at the end of my rope that I wasn't sure I could think that clearly, and I also wasn't sure that I wanted to get in a cab with a driver who didn't know where Beacon St. was. It's an enormous street! It's the main street in Somerville, which is so much enveloped by Cambridge that there is NO REASON, at the proximity we were, for this man who navigates streets for a living not to have a clue where Beacon St. was. So I walked on. My shoelaces on one shoe were permanenetly untied at this point, and they and my umbrella made all sorts of unpleasant flapping and slapping noises that I tried not to attribute to frightening attacker people sneaking up behind me.

I finally made it home, called Charlotte and Rachel for some support, and got to bed probably a little before 3. I set my alarm for 7. I got out of bed around 8 and made it in the door here by 9. I came right over to the computer I was working on, and found that it had automatically saved a draft of my paper... that had nothing but gibberish on the very top line, a disgruntled arrangement of the words "Harvard College Libraries." It also had the most recent copy I had saved... about 2 pages short of what I had left with. Two fairly hard-won pages in a paper that is not going at all the way I want it to at this point.

So I went up to the circulation desk and asked the guy working there if there was someone I could speak with who dealt with the computers.

"Uhhhh..." he said with a little chuckle. "Well, there's no one who deals with the computers exactly, but there might be someone who could help..." "

Well," I began, "I was here last night at about 12:30..." And that's as far as I got.

"Oh. That sounds like... I don't think I can help you." He went and got some kind of administrator, telling him there was a "lady" here who needed help. (Am I a lady to college undergrads now? Not that I would necessarily want to be a girl, but it was weird. I've also noticed that in this post I've taken to using 'young man' for men younger than me, meaning they are younger than me but I'm not sure how much. Bizarre quarter-century-ness.) Anyway, the administrator came over--he looked uncannily like Ben from lost--and listened to my tale of woe, expressed doubt that anything would help, but came over to look at the computer. At least he told me that he had told the powers that be to stop the deep freeze during exams, but somehow it had not worked. Which is slightly better than if no one did anything at all and just decided it didn't matter. So Ben looked through my files, and poked through some other files, and came to the conclusion there was nothing to be done, unless I waited til Monday and talked to some computer expert folks at Widener. I said this would not be helpful, and explained fairly calmly that I lived off-campus, that due to this problem I had not gotten to sleep until 3 AM, and that I had to wake up again at 7 in order to get back here, so it really was a major inconvenience. He was not unsympathetic, but seemed more concerned with expressing his own innocence than actually listening to what I had to say, which I find a lamentable human trait. If I am ever in a customer service position again, please remind me that it is more important to hear people than to excuse yourself.

So that's it. Now I'm here, I'm starving, I'm exhausted, and I have to re-write 2 pages of an already plodding, idiotic paper.

Fuck you, Lamont library. If I knew how to dismantle this alarm behind my head, I completely would, and take it as a goddamn trophy to hang up on my wall. If I could dismantle this computer without causing further harm to my paper, I would be sorely tempted. I don't have anything more to say, but I have not exhausted my rage and disappointment. I want my two pages, my breakfast, and my equanimity. Fuck you.

Unrelated Observation

2007-05-16T02:16:00.000-07:00

I just received an email about a job that is a "4/5" position. It is apparently "80%" of a full time position. What the heck? That seems to be just getting ridiculous. Are you going to take a "1/5" position to go with it? I know there are advantages to not having people work full time exactly... I guess when I was answering phones at the Merriam I had about "70%" of a full time position. But it just sounds silly.

Wow... I don't want to finish this paper, do I?

The World Smells Good Today!

2007-05-15T22:15:00.000-07:00

Every time I go outside I have a wonderful olfactory experience! I have also received ice cream, free books (2 "legitimate literature," 2 thrilling-looking adventures, 1 complete smut), and an HDS Exam survival kit. I know that the HDS Alumni/ae think that I am a smartie, not a dum-dum, and they have given me play-doh and bubbles.

I have a lot of writing to do, a frightening amount actually... but I am happy.

The Red Planet

2007-05-14T02:00:00.000-07:00

I meant and meant to post something substantial about my trip, and never did... so here's a reflection I read at our reflection lunch. I hope you enjoy the strengths of the genre, and forgive the weaknesses.

Cindy moves around me in the shell of her living room. Neither of us knows what to say. I have followed her inside to get a soda and because the sun has started to mummify my brain and because I have an urge to be with her. I hope that words will descend like little doves into the part of my sweat-slicked hair. They don’t. I scale down my apostolic ambitions and drink my Fresca.

“This soda is great,” I say. “It’s really hot out there.”

“I can’t even be out there five minutes before I’m ready to fall down,” she tells me. She is moving all around me, making a semi-circle of chairs against the backdrop of stripped walls and broken appliances. I feel it in the way her muscles clench and unclench while her eyes search around us—this desire to do something when it feels as though helplessness is nestled permanently against your pulse-point like a spoiled perfume.

We are all battling helplessness. Cindy is battling all the time, arranging chairs in an empty room, finding a scrap of life to maintain. Outside someone strategizes and attacks a fence; another undoes vines; a third engages in quixotic single combat with a large segment of tree snagged in the upper branches of another. The little dog Tiffy, as big as my hand and ridiculous in a red and white cheerleading costume, is a one-creature anti-helplessness army. Later, I battle beside Cindy in her dim, dusty garage. I am familiar with the piled-up remnants of an exploded life, but grimly I do battle. This is a box of electronic things; this is a box of soft things; this of paper. My categories are haphazard and desperate.

There are lots of laminated sheets with popular lyrics and guitar chords, and Cindy insists that they all be saved. The ink has run pink and purple on some, a mini-sunset.

“Do you sing?” I ask.

“I used to,” she said. “Sing and play guitar. I don’t anymore, since the hurricane.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I keep putting the sheets of paper into boxes. I don’t know which side I am fighting for by doing so. What is it about a hurricane that would make a person stop singing?
I find a bizarre little book that Cindy’s son made many years ago. Her son is seventeen now, moved out shortly after Katrina to live with his father. This book is trying to teach the Solar System and grammar at the same time. On one page, the subject of the sentence is underlined, and the subject of the sentence is also Mars. “Mars is the red planet because it is red,” Cindy’s son wrote.

I show Cindy. I want to plant a flag, do a dance. Solar System Grammar Book 1: Helplessness 0.
But let’s be honest. It’s important that if I’m going to talk you about something as pregnant with the possibility of self-righteousness as a service trip, that I be as honest as I can stand. I am not going to win against helplessness, and neither are you. A hurricane can push a house askew like I push a pile of papers. The structure of society can leave people in crumpled heaps like old Barbie dolls, limbs all twisted up, because lives we have labeled worthless prior to crisis will not suddenly, magically be saved when the water rises.

And that very labeling, I’m startled to find, is a weapon wielded by dangerously frightened people… against helplessness. Bear with me. When we go on service trips and clean years, we are fighting helplessness. When we build glittering mansions and mark them off with gates, with a different garden from every window, we are scratching at helplessness. When we stand on Bourbon St. with white crosses and scrolling neon messages about the sins of Babylon, we are crusading against helplessness. When we slip inside the topless bar next door, with a sign that promises to let us wash the girl of our choice, it is helplessness we seek to wrestle to submission.

For myself, I know I must resist the temptation to be virtuous. Pull on a vine of motivation, you will surely find another, and another, tangled in yourself and in others. Fight the helplessness of one storm, and another will come and melt your sand castle. I may not have known this at the time, but I didn’t go to Ocean Springs because it was the right thing to do. I went because it was something to do. Cindy, and Tiffy the dog, and her absent son, and Mars the red planet are not antidotes to helplessness. But they are something. I am having trouble describing what it is that they are, what we are and have been with them—perhaps that trouble is part of my point.

In the garage with Cindy, the Solar System Grammar book goes in the box with tax forms and letters and song lyrics. I find a picture of her son and we stand looking at it together. When we run out of things to say we keep speaking, straining to hear each other. This is within the battle, but this is not the battle. This is two women in a dirty old garage looking at a picture—helpless, still working. It’s reality—a true grace, a force as mysterious as a storm and rarely rose-colored except in beautifully running ink. Mars is called the red planet because it is red. I stand with Cindy. (Amen).

Dreamtime in Examtime

2007-05-12T13:11:00.000-07:00

First, I dreamed that I was a teenage girl in a big family with lots of aunts. I'm not sure which of these aunts if any was actually my mother. I think my parents might have been dead. But I kept being surprised at how many aunts we had, of all different ages, some with very unusual names. They were all sisters, I think, as opposed to marrying in or something. Anyway, I had this cousin, a boy my age, but he was in Charlotte's body. We might have even been performing, but it seemed much more real than that. So, this boy reminded me of Jesus, and also the narrator from The Life of Pi, he was just... wise, and kind of otherworldly and sparkling and he seemed to know everything. We went to some kind of public event and somebody there was speaking a Native American language, and he just jumped in and started speaking it too.

We were very close and always hung around together, and I was kind of crazy in love with him. And at some point for some reason things were getting more pressing... one of our aunts had died and there was a funeral, and I don't know if I thought he was going to be taken away or maybe actually harmed or what, but I decided I had to tell him how I felt. It was my suspicion that he wasn't actually blood related to us, but I cared more about that because of other people, not because I was personally terribly worried about the idea of incest. This suspicion arose out of the fact that he had been found in a field as an infant, and all of the aunts assumed he was one of theirs. (I'm sure this came from the Ramayana, in which Sita is found in a field.) But I took him aside and I told him how much I loved him, in this startlingly (to me, anyway) poetic way, and he just sort of smiled his beautiful smile, which I think I took as some kind of assent because I startled making plans for our escape together... I remember I kept going farther that I intended to, and was saying things like "when we're 40 or 50," which I was nervous about because I thought it was weird, but it felt completely instinctive because I was so passionate about him, and also so... natural, it felt so natural to be with him.

So, I don't really know what happened with that, because at some point it switched and I was more me, and Uncut Pages was putting on a show in a fitness club in Philly, except the room we were in was extremely nice and had beautiful wooden floors. And it was kind of a benefit/revue of various shows we'd done, although I think most of the stuff we were doing was not from any shows we have actually done. It had a lot of dancing in a line, sort of chorus numbers but with plot. The audience was really into it, and suddenly someone was like, "Where's Dilexi?" And we were startled and a little awkward for some reason even though Lilah and I were both there. I think this may have been because we didn't have the cape. I remember thinking that I had considered bringing the cape but then hadn't because it was too big to pack. But Lilah was wearing a shirt with fancy sleeves, and she stepped up and started playing Dilexi. And we were sort of dancing around her, and then she fell backwards behind some kind of tree or bush that was in the room (as part of the bit, I think), and she started crying like a baby... I don't mean a lot, as that phrase usually does, but I mean in the manner of a baby, with her mouth open enormously wide and stuff. And I was so impressed by what she was doing, both the acting ability and the symbolic choice I decided she was making about Dilexi's rebirth or something.

So I went over and was going to hold her head, like I would for a baby. I don't know why that was the thing to do, but she started freaking out because as Dilexi she didn't want to be touched. Anyway, the audience was really responsive, so after we asked them how many had seen Dilexi and/or were previous fans of our work. And a bunch raised their hands... It was like, 30-40% of this random group of people in the health club. I was impressed and sort of baffled, and thinking maybe we should have worked harder to perform in Philly again, because we apparently had such a fan base there.

And that's about when I woke up!

Daemonions

2007-05-02T19:51:00.000-07:00

So, I tried to post this before, but it didn't work. Now I've ended up with two daemons. Maybe one of them will post!

I tried, and ended up with Html mishmash in my entry. :( Why did it work for everybody else? Here, I'll put in the links, maybe that will work.

http://www.goldencompassmovie.com/?68800

http://www.goldencompassmovie.com/?17696

I hope so. Also, I think the names of my daemons are hilarious. I'll esteem you ever so slightly more highly if you have a guess as to why.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

2007-04-20T10:57:00.000-07:00

I am now 25 years old. I feel... happier than I did yesterday when I was 24! Perhaps there is something to this aging thing. :)

And Katie's right, I think this comic is fantastic.

Cultivation

2007-04-19T14:55:00.000-07:00

I'm experiencing that feeling. That feeling of dread and doom and fear, where each new event of the day seems unbearably full of chances to fail.

It goes right down the middle of me, and then runs around to all the tips of my body like static. Pins and needles.

I'm looking for something to redirect my attention and my feelings, but not in the frantic or lethargic way of most procrastination. I've been into lists lately, so here then is a list of the beautiful things in my day thus far:

*Sunlight and brilliant blue sky
*I think my professor for Hinduism and the Epics is more genuinely and passionately in love with what she studies and teaches than anybody I have ever met, ever.
*She also has a beautiful wrap-thing... like a shawl, but with sleeves, very thin and see through and flowy, in a sort of deep pink.
*While I was sitting outside to eat my lunch, my TF came by just as I had gotten some bleu cheese dressing on my mouth and was realizing I had no napkins, and he was like, "Do you need napkins?" because he had grabbed extras.
*Meeting a really exciting person who LOVES William Finn and is coming to my birthday party.
*A hot shower.
*A moment in writing my response when it really clicked in and took off, all at once.
*Having the thought "fuck everyone; I don't have time," and then thinking about the implications of that statement and laughing to myself.
*Saying no.
*These ridiculous little things serving as zipper pulls on my purse, which are eggs and circus people and have two alternate faces all at the same time! Really!
*The knowledge that people (you, at this time) will come by and read my list.

Creating the Survey I Want to Take

2007-04-18T19:59:00.000-07:00

Book Word Association Game:

Just what it sounds like. Put down the first book or work of literature that comes to mind with whatever word is given. Feel free, though not obligated, to explain. I have written my answers in cream, so you can reply without influence if you so desire, and then highlight to see what I said.

Green: O Beautiful by Jesse Green

Red: The First Man in Rome by Colleen McCullough

Spring: "The Wasteland" by T.S. Eliot (poem)

Death: On a Pale Horse by Piers Anthony

Wings: Skellig by David Almond

Maze: If on a Winter's Night a Traveler by Italo Calvino

Crowbar: ...All I can think of is Clue. Which is not a book. How about "The Raven" by Edgar Allen Poe (poem)
Hyacinth: When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed by Walt Whitman (poem)

Astronomical: A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle

Blessed: Jacob Have I Loved by Katherine Paterson

Birth: Still Life by A.S. Byatt

Fate: The Mahabharata, especially the Book of the Assembly Hall and the Battle Books

Mumble: The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis

Chimera: Angels in America: Millennium Approaches by Tony Kushner (play)

Terror: The Haunting at Hill House by Shirley Jackson

Bear: The Hotel New Hampshire by John Irving

Bunny: The Bunny Book by Richard Scarry

Lion: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis

Song: Cattail Moon by Jean Thesman

Robin: The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett

Blue: Gathering Blue by Lois Lowry

Pink: The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson

Sky: Enchantress from the Stars by Sylvia Louise Engdahl

Underneath: A Solitary Blue by Cynthia Voight

Volcanic: Tomorrow, When the War Began by John Marsden

Remnant: Winter of Fire by Sheryl Jordan

Fury: When Rabbit Howls by Truddi Chase

Undulate: Many Waters by Madeleine L'Engle

Dodo: The Lost World by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Nose: Anne of Avonlea by L.M. Montgomery

Assent: Servant of the Bones by Anne Rice

Jumping: "Paul's Case" by Willa Cather (story)

Skate: Eight Cousins by Louisa May Alcott

Gold: The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes by Marjorie Flack and Dubose Hayward

Monster: Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson

Elephant: The Night Listener by Armistead Maupin

Magic: Half Magic by Edward Eager

Statue: Tom's Midnight Garden by Philippa Pierce

Dervish: House of Stairs by William Sleator

Singularity: The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Food: Anne of the Island by L.M. Montgomery

Adoration: Sonnet 74: "Batter my heart, three personed God" by John Donne

Pleasant: The Five Little Peppers and How They Grew by Margaret Sidney

Pogo stick: The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster

Popcorn: Cinema Nirvana by Dean Sluyter

Umbrella: Down Came the Rain by Brooke Shields

Wow, what a strange and random list! Including at least one book I know I've never read, and a number of others I haven't finished... Anyway, I hope you have fun with this! Sorry about "crowbar."

Calling in the Night

2007-04-04T02:47:00.000-07:00

Since I last dropped in, my Rumiesque guest house self has entertained many garden variety fears and anxieties, nasty cramps, and recursive thought loops, but also a very beautiful moment of understanding.

The latter is due to a sort of coming together of insights offered by Krsna, Charlotte, Roz's mix cd, and Christ crucified.

Holy Week, here I am. In the midst of the teeth-grinding what comes next day to day terror.

I should sleep. Goodnight.

Twenty-Four Things I Have Experienced in the Past Twenty-Four Hours

2007-04-02T01:29:00.000-07:00

I have...

1. talked theology until 3 AM
2. seen a visual representation of Krsna as ultimate transcendent divinity
3. skinned my knee
4. walked in stocking feet on the wet, cold ground chanting "walk walk walk" to keep myself going
5. had a moment of complete understanding and connection with what my professor was saying
6. heard a description of what it was like to be in Iraq with a rocket zooming overhead from a classmate sitting next to me, directed only to me
7. received an adorable stuffed chick dressed in bunny ears that chirps when you press its middle
8. been invited to two parties
9. eaten soup
10. been walked in on in the bathroom
11. thrown my books on the floor both to get them out of my hands and to hear them bang
12. not attended a rehearsal I was (somewhat surprisingly) looking forward to
13. counted out almost my last non-penny, non-foreign change for a bag of m&ms and a bottle of ginger ale
14. worn a new skirt for the first time
15. given a present
16. fallen asleep while reading the Gospel of John
17. made my bed
18. mentally compared the discourse of a divine being to the way I try to introduce bizarre statements to my friends, and then attempted to explain this out loud
19. forgotten (again) to take my sleeping bag up from the dryer
20. touched a very fuzzy sweater
21. seen Rachel for the first time in over a week
22. photocopied almost 100 pages
23. Learned that Thessalonians come from Thessalonica.
24. Been almost too tired to finish my list.

Spam Poetics and Prophecy?

2007-03-13T20:18:00.000-07:00

Today, they got me with an email from "Katrina," subject line, "tell me again." Since I'd just been to a meeting about the Gulf Coast trip I'm going on in two weeks to do some relief work connected to Katrina, I opened it.

It was erectile drugs again.

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Some Books + How to Seduce Me With Spam

2007-03-12T20:41:00.001-07:00

Today I got an email from "Prodigal G. Wrongheadedness." And I'm looking at it thinking, "Right, that's gonna get me to open the email." But of course... it did. I wasn't expecting much, but sometimes I just can't resist the charmingly ridiculous names. It was an advertisement for some sort of erectile drug. Which... not to say that there's no place for that kind of drug, but I do not think that the place it currently occupies is ideal, to put it mildly. Or, at any rate, it highlights the gross inequities of the pharmaceutical system. So, perhaps Prodigal G. Wrongheadedness is not the wrong name...

Jesus H. Christ, but I can't see anything without analyzing it anymore, can I?

I intended to come on in here and let you all know what fine things I've been reading lately:

*Paradiso by Dante Alighieri
**Gilead by Marilynne Robinson
**In the Theater of Consciousness: The Workspace of the Mind by Bernard J. Baars
The Country Parson by George Herbert
*The Temple by George Herbert
*The Book of Revelations
The First Letter to the Thessalonians
The Second Letter to the Thessalonians
*The Second Letter of Peter
**The Gospel of Mark (as implied in the previous post about it)

I think there might be a couple more, but I'll fill those in as I remember them.

Not Quite Paradise

2007-03-12T13:01:00.000-07:00

Before going to bed last night (which was weird enough anyway, since I had a sudden mild illness that has now disappeared, happily), I read a few pages of Toni Morrison's Paradise, which I have to read and write a response paper on for class next week. I find that reading novels before bed is way more successful than reading books about say, brain chemistry, or legal definitions of race.

I have read Paradise before, but, probably because we were going through all of Morrison's novels at breakneck speed, I remember almost nothing about it. The first few pages, in which women at a convent (but not nuns, I don't think) were being pursued and shot by men, reminded me a little. And then I fell asleep.

After a brief dream in which I went back to my old high school for a class with all my old classmates, I segued into a dream that was explicitly about the book. That is, in my dream, I was re-reading the book as I had been in real life, but my re-reading took the form of explicitly experiencing the things in the book, with a sort of fuzzy consciousness reminding me that I knew what would happen and that it will be all right.

In my dream, I was simultaneously a little girl and a grown woman caring for the little girl, and most of the time we were black. I remember looking at my skin with some fascination. But I think other times we might have briefly been white, almost like my brain forgot to make the switch. Anyway, there was this man coming after us, also mostly black, and he had seen a flyer that offered a reward if you killed women and children that were unaccompanied by men. He was someone we knew, but the woman knew he was going to try to kill them, and the little girl didn't. So the woman had to quiet the little girl and get her to hide. In my memory of the book, I had an image of the man sort of beating the top of a tree with a baseball bat while the woman and the girl hid below. This translated into us hiding in a sort of wooden structure below the floor of the the house we were in, and hearing the man crashing around with his bat. I think he was drunk, too. It was terrifying.

Then my perspective switched and I was outside, looking at the house and the man, although part of my consciousness was still with the girl and the woman. And I saw in an upper window that there was a doll house, and that the woman had convinced the girl to reach up through the floor of the doll house and manipulate the dolls inside, so the man would think we were playing there and come attack it. And I was shocked by this plan, even though I knew it had to work. The man saw the dolls moving and started to head for that part of the house. I knew he was going to smash up the doll house, but I didn't know how we were going to escape after that. I had images of us crawling out the bottom of the house somehow while he was occupied on top, but it was just such a terrifying idea, that we would have to lie there while he broke everything around us, that I guess I couldn't stay in it anymore, because I woke up.

Bizarre and scary, and I will be somewhat curious to see what it has to do with Paradise in reality. Hopefully not too much, but the novel already seems chilling and bleak.

Editor's Note

2007-03-09T13:42:00.000-08:00

I got excited about posting links to other people's blogs on my blog, since it seems to be all the rage these days, and also will mean I can navigate conveniently from my own blog, instead of going all the way to Rachel's. ;) BUT... maybe your blog is on my list and you don't want all my random visitors wandering over to your private meanderings. Or, maybe you really are looking to dramatically increase the traffic to your blog, but somehow I have neglected to include you.

If you want to either be taken off the list or added to it, please leave me a comment, and I will comply with your desires. Unless they are unreasonable or unrelated to this matter, in which case I make no promises.

I'm Not Sure if This Dream was Sexy or Sad...

2007-03-09T13:03:00.000-08:00

So, I dreamed that I was a male servant in this well-to-do household in some unspecified older-seeming time... I want to say maybe Victorian or just-post-Victorian, which time might also have a name, but I don't know it. I also think it's interesting that it seems like English queens are more likely to have time periods named after them than English kings. And be sort of fetishized and venerated in general. Not that kings don't/aren't, but... well, this has nothing to do with my dream.

Even though this household just seemed like an ordinary very wealthy household, as opposed to a palace or something, I called the youngest son of the family, and perhaps the older one as well, prince. I'm not sure about the older one. I also feel like this was a real title and not something I concocted out of affection, but I'm a little unclear.

You see, I was in love with the younger prince (who was of an age where this was appropriate, or at least not creepy), and I hated the older prince (huh, I guess he was a prince) because he tended to humiliate his brother and perhaps even manipulated him sexually, I'm not positive. Though I think in the dream I was sure this was going on. So I tried to do what I could to make life easier for the younger prince, and generally pined and watched him mature and kind of shake off the control of his older brother at last.

Then one day he came to my room (I think it was my room, though the bed seemed rather big and nice for a servant's bed), and he was sitting on my bed and talking to me, and I was just sort of smoldering with desire for him, and then he suddenly did initiate some kind of sexual contact. I'm not sure if he kissed me or what. It was the sort of thing where it moved so quickly from my desires to my reality in a way I didn't think was possible, so it was hard to pinpoint the initial details exactly. And he lay me down on the bed and lay over me... and this was funny, because I actually remember the part of my brain that still knew I was not a male servant about to have sex with another man trying to figure out if the exact position we were in was appropriate for sex between men. And then deciding that in any case it would be very pleasurable (as my male servant self awareness was indicating) and that we could move around later if necessary.

Anyway, that was probably more detail than you wanted, especially those of you dropping in from other countries, but we commenced this sexual relationship, and after that I was lying there next to him and he was sort of holding me from behind, and I said, "I love you, but you don't (or can't, I'm not sure which I said) love me." I remember saying this very calmly, because I guess I wanted to get it out of the way and not make a scene, and I wanted to say it myself so I didn't have to hear him saying it. And of course part of me was hoping that he would contradict me instead of agreeing, but he sort of kept me very close in his arms and put his cheek against my shoulder and nodded, so that I could feel it but not see it. And then I think we had sex again.

This relationship continued for some time, and although I thought I was happy about it, I think I was actually getting more and more upset about the not being loved thing, but I didn't want to give up sleeping with him, so I didn't know what to do. And I still had so much desire for him. But at some point when we were in bed together I just started crying, and he was upset/sympathetic in this way that reminded me that I had always been the one to take care of him emotionally, and in a sense I ended up doing that again, even though he was trying to be comforting to me. And of course the idea that he was comforting me because he couldn't love me was not pleasant, either. So at that point I think I started to get fairly depressed, because I couldn't seem to end the relationship or stop having feelings for him, but there was always the reminder of his superior status and the fact that I didn't mean to him what he meant to me, and probably never would. And I managed to go about my duties in the household normally, but fairly often when we were together I would quietly fall apart.

Wow, this dream is sounding more maudlin as I write it out... but anyway, finally, he came to tell me he was in love with someone else, who I think was also a man, like maybe some guy he was training with in the army (not sure when the army came into it) or something, and maybe also that he was going to have to get married soon. But he was very excited and happy, even though he was trying to break this to me gently, and his youthful exuberance was impossible to conceal, as well as the fact that he moved so quickly from one thing to the next. It was like he had come to thank me for being a part of his life, and his sexual development, or whatever, and move on. And this was just so horrible that I really lost it, even though I hadn't been rationally expecting anything else. But I started yelling at him, and crying, and I was really bothered at the same time by the fact that I was getting so out of control, but I was also somewhat pleased to actually confront him instead of just trying to suffer as quietly as possible under his well-intended horribleness. I think he was very surprised, and maybe started to yell back, but it was around then that I woke up.

Hmm. Now that dream just sounds bizarre, but it was very compelling at the time. I hope you enjoyed reading about it.

There is No Earthly Reason Why I'm Not Asleep Right Now

2007-03-09T03:42:00.000-08:00

10 out of 10! I knew there was a point to all that reading...

http://www.slangcity.com/quiz/vintage_sex_slang_quiz.htm

In less pleasant news, I have again managed to split my phone in half, this time by falling on my face, outside, in very cold weather.

The curse lives on. Call my apartment phone if you want me. And now that you've seen my score on the vintage sex slang quiz, I'm expecting a lot of calls.

Stupid Morning

2007-03-06T11:08:00.000-08:00

I'm having an out-of-proportion "Oh no, I can't handle my life" moment. I set my alarm wrong and woke nearly a quarter into my first class, which is only once a week and for which I had stayed up quite late reading... and so I got dressed really quickly, and then hesitated about whether it was rude to go so late, and then remembered I only have a dollar in cash, which is not enough to buy lunch, and I only have an hour between classes, so I can't really come home or go anywhere to get cash. So I guess I'm staying to do my reading for the next class and eat.

I feel so incompetent, and it's frustrating because I know that in reality, none of this is actually a big deal.

In other, much more important news, my grandma is doing pretty well, and is probably going home soon, if she hasn't already. Thanks for your messages, etc.

Get Well, Grandma

2007-03-01T00:48:00.000-08:00

I found out today that my Grandma had a mini-stroke. She's doing much better now, apparently, but it really scared her and everybody else. Not much to say about it right now, but I just wanted to solicit some thoughts and prayers for her and my family, if you would be so kind.

Random people from other continents, that goes double for you.

I'm gonna give her a call tomorrow... I hope everything is still on an up-swing. I love you, Grandma.

Tart and Startling and Strange

2007-02-27T17:45:00.000-08:00

Who am I talking about? Jesus, in the Gospel of Mark. I read it today for Intro to New Testament, and it was so bizarre and interesting... very quick, action-packed, this happened then this happened in style, and Jesus was sort of... brisk and unpredictable and hard to read, but a very compelling presence, at least to me. I am so curious about what the experience of reading this would be if you had no background in the story, and also concretely realizing how much I know the Gospel stories in the chunks they are told in in church, and how little I know the actual Gospels straight through.

I'm also a little confused about all the methods of New Testament criticism. Some of them seem kind of problematic, but maybe I just don't completely comprehend them yet.

Bracing, that's another good word for Jesus-of-Mark. Has anybody else read it? What are your thoughts?

One More Obsessive Post About the Map

2007-02-27T17:34:00.000-08:00

So, I noticed that suddenly I was getting only one visitor, ever, listed on my map, and that visitor was clearly me. Then I realized that was because my map was now on another page, and, while I may have dedicated readers, that dedication does not extend to reading everything I have ever written in the blog every day. So, I decided to put the map, or, to be perfectly accurate, a new map, down at the bottom of my blog. See? There it is. Now you can breathe easily... or panic as your cover is blown... because your visits will be duly recorded.

What the Hell?

2007-02-21T11:26:00.000-08:00

So, I finally finished putting labels on all my posts, and when I went to view my blog after, my map had exploded! Suddenly I have had visitors from more than 20 places, including Argentina, Canada, Spain, New Mexico, Puerto Rico, and three separate places in China.

Why? Why in the last hour or so? Who are you? Again, I assume it's just some random marketing thing, but... weird.

Oh Sick, Sick

2007-02-20T14:53:00.000-08:00

Silly, silly cold. Please go away. I'll sacrifice my classes to you if you give me the weekend. And can we start the weekend on Thursday? What do you say?

A Little Bundle of Books

2007-02-17T22:43:00.000-08:00

It's kind of sad, because lately I read so many parts of books, but it seems wrong to count those. So, the complete books I have read recently:

*The Heart of Whiteness by Robert Jensen
*The First R: How Children Learn Race and Racism by Debra Van Ausdale and Joe R. Feagin
The Book of Jude (books of the Bible count, right? I think they should.)
The Second Letter of Peter (I wish I could recommend this one, since I love Peter so much, but at least he didn't really write it. Not that it was awful, it just wasn't that compelling.)

My Valentine, In Fact, Is In All Ways Better Than The Aforementioned.

2007-02-14T11:46:00.000-08:00

I was taught, never brag or shout,
still it's hot, just like how you read about,
and also caring, and never too uncouth,
that's the simple truth.

Can you tell, I have been revised?
It's so swell, dammit, even I'm surprised.
We laugh, we fumble, we take it day by day...
What more can I say?

--William Finn

Happy Valentine's Day, darling.

George W. Bush is Not My Valentine

2007-02-14T11:40:00.000-08:00

He talks to us as though we are five, and about people in other countries as though they are infants. Unfortunately, he also handles incredibly dangerous situations as though he is a slightly older playground vigilante fighting to be king of the hill.

In what universe are people going to listen when we say "we can have nuclear weapons, but not you, because we know best and we say so"?

Good Lord, this money restriction thing is going to be a problem.

He does look tired, and gets so irate so easily. He's like someone being called onto the carpet and grasping at defensive straws. His arguments do not make sense, but he presents them as though to disagree is a basic failure in intelligence and understanding. Wow, he's totally going off. Do presidents usually get so snippy?

I wish I understood more about this Iran thing. Does anyone have any insight into the situation there beyond what I am hearing in this conference?

And Never the Twain Shall Meet

2007-02-12T13:12:00.000-08:00

But they have!

Just an excited post to reiterate to or inform everyone that they have picked a new president for Harvard... and she's a woman... and a Mawrtyr! Class of '68. I'm soooooooooo thrilled and proud! Also, her name is Faust.

Check this out for more info: www.news.harvard.edu/gazette/2007/02.15/99-president.html

I can't wait to have the opportunity to annass her. How is that spelled?

Anyway... hooray!!

That Which Hope Has?

2007-02-12T02:20:00.000-08:00

I heard a rumor that my blog has an insufficient number of posts relating to feathers. Not wanting to disappoint or engage in false advertising, I thought I would try to begin to rectify this situation.

By rights, though, this post ought to be about my very recent decision to quit Latin, or my excursion this afternoon to see Doubt, or perhaps explain why I'm posting about feathers at all... hmm.

Latin is the thing without feathers
that mostly leaves the brain
and sings the song with the incomprehensible grammar,
and then comes 'round again.

Doubt isn't really feathered
but if it were to be
it would be gray and barely formed
and softly curled in me.

A duster is a thing with feathers
which can be used to clean
but when it's bright and pink and soft
it begs a better scene.

Also, I have always liked collecting feathers, and have sometimes considered getting a feather tattoo.

The end of this post about feathers.

An Offer

2007-02-11T00:50:00.000-08:00

It's been awhile since I had an interesting game on here...

So, here's the deal. Tell me a secret. Or an intriguing scrap of detail. Or a vivid memory that may or may not relate to anything else. Tell me something you feel like telling me, or something you never tell anyone, or something that you wave around at parties to impress people you don't know. It should be true, but it doesn't have to be real. It doesn't really matter what... you can post it here, or email it to me, or whatever.

What I'm going to do, somehow, is weave them all together, and make a little patchwork quilt of whatever you give me. It might be a story, or a poem, or an essay, or something in between. Your part may be almost exactly as you told me, or rather disguised. If you want me to change any specific identifying details, let me know, and I will do my best to preserve your anonymity.

When I'm done, I'll post the results for your pleasure and engagement. I think it will be fun and perhaps illuminating.

An Invitation

2007-02-10T11:45:00.000-08:00

This map thing is fascinating. Yesterday I had people looking at this from all over the world! And today I can figure out who most of you are, but I wonder who in Madrid is reading my thoughts. I mean, I'm sure that some of these are hits from random folks who try to leave ads as comments and that sort of thing... but I'm curious. If you're here, and I don't know you, or if I do know you and you've found me, or if you know me and happen to be reading this in Spain or China... please say hello. I'm a total internet stalker, I won't think it's weird. ;)

It's only fair, seeing that you potentially know so much about me... I look forward to your introductions, if you feel so inclined.

A Proposition

2007-02-09T12:43:00.000-08:00

Play with my labels! I did!

Map!

2007-02-09T11:33:00.000-08:00

Create your own visitor map!

I don't really understand how this works, but it looks fun.

Just Mucking Around

2007-02-01T12:18:00.000-08:00

72.4%

www.puritytest.org

I should do Latin now, and get some lunch, and go get my perpetually disastrous phone checked out.

*sigh*

New Year, New Books

2007-02-01T08:22:00.000-08:00

So, last year I tried to post thoughtfully about each book I read, and that quickly became onerous. This year, I think I will try just listing the books I read. If you want to know more about them, let me know. ;)

So far:

*The End (A Series of Unfortunate Events, Book the Thirteenth) by Lemony Snickett
**Arcadia by Tom Stoppard
*As Nature Made Him: The Boy Who Was Raised a Girl by John Colapinto
**Everything is Illuminated by Johnathan Safran Foer
*The Beatrice Letters by Lemony Snickett and Beatrice Baudelaire (yes, going backwards here)
*The Good Person of Szechwan by Bertold Brecht
*Uncommon Women and Others by Wendy Wasserstein
**The Book Thief by Markus Zusak
*The Faith Club: A Muslim, A Christian, and a Jew--Three Women Search for Understanding by Ranya Idliby, Suzanne Oliver, and Priscilla Warner

* = recommended
** = highly recommended

I was going to put three stars for my favorite in the batch, but that could get strange, especially if I'm just listing one or two books. Let me just say that clearly this was an excellent selection. :) Let me know if you read any of them... and stay tuned for a way more academic list, as school has officially re-begun.

When the student is ready, the teacher appears

2007-01-30T16:24:00.000-08:00

When I was writing my Holy/Dangerous Women paper, and I woke up the day it was due about 6 hours later than I meant to, I started feeling this horrible panic. I decided to take a shower to move through it, and in the shower this phrase came to me, one that my dad has said a million times but I never quite understood:

"When the student is ready, the teacher appears."

I realized this paper, this panic, this fear of failure, were all here to be my teachers. I don't mean this in a rainbows and puppies kind of way... though I'm sure rainbows and puppies can be teachers too, but not the kind I needed right then. I'd always thought of the phrase as more literal. Like some wise and knowing person was going to show up and gently enlighten me as soon as I attained some kind of readiness. And certainly the fact that this had not occurred was a sign that I was, as I secretly feared, inept and/or underdeveloped.

But now... this paper that I was fumbling through, that I was so scared to write because I was sure it would prove finally what a terrible student I am... was here to teach me? I was very clear on this for awhile, even thinking that what I was experiencing was far more valuable than getting an A and praise. Because what I was suddenly learning was why I procrastinate, the way in which fear drives me to a very specific system of behavior. It's not that I can't do the work in three weeks that I manage to cram into one frightening day. It's not that I'm somehow stupid or crazy or belligerent. It's specific fear management: I'm afraid of doing it wrong, so I put it off until I have to either do it or fail in a way that seems unthinkable. At which point I do it, but not with the time and care I know I could potentially put in. This way I can avoid both failure (finding out I couldn't do something even though I really tried my best) and success (finding out I really could). Plus, I get a nice adrenaline rush and the feeling of being a tough cookie.

It's not stupid. It's not random. It may not be based in reality, but it is, in its own way, a clever method of handling a very emotionally raw fear: that I'm not actually any good. At (whatever I may be doing) or (fundamentally at all).

So I had this realization and I kind of forgot, and then today I had to go meet with my professor about this paper, without having any idea of my grade or how I had done.

I was scared. I tried to talk myself out of it and steel myself for the worst, but I was scared. I had to wait while she talked to another student... of course, the student in the class who always seemed to have her shit together and knew what she wanted to write about in the paper from day 1... so I waited, hearing words float downstairs into the conference room where I'd decided to plant myself, and then went in to hear what was up.

She basically opened by saying I'd done a very good job with textual analysis and the application of theory, but essentially I hadn't written a research paper. Ok. What? Not ok. She was telling me I hadn't done the assignment correctly. Oh my God... I hadn't heard something like this since high school. I was sitting there in my seat with the paper written all over in my lap, and I couldn't look at it too closely, and I didn't dare check for my grade, all the way at the very back.

She went on in this back and forth mode, both saying that what I had done was fundamentally wrong, and that if it wasn't, if I worked on it, I could have this very good publishable thing.

I tried to say things that were intelligent and open without either defending myself too much or sounding like I had known what I had to do and just cavalierly decided not to do it... I have no idea how it sounded for real. I asked what specifically I should have done/should do in the future. I said that I had switched gears very close to the end, and knew on some level that I was shafting the research. I said that I was used to writing papers that required less background (I didn't say this, but I was thinking that I kind of jumped off from the model of my thesis, where I was all but ordered to use less background).

She seemed to genuinely wish she could have helped me earlier. She said that my paper was the first one she read, and she was really worried that maybe no one had understood the assignment (God!) But I was afraid of her, and I was afraid to be clear about where I was with my work because I knew it was not far enough.

She said that I could have asked for an incomplete, but that she understood if I just wanted it done. She asked if I had submitted a bibliography when she asked for it, and that's when the bottom really fell out for me. What bibliography? I remembered very clearly the email where she canceled class so we could have more time to research. I remembered meeting with her to talk about my nascent project ideas. I remembered NOTHING about a bibliography, which apparently everyone else had turned in! It became clear as we talked that people had either turned them in or just discussed them verbally, which is probably what I figured our meeting was... I don't know. But I felt ridiculous.

I think I started to crumble at this point, and I think she knew, because she wrapped up quickly and dismissed me. I don't know how I looked... I didn't burst into tears in her office or anything, but I definitely beat a hasty retreat. It felt so horrible that I had to endure all that and then say "thank you, ok, thank you, bye."

And did I ever mention that I HATE when people can see what I feel and I don't intend it? I always have this snarling animal reaction inside... if you've upset me, at least have the decency to let me lie about it. Which she did... but I think that she knew.

I made it outside and finally looked for my grade: Just a B. And a B+ for the class. I mean, at this point, I thought it was definitely going to be worse... what kind of grades do you get if you don't do the assignment? But the grade didn't really matter. I already felt that crunch inside that told me I had failed. And to be perfectly honest I pretend that I think Bs are totally fine because I get them and I know they ought to be and sometimes they are... especially if I get a C, too. But to be perfectly honest I don't want Bs. I want As.

Because I want to be perfect, and not perfectly honest. I don't want to be honest.

So there I was, walking home and trying not to cry, and I felt all the tightening start inside of me... all the reactions to the reaction, all the "this is so stupid, why are you being such an idiot, it's only a B, what is your problem, so you messed up, why are you doing this to yourself?" and "why didn't you just do something earlier, if you weren't so dumb and afraid you could have fixed this, or if you just took more time" and "you know it's really ok so don't get upset, let's think about this rationally," and my dad saying I really need all As and this voice in my head yelling at him about whether he is at Harvard getting his master's so how the fuck does he know what I need to get... noisy, noisy place, my head.

And I thought, I'm just going to stay with how I feel. It doesn't matter why I feel that way, it doesn't matter where this is coming from, I just want to stay with how I feel. Not fight. Not wallow. Be with.

I don't know how to describe being with how I feel. It's different. I had to keep reminding myself to do it, gently, like if a kid is riding a trike and keeps swerving off the path. It doesn't stop hurting. I got inside and sat here crying. But it's like sitting with someone, like sitting next to your friend while you are doing something hard together.

When the student is ready, the teacher appears.

I don't know what this all means, but I think it means something different, something a little bit new. And if that's true, it's worth it. The As don't feed my soul anyway. They just lessen the anxiety for a few minutes.

I'm going to read my comments now. Stick around, I'll be right back.

That was ok. I think she's right about most of the things that would strengthen my arguments... I think she's wrong about several critiques of my style. It's nice to be able to tell the difference between what I agree with and what I don't without categorically responding to the whole thing as a personal attack.

It's funny, when I woke up this morning, and started thinking about all the horrible things I had to do today (do you do that in bed, too?), I for some reason found myself saying a prayer, of gratitude, in advance, for the day and what would come of it. I never do that.

I don't know how to end this... I don't know why I wrote it... I wanted to share what I was thinking. I wanted to allow it to settle a bit in me.

A Little Spot of Fun Before I Turn in My Paper...

2007-01-17T10:21:00.000-08:00

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 3 sentences on your LJ along with these instructions.
5. Don’t you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.

" '...They had him on horses so he could look like the Marlboro Man.' Cole states that female consumers nonetheless soon began to worry that he 'looked gay' because 'they did not see what they considered masculine by conventional standards.' Cole's comments imply that the male model's apparently lack of 'conventional masculinity' was a direct result of his nakedness."

Oooh, and I'm not going to do a big citation! I'll just tell you that it's from a book called Strip Show by Katherine Liepe-Levinson.

Guess what my paper was about?

:)

Scary Dream

2007-01-10T08:44:00.000-08:00

So, I had this bizarre and frightening dream just before I woke up, and since there's no one here/awake at the moment to share it with, I figured I would let it float out into cyberspace.

First of all, I was in a large group hanging out with Maddie, and she asked if I/we had time to all go to this show together, and I was like, yeah, I think we can make that work. And then she said, "Great, 'cause we all should audition for them as much as possible, and then they'll get to know us," and I got a little freaked out because I wasn't sure I could audition for something that wasn't near my school and actually do it.

Anyway, possibly to wait for our audition, a few of us were sent to separate rooms... in my case I think it was actually a separate apartment, and I was sitting there at a large table with this man who looked like a guy I know from school, but was actually a dream-person, in that I had this concrete sense of how he normally behaved, and we also shared memories and knowledge that has no bearing on the real world. So, for some reason as a joke (I think he was taking on another persona or something?) this man was being very flirtatious and teasing and grabby, doing some kind of affected accent and snuggling up to me and kissing my neck and ear, etc. And I knew that he was not serious and that this was part of the way he operated, but it was still weird. And then he said he wanted something from the kitchen (part of the game was that we were in some kind of huge mansion), and he walked around the table and found Charlotte and was like, here is the kitchen help! I could tell that Charlotte was confused and displeased with this man's behavior, and I wanted to explain why he was acting this way, which apparently I knew... but I decided the thing to do was to stick up for her, so I said she wasn't the kitchen help and put my arm around her. And then the man was puzzled because this was not how I was supposed to play the game...

But this quickly became a non-issue as I caught sight or sense of Hugh. Hugh is an enormous dark gray enchanted wolf-dog that sucks out your soul in a way that is visually similar to the Dementor attacks as shown in the Harry Potter movies. There was a terrible witch, old enemy to both the man and myself, who enchanted/created Hugh, and the fact that he was around meant that the witch was back in power and making evil plans. And Hugh was incredibly hard to fight because the only way to defeat him was to cut off his ears and his tail (and possibly his nose, though I'm not sure that was necessary) You could do anything else in the world to him and he would instantly recover. Even if you did cut off his ears and tail the witch could revive him magically, but this at least took some time and you could escape.

In this case, though, for some odd reason, Hugh was very tiny. This didn't make him much less dangerous, because you could still easily get your soul sucked out, but it did make him easier to catch. And at some point I did catch him. I have no explanation for my behavior after this, except that Hugh filled me with the most incredible cold terror, and I do think in my defense that interacting with his face in any way, maybe especially when he was small because you would have to get closer to him, gave him the opportunity to suck out your soul. In any case, I did not attempt to cut off his ears and tail, but tried to squish him with my hands and then dropped him out the window.

He landed by a park bench, sort of flattened for a moment, and then came back to life as his old gigantic self. I think I was actually pale with fear at this point. I told the man that Hugh had really and truly come back-- I think the man had cut off Hugh's tail and ears before and I was hopeful he would do so again. He made some promise of help, but I had the feeling he was just leaving. Charlotte either went with him or just disappeared, starting a little pattern of people appearing and disappearing in the dream. However, this was not unusual or upsetting in the sense it would be if people actually appeared and disappeared, though I sometimes wondered where they had gone.

I went and found Rachel in another room... maybe the kitchen again... and told her all about Hugh. I told her the whole history of me and my associates and Hugh and the witch, (which I wish I could remember now), and told her how Hugh was after us. I was trying very hard to impress upon her the extreme gravity of the situation, and she said she understood, but she was cooking an enormous skillet full of a large assortment of foods, including matzo balls and some kind of broth, and carrots, too, I think. And she kept having to do stuff so the food didn't get ruined, and she was also very upset, but in a sort of dry and bitter way, and from these sort of unrelated behaviors I was concerned that she wasn't taking this matter seriously enough and might not help me.

And then suddenly my mom was there, and she seemed to want to listen about Hugh, but she couldn't seem to understand. She kept asking questions like, "so we can't do this or that to him?" and it was frustrating, because I'd said over and over that the only way was to cut off his ears and tail. And I was trying to explain that Hugh was specifically after me, so it wouldn't do ay good to go somewhere else or whatever. I think at this point there was a larger group of people around, including little children, and I was extremely upset because I didn't know how to deal with or defend them. We saw Hugh out the window and knew he was getting closer...

And I woke up.

Upon Perusal of My Book List...

2006-12-15T14:43:00.000-08:00

...it occurs to me that perhaps what I really need is an abundance of silly, non-intellectual fun.

Book List

2006-12-15T14:40:00.000-08:00

So, it's that time of year when everyone is thinking obsessively about what to get me for Christmas. I love surprises best of all, and I don't want to stifle creativity, but I have a bunch of books I've been looking at/hearing about/writing down randomly in my notebook during class when they are mentioned, and I figured I would share. Anyway, it will be helpful to me to have them all in one place instead of scattered through various notebooks and scraps of paper. This list will probably grow, so check often. And maybe it will be a wish list, too. Would that be more fun, or just confusing? We'll see how I feel when I'm writing it two seconds from now.

1. Sunflower: On the Possibilities and Limits of Forgiveness by Simon Wiesanthal. So excited about this one! It's based on the true experience of a Holocaust survivor who encountered an SS officer on his deathbed, whose dying wish was to speak to someone who had survived the Holocaust and seek forgiveness for his crimes.

2. Severance by Robert Olen Butler. Ok, this one is weird given my intense dislike of the whole decapitation thing, but it's intriguing... it's a collection of mini-stories, each with exactly however many words correspond to the number of seconds the brain apparently retains consciousness after decapitation (200 something I think), each from the POV of some decaptitated person across human history.

3. Fallen by David Maine. Family saga: Adam and Eve and Cain and Abel.

4. The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien. Been meaning to read this one for years, never quite do.

5. Love by Toni Morrison. See #4, also it's the only book of hers I haven't read.

6. Vested Interests: Cross-Dressing and Cultural Anxiety by Marjorie Garber. Because eventually, the library will make me return it.

7. The End of Memory: Remembering Rightly in a Violent World by Miroslav Wolf. Or Volf, my writing there is iffy.

8. On Photography and Regarding the Pain of Others by Susan Sontag. She's totally intriguing, though I understand if this is not the sort of title you look for in a Christmas present.

9. Angels in America by Tony Kushner, but what I want is the movie/miniseries, not the book. Because I just love Angels in America, and I never get to see anything but the first part over and over and over again.

There are more, I think, but this is getting dull, and I'm kind of assuming that buying me theory is not what most people have in mind. Nonetheless, it's good to have them written down some place. Perhaps I'll add later.

It's Going Around!

2006-12-10T11:00:00.000-08:00

*Describe yourself using one band and song titles from that band*
Choose a band/artist and answer only in song TITLES by that band::	Billy Joel
Are you male or female::	She's Always a Woman
Describe yourself::	Keeping the Faith
How do some people feel about you::	You May Be Right
How do you feel about yourself::	A Matter of Trust
Describe your ex girlfriend/boyfriend::	Shades of Gray
Describe your current girlfriend/boyfriend::	New York State of Mind
Describe where you want to be::	The Great Wall of China
Describe what you want to be::	An Innocent Man
Describe how you live::	The River of Dreams
Describe how you love::	All About Soul
Share a few words of wisdom:	Only the Good Die Young

Dropping from the Eaves

2006-12-07T22:19:00.000-08:00

So, you have to imagine that you are walking across Harvard's campus to Lamont, the big undergraduate library. It's a beautiful night, almost-black sky studded with clouds, a big gibbous moon... and then you hear a man speaking on his cell phone, in a perfect English accent, and a very agitated tone of voice.

"Caroline! I live two blocks away! His house is right next to mine!"

Pause.

"Well, I'm frightened for him!"

Pause.

"Because he seems to have gone stark raving mad!"

Pause.

"You said he attacked you, shoving you about and all that..."

Pause. He lowers his voice.

"Well, I'm not going to talk about it here."

Sadly, he is telling the truth. But I think you will see that this is nonetheless a singular experience.

This is100% NOT the Short Paper I Am "Writing"

2006-11-27T22:43:00.000-08:00

But everyone seemed so convinced that I would take it, and I don't want to disappoint. I will try to make it interesting.

*A Better Survey Than The Ones Above And Below - for girls and gay guys*
Basics
What do you prefer to be called?:	Darling.
When were you born and where?:	I'm afraid I don't recall.
Where do you currently reside?:	Any one of a number of libraries at Harvard University.
Getting to know you
What could you eat for the rest of your life?:	Breyer's mint chocolate chip ice cream. And puppies. (Apparently this is going to be one of those liberally untrue surveys).
Where is your favorite place to visit locally?:	I am partial to the tunnel between the really big library and its auxiliary.
What is your favorite place to visit for a vacation?:	It's nice to get out of the library and take a stroll across the yard. I should capitalize yard to clarify things, but suddenly that seemed prententious. The problem with going to Harvard is that you become hyper-vigilant about seeming pretentious, and that in itself may in fact be a form of pretense.
What is your preference: AIM, MSN, Yahoo!, etc.?:	Telepathy. It's really the only way to whisper sweet nothings to world leaders in diplomatic meetings and watch their ears turn red.
If you could magically appear in full costume in a movie, which would it be:	I would like to appear in full costume for Elizabeth, but in something totally different... like Brokeback Mountain, maybe. Or vice versa.
Which role would you play?:	The star. Or the crazy old lady.
What is your favorite accessory?:	I am always fond of my Bryn Mawr ring, and currently charmed by a new little snake.
What is your dream career?:	Telepathic Mischief Maker Laureate.
Which country would you live in if you had the choice?:	Narnia
Do you believe in the Loch Ness Monster?:	Believe in it, sure. Believe it, not after Valentine's Day 1997.
How about ouija boards?:	I like my ghosts like I like my liquor: I don't have anything to use as a punchline, so just pretend.
Which would you rather be stuck in?
Winter blizzard or summer heat/humidity?:	Blizzard, provided no threat to life and limb. I always feel the need to put these caveats. As though some sinister force is waiting to trip me up based on a casual omission of stipulation.
Hurricane or Earthquake?:	Good God, I'm taking a class on Katrina. EARTHQUAKE. Same stipulations apply as above.
An opera or a football game?:	Opera!
A closet or an elevator?:	A closet? Unless I was in the elevator with someone interesting. Like those questions where you have to pick famous people you want to have dinner with. Pick three people, alive or dead, that you would like to be stuck in an elevator with. Or a closet, I guess, but why would you be stuck in a closet? I guess if it were full of people and you couldn't reach the door handle. And maybe if one of the people was malicious and incredibly strong! Choose wisely when you pack your closet, everyone.
a railroad track with an oncoming train or hanging from a carnival ride?:	Hanging from a ride, but only with Noah from Into the Dream.
A fight between friends or a room filled with scary spiders?:	I'm usually fine with spiders.
Randoms
Who are you jealous of and for what reason?:	You, you sexy brilliant thing.
which type of salad dressing do you prefer?:	French. Especially the Catalina/Country French sort. Bleu Cheese. Especially crumbly.
Can you eat with chopsticks?:	I can also terrorize small insects with them. But I don't hurt them. I like small insects.
...Are you addicted to myspace? Tell the truth.:	In precisely the same way that I am addicted to heroin.
In the Opposite sex (or same if you are gay)
What is your favorite eye color?:	Aubergine.
What is the first thing you notice when you are attracted to him?:	Genital area.
Do you like light, sparkling hair or smooth, dark hair?:	Dark sparkling hair. Like if champagne were made with bourbon.
Any preferred height?:	Nope.
What is one thing he could say that would make you melt?:	I'm not going to write that here. Particularly if poised with a tattoo needle and reading steamy poetry.
What is the most romantic scenerio you can think of?:	Sex under the table in the aforementioned diplomatic meeting, while transmitting crucial moments to the world leaders with their faces substituted for ours.
Do you need a ring, if he were to propose?:	I would rather that not be done over the phone.
Are you crushing on anyone in particular?:	Yes to the spirit, but I feel that "crushing on" is a silly phrase. Just my $0.02.
If not, who is the closest thing to drool you can think of?:	Now the phraseology is getting so silly that I refuse to play. Is that pretentious? Alas, I think so.
Fashion expression
What is your favorite color to wear?:	Red? But I wear other colors more. I don't know. Puce.
Is there an article of clothing you wear every day?:	There's an article of clothing I wear NO days. Many, in fact.
What brings out the color of your eyes?:	I guess brown things. And maybe olive. Sometimes black. So if I had a gown made of grass and dried leaves and tree bark and the spaces between stars.
Are your nails painted? If so, what color?:	My nails are actually painted on. It's a swell party trick to peel them right off again. Not for the faint of heart.
What would you call your style?:	Jarvis Erik W.
What is your frequent shop? (department store):	What is my frequent shop??
Is your hair short or long?:	Kinda medium in need of cut.
Is it your natural color?:	No, and I'll never tell you what that is. Not unless you call me darling under the table at a diplomatic conference.
Do you prefer to be tan or pale?:	A gentleman never tells.
Friends
Do you get very personal with your friends?:	Very.
Are you friends with two or more different 'groups'?:	At the same time? I'm not that kind of girl.
Who is most simliar to you?:	Huh...my first instinct is Becky, because we spend so much time together that we've rubbed off. (I'm going to keep Rachel's answer for this one, because I think it is very apt.)
Who is most opposite?:	Huh...my first instinct is Becky, because we spend so much time together that we've rubbed off, and bits of us keep sort of floating ito this central vortex between us, and drifting away, thus creating an ever-increasing number of differences.
Who do you suppose will take this survey after you?:	Good God, you think I am so preoccupied with jealousy to think about that sort of thing in the act of taking it? Well... you're not wrong. It will probably be this handsome fellow across the way from me, damn his non-aubergine survey-stealing eyes.
Finale
What time is it?:	TIME TO WRITE MY PAPER. I'm hungry. This was not a smart idea. I hope you liked it anyway.

Dreams

2006-11-11T11:32:00.000-08:00

First, I dreamed that Maddie and Charlotte and Sarah Bardenett and David Fanelli were all coming to my old home for my birthday dinner. And we were all staying in this front part of the place (which was layed out in some totally different way) and trying to figure out where everyone was going to sleep.

Then, I dreamed that I was telling people about this play... except that it switched into me being a part of the story sometimes, which really looked more like a movie than a play. I think what happened is that I saw part of the story in my head, and then tried to describe it. (Sort of like this, in fact.) But there was a man who was the main character, and I was seeing through his eyes when I was there. And I think he had this weird cut, on his chin or below his throat, but I'm not sure. Anyway, he was in a sort of food court, which was mostly deserted, and I think he got some pizza or some kind of food, and he was talking to the people who worked there. He had just been through some kind of harrowing experience, in which this youngr eporter, who I guess was a collegue of his in some capacity, had been killed. The reporter's name was Jim.

Anyway, this guy went outside. It was a city, and sort of freshly rained on, and he ran into this other man, except the individual was somewhat gender-ambiguous... not really because of behavior, I don't think, though his clothes were a little unusual in some way, but more because he was actually an angel or some other kind of spiritual being. He kind of approached my guy and they had a conversation. I think the spirit guy was saying that he and his kind used to be all over the earth, or something, and then they had to leave, but a lot of them didn't. And he was saying, "Why would we leave? Look at it here. Would you leave?" And this lead my guy to sort of take a mental stock of why his life was good, or something. And this was accompanied by a mental image of a naked woman sitting up in bed, but she was very undefined in her appearance... I think the point of her was that she was aware of the world and happy? I'm not sure. But he said, to himself but I think the spirit guy heard him, "I've got a place to live, and I've got (something else I forget), and I've got a man who loves me." And I think he was trying to avoid the subject of the experience he just went through and the death of Jim with the spirit, but the spirit knew all about it, and was forcing him to talk about it. And he kept trying to talk about the things in his life that were good, like, "I've got friends, and family, and a cat," or something. But the spirit was very insistant that they deal with this experience. I think the problem was that my guy knew that if he directly faced or admitted to what happened, he would have to go back to the bad situation in some way and fight a battle or something, and he was scared.

Then it flashed to me being in a hallway, and I was playing a game with Charlotte which involved us kicking a ball back and forth with the object being to hit the doorways... I think I lost. But then I went to make some meatballs, and I was telling my mom and Charlotte about this play-thing, and I had the same cut as the guy, and it was really quite bloody and we had to keep binding it up, and my mom was telling me calmly that I should take as much medicine as I wanted, and probably at the hospital they would give me ten or twenty tylenol. But I was trying to cook meatballs and tell about the play, and my mom seemed uninterested, and Charlotte told me that this wasn't the way you were supposed to summarize a play, that I was putting in too much detail, and tried to describe how you had to say it all in one sentence... and I was really fed up with everyone not listening to the story, and my bleeding chin/neck was painful and irritating. So then my mom was like, let's go to the hospital, and I realized we were going out the door with the meatballs just sitting on the stove in grease, and I was really pissed and I was like, if we leave them like that they'll go bad while we're gone! And I went back and was trying to get it all in the fridge really quickly and drain the grease and my mom was just sort of cheerfully hurrying me out the door... it was all rather upsetting.

After having written that out, it is about as weird as I thought. Clearly some kind of anxiety dream... and I like the play part... but odd.

Why I Cannot Write My Midterm

2006-11-06T01:55:00.000-08:00

Dear Professor,

I regret to inform you that I cannot write my midterm because there are people to talk to online, and they say such things as this:

tinica: I'm probably disturbing the whole neighborhood of trash-taking-out students

tinica: Oh yes. That is how I arrived at this all-night exam-fest. Through stalwart discipline.

avalon2004: bounce, bounce, everybody bounce...

kkaczmawr: *revels in many hugs*

charlotteroserl: They should send that out in the Move On emails: Don't lure your lover out of traveling distance of their polling place the night before the election.

I am sure you will understand and agree that such quality interactions have priority over your exam. Thank you for your time, and of course I will be happy to include you in such witty and fascinating exchanges if you will contact me online.

Your semi-obediant student,
Becky

Irresistable Spam

2006-10-28T10:55:00.000-07:00

I just got a mail message with the subject line: " mosquito boat peace offering."

I couldn't resist.

Inside, it says: "if you will only tell me what sort of girl miss king is, i shall know what to think."and kitty were out of sight, then returned into the drawing-room.

Hopefully it's not some horrible virus, but really... how bizarre and interesting.

What's in a Name?

2006-10-25T20:42:00.000-07:00

Rebecca

Add to My Favorite Names

Origin	Meaning

Hebrew	bound

Traits: People think of Rebecca as a pretty, unpretentious young woman who is smart, well-read, and either outspoken and strong-willed, or soft and sweet.

Famous people with this name: the biblical Rebekah, Isaac's wife; Kate D. Wiggin's novel Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm; Daphne du Maurier's novel Rebecca; actress Rebecca (The Hand That Rocks the Cradle) De Mornay; author Rebecca West

1. Strong, independent-minded Rebecca! Parent's naming their child Rebecca beware of attitudinal difficulties coupled with an undying creative wit!

2. To me the name Rebecca means ~PRINCESS!~

3. To me Rebecca means witch with a capital "B" but you HAVE to love them anyway for thier weird ways and their stinky butts!!

4. I love my name because no one else had it in my school growing up so it made me feel special, but if you name your girl this be prepared for the nicknames that come with it...rarely any of my friends call me Rebecca, they always shorten it to Becca (which I don't mind), Beck (which is a little annoying), or Becky (I loathe that nickname, its sounds like I should be feeding chickens on a farm). Also for some reason people have a hard time spelling this name they're always sticking extra letters in there. But overall I love my name.

5. Ready Eager Beautiful Exciting Cute Cuddly Any thing she want to be

6. Rebecca is a beautiful and name that has a certain elegance to it. Also I think that when heard it is someone who you readily want to respect but the nicknames of Rebecca, like Becky, Becca(Becka), Beck, and Reba I don't think are as readily respected. Overall though I love the name and am proud to have it as my own. It's also an old name and even though I might not spell it the same way they do in the Bible it's still beautiful and respected.

7. Rebecca is one of my three greatest joys in the world. At 3 she is so full of life and smiles. I just wish she would learn to go potty. Middletown, Pa

8. 'Rebecca' makes me think of a young, gorgeous brunette who is highly intelligent and has a wild streak.

9. My daughter Rebecca is beautiful with long dark hair. She is the biggest Tomboy around, full of life, funny, smart, mouthy, cuddly, daddy's girl, great big sister, friendly, TALKATIVE, intuitive, independant, strong. A beautiful name for a beautiful person. Will go far in life.

10. I love the name Rebecca! The only nickname I like for it, though, is Becca. Rebecca is a beautiful, classic name that I would give to a daughter if my sister-in-law wasn't named that already. By the way, my SIL is a remarkable, independent woman who knows her own mind. She is strong and capable. She is also drop-dead gorgeous!

11. I love my name (Rebecca duh!) It flows off your tongue very nicely!! As does Rebecca and Ryleigh (my twin sisters name!) we are both tall, blonde, smart and very athletic!

12. My name is Rebecca I love my name and I often go by Becca I have had to very wonderful friends and one was Becca and the other was Becca we had a lot of fun with our names when meeting new people but at work it is only Rebecca for some reason Becca just does not work if you want Respect

13. :D I adore my name; Rebecca, I'm not trying to be vain or anything. Until I was in middle school I was called Rebecca. I get called Becca often, now. I like Becca, but Rebecca just is what I am used to. There are many nicknames with this name. The only problem I had, is that people love to add an extra 'B' ...I don't know why.

14. my daughters name is alpha rebekah and it means "beginning to be born again". people thought it was such a "strange" name at first, but, she is a beautiful young woman now and her name fits her perfectly!

15. Well as a Rebecca myself I must say it's a wonderful name. Altho mine has a twist to the spelling and I think more parents should try different ways and see what fits them. My spelling is ReBeccah and yes it's hard in school no one EVERY spells it right and no you can't find stuff with your name printed on it but then again none of that mattered cuz in the end I know it was because I was unique. It's a very simple and wholesome name fit for any little girl that will some day come along and climb on your lap and ask about why you named her so.

16. I LOVE My Name... Rebecca! I Though DO Go By Becky. I Hated When People Would Call Me Becca Or Beck. Its Rebecca OR Becky. Thats It!! Growing Up, Kids Couldnt Make Fun Of It. And I Was The Only One With My Name. I Am A Witch At Times, I Have MY OWN Personality By Far. But I Have To Say In The End... Everyone Loves A Rebecca.

17. I LOVE THE NAME REBEKAH! I think it is the most beautiful bible name! I am a redhead and my name is Rebekah. I am part crazy and do a lot of wild things, I don't know if it is the name or the hair color, or maybe the combination of the two that makes me who I am. I know a Rebecca, and she is a stuck up b*tch! So don't spell your daughter's name like that--thanx

18. I am Rebecca and I think the description pretty much says it all. And it's not either/or - it's both that I'm strong and outspoken and yet soft and compassionate. I have found, however, that Becky doesn't garner nearly the respect at work as Rebecca. I HIGHLY recommend to all of you called Becky, Becca, Beckie, Reba (especially Reba) or any other variation to stick to "Rebecca" in your working world. [[how's that for outspoken]]

19. Rock on #16! I am a Rebecca too and I never liked the name until my mom told me why she picked it. Rebecca was a friend of hers in high school that my grandfather really liked and my mom always remembered how happy it made her dad that she was friends with such a nice girl so she named me after her. But I do have to say that I have always been called Becky, and because I am so outspoken I still feel like I get respect from coworkers for my honesty and the fact that I do not take crap from anyone! So keep on being your outspoken, stubborn, energetic, beautiful selves all of us Rebeccas out there!

20. My sister is Rebecca but she has no commen since. Nothing against the name, and Yes I still Love her!!!

21. Hi All, My youngest daughter's name is Rebecca, I have always loved the name. My daughter is caring, hysterically funny,witty, beautiful, intellegent, facinating, loving and totally a young lady. She is so amazing - and I have a feeling she's going to take on the world soon ! You go GIRL ! Ciao, Kelly

22. As a Mom and Dad with unusual (OK, weird) names, we were careful to pick names for both of our girls that they could live with. We were very proud of Rebecca Suzanne and our beautiful child is also to be proud of. She is very athletic, social, and has a giving heart. The only problem she has with her name is the fact that the Biblical Rebekah lied to her husband. My Rebecca knows better!

23. my name is ok but I wish my mom named me molly.

24. This is my best friend's name. She is pretty, smart and very strong-willed. It's an elegant name, I think.

25. We love this name. We named our daughter Rebecca Nacole. We picked out the name Rebecca 7 months before she was born, we didn't even know she was going to be a girl. Nacole came to us later on, today she is one month old. She has dark brown hair, dark blue eyes, very strong for a month old baby, and very happy.

26. my aunt name is Rebecca but she like it by Becky! she died in 1999 but i will name my daughter after her Rebecca "Becky" Faith!

27. I like my name - and I'd be willing to bet that a good protion of the Rebeccas out there have the middle name, Lynn - am I right??? :) I just always wanted it spelled Rebekkah - more unique, I guess...

28. Rebecca is such a soft and feminine name. And she's always caring and sweet. Rebecca's are great people. I've known a couple in my life and I've liked all of them. If she goes by Becca then she's cute and perky and if by Becky then soft-spoken and traditional. Rebecca is so classic. I'd name my daughter Rebecca Marie. I imagine her having soft brown curls and big green eyes. And I'd call her Bex for short sometimes but for the most part she'd be Rebecca.

29. I am a Rebecca Lynn in my early thirties. I have always been called Becky, until I met my husband. He has always called me Rebecca, and it was then that I decided that I liked my name. Close friends call me Becky, but I often refer to myself as Rebecca to those I do not know. The characterists of Rebecca are on target. Overall, I am well liked, and sweet, but have a tendency to be a B-witch without even realizing it. And like the biblical Rebecca, I have lied to my husband. So, if you plan to name your child Rebecca, instill deeply the respect for honesty and sincerity.

30. Rebecca is a wonderful name.It has a nice ring to it.

31. My friend is named Rebecca and she is smart (although not as smart as me) and blond almost white haired.

32. I have to say i love the name. My big sis is named Rebecca. but she goes by Becci which is not that common. but it suits her. I just like the name

33. my name is Rayna Lynn and my twin sister is Raygan Lee, I've always wished my name was Rebecca, I love it, if i have a girl she will definatly be Rebecca, she has to have an "R" name like her mommy, and auntie and uncle. Rayna Lynn P. *

34. I have always thought my name, Rebecca was elegant and also a classic name. When someone calls me "Becky" I tell them that is not the name I was born with and it is presumetious (sp)to call me a different name. Would you like to be called Jane if your name was ann? Since becky and Rebecca don't sound anything alike I wish people would "get the difference". Too bad old-fashioned names are not popular but now girls need a Male gender name or Surname which is worse! Is McKenzie feminine?

35. I love my name, Rebecca, but unfortunately the only other Rebeccas I've ever met were really awful!

36. This is my name and fits me. I am definitely outspoken and strong willed- temper temper! I also am very well read and love knowledge. I work in the biology field so I am always learning something new. I never cared for my name growing up as I hated the nicknames (except for Becca, which is the only one people are allowed to use unless they're special). I hate Becky, but the other girls I knew named Rebecca all went by Becky and I was the only Becca- I never got mixed up in the confusion. I was supposed to be Sara Jane, but I will take Rebecca Lee over that any day! Yes, a nice name, but beware if you are naming your child this! I agree we all have tempers and attitude! Be READY!

37. Rebecca is my best friend's name and she goes by becca or beck. she has long light reddish brown hair and big blue eyes and is funny, a little shy, gorgeous, interesting, and a wonderful best friend. she has never in her life been snobby or mean to anyone.

38. Hi my name is Rebecca, (Becki)..Growing up I hated my name "Rebecca" in 8th grade some of my friends and I were talking about our names and we wanted to chage them..I changed my "y" to and "i" because I always liked to be different..It wasn't until my early adulthood that I liked my name "Rebecca" My grandmother and my aunt named me "Rebecca Ann" My parents didn't have a girl name picked out..(I had 2 older bothers) so I went a few hours before I was named...I learned to like my name because it was hand picked by 2 important woman in my life and my mother approved of it...I go by "Becki" to my friends but in Business it is "Rebecca".. I like my name now..because "Becki" can be playful and fun..and "Rebecca" can be Professional and Respected.

Becky

Add to My Favorite Names

Traits: Becky is described as a cute, young tomboy who is earthy, quiet, and happy.

Famous people with this name: book characters Becky (The Adventures of Tom Sawyer) Thatcher, Becky (Vanity Fair) Sharp

1. this is a great name every one i know with the name is very outgoing smart and as cute as can be

2. I have to agree. My best freind is named Becky and she is the most wonderful person in the world

3. I have a friend Becky. She has shoulder length dark dark brown hair. She is very shy but around people she know you can't get her to stop talking. She is funny and has the best laugh. I love the name Becky.

4. When I was a junior in high I changed the spelling to Bekkie. I love my name now. I feel like it fits me better.

5. I got creative in 7th grade. i dropped the c from my name to be set apart from all the other beckys. ive spelled it Beky to this day and love the twist of it!

6. I do not care for the name Becky , every Becky I know is mean and snobish .

7. My mother named me Beckey... when my mom recieved my birth certificate they spelled it Becky.. I have always like the strange spelling to Beckey... But I have stayed with what I know.. Becky! I think it fits me now, but I really hated it in school and high school. No one else was named Becky and I was always and forever placed in the front of lines because of my name... I think if it was my choice as to what my name would be it would be something like Sophie or something more femine. But you can't change what is done.. remember this when you are naming your baby.. The name stays with them for the rest of thier lives. Have a great day~

8. My name is Becki. My mom said I was too small at birth to carry the name Rebecca especially because my last name was 11 letters long. I think I would have preferred Rebecca, maybe Becca for short, but I do like that she spelled it a little different.

9. My full name is Rebekah but i use Becky as a nick! I like it. I can be shy around people at first but once i get a little more comfortable i get loud and start having a lota fun and am more open and talk a lot!! Well at least that is what my friends and family tell me.

10. Becky is the name of the woman who was my husband's secretary and then had an affair with him, thus leading my marriage to divorce. And to think that if my baby had been born female I had the name Rebecca picked out. It is too common and plain a name anyway. Leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

11. Name Becky reminds me Becky in Roseanne.I hate that serial so I don't like this name.

12. My name is Beckie. I am glad it is spelled without a "y". I like it when people ask me if it is short for Rebecca because it isn't, and that makes me unique! I think I fit the description because I am cute and I love being a tomboy!! I have dark brown eyes and hair.

13. One of my best friends is called Becci (she spells it differently) she is so small cute, friendly, outgoing and lovely! shes not at all stuck up or snobby shes a really nice girl. I luv her! I wouldnt pick this name myself for my child as I think its a bit plain and common, but I have no bad feeling towards it.

Interesting... especially that there are lots of Rebecca Lynnes. Makes me glad I have the e on the end; thanks Dad. I also think it's interesting that the Rebecca descriptions overall fit me a bit better than the Beckys (I think), and if I were just hearing the names out of the blue I would think Rebecca is prettier... which it is... but Becky has some essence of my identity inside it that I can't let go of. I remember thinking about going by Rebecca when I went to first grade, because it was more grown up, but when push came to shove, Becky just came out of my mouth as me. Rebecca is my public, officially presented self, and Becky is... Becky carries my personality, for better and worse. If I am not called Becky by enough people in my life for long enough, I feel very lonely and unknown. Also I think Becky is a little more fun, has more of a spark, takes herself less seriously. Becky is strong in a certain way, something to do with the k, I think. I think what most people are going with as this "tomboy" aspect (certainly not me) I identify as a brand of strength. But it's interesting as well how I probably identify personally with Rebecca more than my friends identify me as such. Most of my friends would never call me Rebecca. My family, on the other hand, uses my names much more interchangably. Though my dad rarely calls me Rebecca. Just my mom and sometimes my aunts and uncles and my grandma. I often think about whether (with any luck) I will be published as Rebecca or Becky, and I think probably Rebecca, but it also seems odd that (with any luck) readers who will never meet me would only know my public name. So I'm not sure.

Also, I have to say that I much prefer "captivating" as a meaning for my name than "bound." "Steadfast" is ok, but "captivating" is way sexier, and "bound" just is not appealing.

I would love to hear more on this topic from those of you with nicknames... I think it provides a certain opportunity for expressing a double-consciousness of self that maybe those without nicknames... I won't say don't have, but don't experience in this way. I'm also curious on how people relate to their given and nicknames... similarly to me? Differently? Sound off if you feel like it.

Con Mind

2006-10-25T12:38:00.000-07:00

I realized today that it's a confidence problem. Perhaps you already knew this, or have been telling me this for years, but... In several separate encounters today, I realized that I was genuinely startled when people seemed to like me or show any interest in me, and that I have a sort of basic expectation that unless I am making a concerted effort to be exciting, most people probably have at least a mildly negative impression of me.

And the other day, I realized very concretely that a lot of my anxiety about work is because I am genuinely worried about proving that I am good enough to be here.

I don't exactly know what to do about these realizations, which don't actually sound all that revelationy when I write them out. I think the revelation is that these are perceptions, not necessarily the underlying fact. Like, the underlying fact isn't that I have been boring and anti-social and unengaging in most situations here, it's just my perception of my own behavior.

The mind is a strange and often inaccurate place.

Questions from Harvard

2006-10-24T15:53:00.000-07:00

So, before I got sick forever and ever, I made a list of questions that Harvard asked me, on just one side of a little poster posting post. I thought it would clarify why this place is both fascinating and overwhelming:

Need some wheels?
Do I like her... or just admire her?
Does God exist?
How can God allow pain?
Why is religion full of hypocrites?
What is HPV?
What is democratic socialism?
Christianity: Boring, untrue, irrelevant?
Why did Jesus die?
How and why should I pray?
Are you interested in applying your analytical, financial, and programming expertise to a challenging and rewarding career as a Quantitative Equity Analyst?

Pretend it's a survey if you want... maybe I will try to answer one of these questions at a time. I'll start with the last one. The answer to the last one is no.

I Promised... and I Stole

2006-10-10T12:54:00.000-07:00

In a sanctioned, in fact mandated way, from Maddie. I think this is a lovely way to jump into blogging again, and also to reward whatever faithful readers remain for months of fruitless refreshing of this page. Here you are:

The first five people to respond to this post, will get some form of art, by me, about them. I make no guarantees about quality or type, but I will assure that I will give it good effort and that the art will be individual to you, so if you get a mixed CD, a dirty limerick, some sort of painting , or perhaps some origami, or anything else yours is the only one like it.
The only catch, of course; as with most memes, if you sign up, you have to put this in your own journal as well.

Just to Be a Tease...

2006-06-16T11:07:00.000-07:00

I had a bonafide sex dream last night.

I rarely do.

It was someone you know.

After the sex, I remember sort of "waking up" within the dream and critiquing my own performance, which I think is yet another example of the meta-dreams I am often prone to.

Anyway... time for a meeting. What else is new? ;)

Real update later, I hope! (Si, Numero Uno, y tambien mi examencito, lo que no he olvidado.)

Goodbye Todd!

2006-05-18T18:02:00.000-07:00

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye! I'll miss you. Damn. I wish you weren't going... but I'm glad you are. I hope you enjoyed me as much as I did you, and did not think I was flaky or bizarre in a bad way. Good luck in Florida!

Happy Birthday Rachel!

2006-05-18T17:26:00.000-07:00

:-D

Now you are 24 like me!

So glad you made it to the Earth while I was on it. :) Happy day!

Two Irritations of the Morning and an Emergency

2006-05-18T11:22:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'm really trying to get back in the posting groove... and I will take my own survey at some point... but right now I want to share two things that I noticed this morning and mentally responded with frustration and annoyance.

Thing #1: I have come to the conclusion that there is a deadly plague or perhaps a toe-eating monster hiding in the back half of every Septa bus. Yet again this morning, about 500 people were literally squashed against the front door while, exactly at the back door, others held their positions as though defending an international border. What is the problem?? Can't you see that NO ONE ELSE CAN FIT ON THE BUS? You are literally depriving people of transportation because you won't climb two little steps, grab onto a pole, and stand there instead of two feet away. Sometimes you are depriving people of transportation because you would rather stand in a crowd than sit in a perfectly lovely seat in the back half of the bus. It is utterly, completely baffling to me that this seems to be a universal phenomenon. I actually said something today. I was like, "We have to move back more; there are people squashed against the door." And this one woman did.... all the way to the back door! Please, someone, let me in on the secret. What is back there? I've sat there. I've stood there. It seemed just fine to me. There are signs all over the bus with arrows telling people to please move back. The bus driver sometimes says, "Please move back if you can." And yet.... at the back door they stand, indifferent and intractable. I feel that this phenomenon is somehow revelatory of a basic, fundamental flaw in human nature.

Thing #2: Why would you take the time to write a song that is 100%, unadulteratedly about how there is absolutely no point in anything ever and the whole world is worthless and really we all might as well just give up now. I mean, you have to spend time on this. You have to craft it, and listen to it, and practice it, and fix things that don't work, and deal with lyrics AND music, and then you have to record it, assuming you are someone I am listening to on the radio or something, and play it again and again, and presumably you are enjoying this on some level... and what's more, you are working on it, you are creating it and shaping it and all of this stuff... but the whole point is that there is no point. I think what irks me is that you make this astonishing pattern, this music, and I don't think you can do that without caring about it... but you do it to say there is no meaning, let's all just kill ourselves. Which is not to say that I think despair should not be expressed artistically, I just... I'm not quite sure what I'm trying to say. Except there's something about most of these songs that just rings false and irritates me, instead of moving me with the plight of the musician/people in general. How does this fit in with the fact that one of the things I love about writing is that I can take the strange, ugly, painful things in my life and transmute them somehow? Or with the bizarre and disturbing story I just finished writing? I don't know. But it does seem different to me.

Wow, on an unrelated note, we just had a fire alarm, and Maria and I were the only ones who left... it had gone off once before and stopped, and people said it was a false alarm. They were probably laughing at us up here... but I'm always worried that I'll hesitate too long, and then it will be a real emergency.

Which makes me think about how we relate to emergency and normal life. There's obviously a shift, where you go from normality to definite abnormality, a shift in perception as well as action. But there also seems to be this limbo, where something has interrupted normality, but you are not ready to commit to it being an emergency and act accordingly. I guess that wouldn't be limbo, it would be purgatory. Or perhaps a pre-hell, since purgatory leads to something better... anyway. It's not comfortable, this inbetweenness. I think maybe it's less comfortable than either normality or the emergency itself, which are definite states of mind that you know how to navigate. Maybe that's arrogant, since I have not truly experienced a life and death emergency. But I've experienced what I've thought at the time were life and death emergencies. But I know it's the inbetween state that I find truly uncomfortable and scary, because I don't want to go off the deep end and totally overreact, but at the same time I am afraid that I will wait around deciding if it's real danger just long enough to prevent escape.

And how does this relate to the desire we all have for the interruption of normal life? Don't you? Do you ever have disaster fantasies, escape fantasies, what would I do if fantasies? I do. I definitely do. I always escape with my life, at least when I'm awake. Though sometimes I get to a dead end and have to go back and find another way out, and presumably the fantasy me that got stuck for ideas doesn't escape. And I also have had specific death fantasies when the whole kidnapping/decapitation spree in Iraq was at its height (please don't take that flippantly... I don't mean it that way.) Those happened because of my irrational terror of decapitation. Not that it's irrational to fear that, but it's just not a viable threat in my life, and yet it fills me with a much more visceral fear than other forms of death.

Wow, now that I'm thoroughly discomfited... why do we both fear and crave emergenies? Why do we like disaster movies and roller coasters (though, with exceptions, I don't really like either. In fact, disaster movies could go on a "things that annoy me" list)? But I have been struck, in the midst of negative emotions, fear, doubt, anger, sorrow about horrible things happening in the world, about the war, etc.... by a certain hidden seed of excitement. That "something is happening" excitement, that "I have something to fight against, to care about, to absorb my interest" excitement.

What's it all about, Alfie?

Damn, it's 11:20, and I really have not done much work. I should. But please, if you have any ideas or insights on these matters, I would like to hear them.

Time for A Game

2006-05-09T17:10:00.000-07:00

So, today I had a conversation with someone I don't know who reads this blog, and it made me think about how many people could actually be reading this... and about blogs I read without revealing myself... etc. So, I decided to play a little game, called "make your own survey." And, if you are reading this, you are ABSOLUTELY obligated to take the survey, or forever eschew my blog. However, you are allowed to lie outrageously if you don't want to reveal something. You may not lie pettily, only outrageously. Those are all the rules.

Also, if we have not specifically spoken, thank you for reading, and welcome to my blog.

1. What is your name?

2. How old are you?

3. Do you know me from Adam?

4. How can you tell the difference between me and Adam?

5. If you could truthfully change your answer to 1, 2, or 3, which would you pick and what would you like to change it to?

6. Name three people that you love, just the first that come to mind:

7. Now three more:

8. Who didn't you list that you should have? Is there anyone you'd like to, but can't? Say something cryptic about them.

9. Name one thing that fascinates you about each of these people.

10. And something that irritates you...

11. Name three people you really dislike:

12. Anybody you'd like to name that you can't mention publicly? Say something cryptic about them.

13. Tell me something you admire about each of the dislike people. Yes, you have to. Why doesn't that override the dislike?

14. What is your favorite color? Do you know why?

15. What is something about yourself that you secretly think is pretty sexy?

16. What is something about yourself that you secretly worry is pretty repulsive?

17. What is something about me that you secretly think is pretty sexy? Or at least attractive? ;)

18. I'm not gonna ask the opposite. Instead, tell me a memory you have involving music.

19. Imagine yourself married. Do you see someone you know as your spouse, or someone imaginary? Do you like this fantasy? Does it discomfort you?

20. Tell me a story about a time when you were truly frightened.

21. What's something you wish you knew how to do, but don't?

22. What are you most likely to be famous for?

23. What do you think influences your daily life the most: your parents' financial situation or their relationship to each other?

24. Do you have a religious or spiritual outlook? Where did you get it? What about it do you think is particularly engaging?

25. Do you like to dance? When did you last dance?

26. Who is the first person you remember being sexually attracted to?

27. Describe the last person that caught your eye in a crowd (in a good way).

28. Describe the last person that caught your eye in a crowd (in a bad way).

29. How do you feel when faced with a homeless person soliciting money? What is your emotional reaction? What thoughts go through your head?

30. Are these questions difficult? What would you like to ask me in retaliation?

31. If you were going to name your child after a literary character, who would it be and why?

32. What's the last book you read? What did you think of it?

33. What is your favorite fruit?

34. Tell me a story about one of your cousins.

35. Who is a person you still wince when you think about? It can be for any reason.

36. Is there anything that is consistently irresistable to you? Can you imagine a situation in which you would not find this attractive?

37. Tell me a secret. It can be a current one, or an old one, but at some point the secretiveness of this should have mattered to you.

38. If you could erase one of your own memories, would you? Why or why not?

39. What about one of somebody else's?

40. Describe a beautiful landscape that you have seen. Or a beautiful sky.

41. Do you like eggs?

42. How many of your answers were true?

A Month in Review

2006-04-21T12:05:00.000-07:00

Wow, it's truly been far too long since I posted last, as some faithful readers have pointed out. My apologies!

I'm not sure where to start, but in the past month I have:

*Visited Harvard Divinity School and accepted their offer of admission for the fall. (Yikes!)
*Entertained various guests, including Liz.
*Turned 24 (that yesterday)!
*Read lots of books, including A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court by Mark Twain, My Brother is Getting Arrested Again by Daisy Fried (my former poetry teacher, who recognized me when I went to her reading!), A Woman Like That by lots of people, The People of Paper by Salvador Plascencia (one of the weirdest books ever, in terms of structure and layout, and in lots of other ways too. Interesting, though), and I know I am missing some in the middle here... or I think I am... but more recently, Close Range: Wyoming Stories by Annie Proulx (including Brokeback Mountain, a really interesting but sometimes overwhelmingly bleak collection) and The Icarus Girl by Helen Oyeyemi, who graduates from college this year.
*Thought about many things, tried to worry less and do more, wrote a bunch of poems, some better than others.
*Cleaned about half my room.
*Celebrated Easter at home with my family.

Hmmm. That's boring. I've decided list posts are not too fun! I will be more descriptive, and hopefully more prolific, now that I have resumed posting!

;)

March 20th is a Special Day

2006-03-20T14:56:00.000-08:00

Happy Birthday to you.
Happy Birthday to you.
Happy Birthday, dear Professor Dilexi.
Happy Birthday to you.

I suppose an appropriate birthday choice would be cake or death, but is that really a door one wants to open with the Professor?

I think it is not. Life-sustaining balloons and adulterously smeared frosting to all of you.

St. Patrick's Day at a Club

2006-03-18T20:18:00.000-08:00

Well, even though I'm two books behind, I figure you all might want to hear about something other than my reading habits. These past two weeks have been insane, but last night was fun and interesting. Rachel and I went to Pure, which is a club we first found when we went to see Shut Up and Dance last year. I really liked it, because it reminded me a bit of Trexx, the gay club I cut my teeth on back home with Bekah and Morgan. I think it mostly reminded me of Trexx in that it was ostensibly gay but had a good mix of people (though this time the gay/maleness was more pronounced, I think), played good dance music, and... that's about it, I guess.

But anyway, I finally got to wear the exciting black corset top that I'd gotten with Liz... in October, I think, and a black and gold skirt, and just so I didn't look too much like every other girl showing off her breasts and her legs, I wore my gold sneakers and (to celebrate St. Patrick's Day) a little green turtle pin and a tiny sparkly St. Patrick's Day hat that my mom had sent me, which Rachel helped me attach to my sleeve with a safety pin. Oh, and green eyeshadow for St. Pat's Day, too, though I probably would have worn it anyway, since I'm feeling rather enamored of that eyeshadow lately. And Rachel wore this sort of pinstriped tube top she has... which probably gives a slightly wrong picture of it, but I'm not sure how to describe it... and this great skirt which is blue with gold and silver sequins all over it. Which I just realized is funny, because at some point she didn't like sequiny things, I thought. Anyway, though, it's neat. And she also wore her new silver high-top sneakers.

When we finally completed our outfits and got to Pure, it was almost totally deserted. Apparently things don't pick up there until 1:30 or 2, even though it closes at 3. There's also a bizarre membership system which we did not understand, but only members can buy drinks. That's ok, though, because neither of us wanted to buy drinks anyway. Though, retrospectively, I bet we could have if we wanted to. Unless there was some card showing or different identifying marks that the members had, I don't know. But anyway, we didn't really know what to do and so we hung around, and talked about maybe leaving and coming back, but didn't, and we went upstairs and checked out al the different rooms and areas of the club, which actually has a pretty cool layout. I think I like the place, though this time I did feel the maleness of it more, as I said before. Not that there weren't a good number of women there... I don't quite know how to describe it. Oh, and I ran into Randi upstairs. Which was perfectly surreal, because I'd had this feeling right before I saw her that I was going to run into Randi. And there she was. So we exchanged friendly-yet-slightly-awkward pleasantries, and then I saw her later on the dance floor and we waved at each other. I mean, I guess it wasn't a big surprise, given that I know Randi likes to go out and live it up, and this was a hotspot for... shall we say LGBTQ activity, so I could put two and two together and figure I might see the most partying T I know at the party. Well, the only T I know. Well, anyway, it was weird. I mean, who likes to run into people from work while enjoying the nightlife? Though there are definitely worse people to run into. After we sat around upstairs near Randi for a little bit, we went back down... to a still mostly dead room. Before the dancing started, I thought I was going to go nuts just standing there. A few people would start dancing, and then it would all fall apart again, and there would just be this one weird guy wandering around the dance floor... not dancing, just sort of walking. Oh, and while we were hanging around to the side of the dance floor, this friendly but odd Latino (I think) guy named Neville (I think!) came up to us and danced with us and welcomed us effusively to Pure, saying that we should dance and do whatever our hearts feel and that if "they" didn't like it, "fuck the faggots" and to remember his face and that he loved females and had great respect for females and his mother was a female and she had him, so he and females were like this, and he made some gesture of solidarity, and enjoined us again to dance and do whatever we wanted, and welcomed us again, and said if anyone gave us any trouble we should find him. And he asked our names and kissed our hands, individually and then together, and went back to whatever he had been doing prior to this. Oh, and one seemingly straight man on the street, one muscular man acting as proxy for his boyfriend in speaking to us, one transvestite (also on the street), and one very old dancing man at the club, all complimented Rachel's skirt. Ladies, remember, the lesson is: blue with sequins = man magnet. Maybe mostly gay man magnet, but still.

Oh, so finally I got Rachel onto the little upper dance floor with me, even though the music wasn't that great. But the advantage was that a) people were dancing there, b) it was smaller so that it took less to fill the space in a satisfactory way, and c) one of the two most fascinating people at the club was dancing in there. She was this girl in a green man's shirt with short but stylish hair and a tie, and she was unbelievably hot. Like, took my attention away from every single man in the place hot. Maddie, she reminded me a lot of that one in If These Walls Could Talk II, and was definitely that hot. So I sort of danced hopefully near her for awhile, but she took no notice of me, so we went down to the other dance floor with the good music and started dancing there, and I feel, personally, that we were responsible for getting the party started, because from the time we started dancing, the number and mix of people dancing just steadily increased until we left.

The dancing was great! It was so good to dance, and I love that music for dancing. I love that giddy rising feeling of delight that comes into me when I am just dancing and not thinking about anything and letting my body go, and I love watching other people dance, especially the unexpected ones. I was particularly pleased by this old man who danced all around by himself. His dancing was kind of odd, but he gave me joy and courage because of his joy and courage in his own body. I also liked this eminently ordinary looking woman... like, ordinary face, ordinary hair, ordinary body, middle aged (I think, maybe a little younger), wearing just a plain shirt and jeans and sneakers, who was really into dancing. Then... I saw the other most fascinating person in the club. He was a tall black man and he had two small white scarves, although actually I might better call them little flags, because they were sort of stiff and attached to something that helped him get a hold of them, I think. Anyway, he danced with these scarves and it was incredible. I was just utterly captivated. It was so, so incredibly beautiful and amazing and fascinating. I was dancing a good distance away to give him room, but I felt like I was dancing with him, because all my movements were just naturally in reaction to his. I feel like maybe everyone felt that way, too. I felt so much more free and poetic in my movements and let my body just sort of flow in a much more creative way, because somehow I couldn't feel self-conscious while such a beautiful thing was going on. He just whirled the scarves all around... I don't know how to describe it. Enthralling, just enthralling. I think if I'd actually gotten a chance to dance with him and those scarves I'd either have danced better than I ever have in my life or just fainted or something. ;) Anyway, it was great.

So, after quite some time we got tired and took a break, and this man leaning on the wall next to me struck up a conversation. Turns out he's Hispanic, in fact from Chile, and so we started talking in Spanish. That was really exciting; it felt great to speak Spanish. And he was repeatedly complimentary of my Spanish and my accent... he said I had pretty pronunciation, and really, since I'm actually quite self-conscious about my accent, that was all he needed to say to have my attention for at least a little while. He invited me to dance and I said yes. The thing was, he was pretty old. I mean, not old. But old for me. I don't know how old, but I would say between 35-40. I mean he was handsome, quite handsome actually... but. So, I was having a really good time and all, but I started to hope that he understood that this was definitely a platonic relationship, something that's hard to get across when you're grinding on a dance floor. But I tried to keep moving and keep intimate moments brief. Rachel was dancing with us too, and there was this weird guy on drugs who was grabbing everyone, including me once and her twice, and she slapped him across the face and he went away. The moment of the slap was kind of fascinating. It was just a huge crack, like in the movies, and then he stumbled around confused and left. Anyway, so after a bit more dancing I was exhausted, and we went upstairs and sat there chatting for awhile. Which was ok, but began to be sort of stretched thin like conversation gets with someone you don't really know. At least it does if you're me and tired. ;) We engaged in chit-chat, switching fluidly between Spanish and English, and he asked for my number so that we could continue to talk in Spanish. I gave it to him, hoping he meant what he said and deciding to sort it out later. Then he asked me to go dance in the other little room, so we did, but that got weird. It was super crowded, and these guys were, in my opinion, basically having clothed sex on the wall next to us. Like, pressed right flush against each other and writhing, with these strained expressions of exertion and pleasure on their faces... well, it was a bit much for me. Especially I was struggling to keep everything not too sexy with my senor (insert tilda over the n, I don't know where to get it.) And he seemed to be getting more sexy, sliding down my body (in a non-touching way) and then touching my hair and my head. That was kind of the last straw for me. I don't know why, but touching my hair just seems very intimate for a stranger. It's interesting, the whole thing is interesting, because the style of dancing is just so very sexualized, that I for some reason am pretty comfortable wedging my legs together with some stranger and bobbing up and down, or pressing ass-to-groin and grinding, but pulling my head close and stroking my hair? That was too much. It was curious. So I excused myself, and we said our goodbyes, with perfunctory cheek kisses that I carefully kept perfunctory, and left.

Which brings me to another set of observations. One: I am a foreign man magnet. In the past year five men have made some kind of advance toward me, even if it was only sustained for an evening. Two Americans, yes, but also one Italian, one Indian, and one Chilean man. Interesting. I don't know why this is. Two: In clubs, I often get in these moods where I really want to pick someone up, and I have this sort of aimless sexual energy. I attract a man and pick him up, and we start talking/dancing/flirting. I get bored. I start to feel like it's weird. I want to disengage myself from his company. He just wants it to go on and on. Finally, I have to deliberately remove myself from the situation. Hopefully, this is because I am not super interested in these particular men... not some strange sexual hang up or something like that. I think it's really the former, but it struck me this time as a pattern.

Anyway... I had fun. It was a good St. Patrick's Day celebration. And I still managed to get up today and get to Wayne with Rachel, where I bought a giant stuffed turtle, rose petal soap, and earrings.

:)

Others See Us

2006-03-17T00:58:00.000-08:00

... is a book I really enjoyed. But this is not a book post, though I should make one soon. Instead, you can puzzle over a big box of adjectives, and pick the ones you like for me. http://kevan.org/johari?name=Becky%20F It's interesting... so far I think I basically agree with everyone, but it's interesting to see what different folks perceive, including me.

Twelfth Book: A Girl Named Disaster

2006-03-09T16:40:00.000-08:00

I got this book, which is by Nancy Farmer, in the 10-books-for-a-dollar batch in the NYC library, and for some reason I tried to begin reading it several times and kept getting caught up in other books. As you can see, I finally began and finished it! I picked it because I've read two other books by Nancy Farmer (The Ear, the Eye, and the Arm and The House of the Scorpion,) and enjoyed them both very much. The House of the Scorpion was especially powerful for me, because I read it at a time when I was feeling abandoned and betrayed, and the main character goes through an extraordinary abandonment/betrayal.

In a lot of ways, in a completely different story, A Girl Named Disaster deals with the same themes. It was a powerful story, and a pretty fascinating look at an alien (in the earthly sense, which I feel I should clarify since Farmer does write science fiction sometimes!) culture. Also an exciting "surivival" story. Great if you want a decently quick, engaging read with a very empowering message.

Eleventh Book: The Great Divorce

2006-03-03T17:55:00.000-08:00

My mom sent me this one, out of the blue. She's been sending good books lately! The Great Divorce is by my old friend C.S. Lewis, and though it is not for children or really that much like Narnia, I recognized and relaxed into his familiar style right away. I have said many times that Lewis, in The Last Battle gives the only version/description of Hell that I am able to understand and fit into the context of a loving God. The Great Divorce, interestingly enough, is also a sort of supposal, like the Chronicles, and in it, Lewis recounts a dream he has had about Heaven and Hell. It's fascinating. He does not disappoint, nor does he lose the distinction I just mentioned. I am fascinated, in fact, to read more of his theology. I think it's so interesting, because he is definitely (as far as I know) considered a fairly orthodox Christian writer, but his theology seems (to me) quite mystical. Not that mysticism precludes orthodoxy, but it's interesting. To tie in with my last post, he also mentioned Julian of Norwich. ;) But anyway, while absolutely affirming the idea of Hell, he also leaves it open as to whether anyone will be there forever. He leaves a lot open, in fact, while being absolutely convinced of the ultimate, all-encompassing good of God, and the need to turn toward Him.

There are some quotes I marked to put in here... I will do that when I'm at home and have the book to hand.

In the meantime, I am very enthusiastic about this book, and I want to read more of what my old friend has to say. He's one of those people of whom I wonder whether he would like me/think me talented/approve of my work. Just as a by-the-by. And to close, if you're looking for some very readable theology, give him a shot. I think I will seek out some more. And thank you, C. S. Lewis, for being so honest and interesting.

Tenth Book: The Illuminator

2006-03-03T17:13:00.000-08:00

Wow, I've gotten a bit behind on these. This one is by Brenda Rickman Vantrease. I'd been intrigued by it for awhile, but the deal was clinched when I realized Julian of Norwich was a character in the book!

It was basically good, with interesting characters and a plot that really surprised me... I didn't guess where it was going at all. My favorites, I think, were the more minor characters Half-Tom and Magda. But really, most of the characters were engaging, except for some of the more cardboard villains, and at least one cardboard good person, too, in my opinion. I sort of think you should read it, Katie, because the main female character is named Kathryn! I think, too, that it might be the kind of story you would enjoy. On the less positive side, there was some clumsy writing. I would have liked to see more of Julian of Norwich, too, but it's hard to write about actually historical folks and make it work, I think. Not that it didn't work, I just have such a high opinion of Julian that it would be hard to write about her in a way that I thought was doing her justice.

Ok, I think that's all about this for now. Definitely worth reading, if sometimes flawed. :)

More About Me?

2006-02-28T17:21:00.000-08:00

My Personal Dna Report

You can figure out if you see me as I see me, too! Or something like that.

http://personaldna.com/psychyou-psychme.php?for=1b87459b6238

This Would Be Entirely Self-Pitying, Were it Not for the Matter of the Opera

2006-02-23T10:40:00.000-08:00

Well, I forgot about this.

The part where Hell Week always has at least one day or evening or whatever that is, actually, hellish. I'm sure it's just superstition, but it did hold true for most years at Bryn Mawr. And then there was last night. Really, I don't know what was wrong with me last night... and isn't that the worst? Just this feeling of anxiety that has no clear root and doesn't seem to go anywhere no matter how many times you remind yourself that, in fact, there is no impending doom. Not a full-blown panic attack or anything, just this feeling where you can't sit still, but you can't quite start doing anything, because it's totally unclear what needs to be done, but totally clear that there are many important things that must happen, and probably should have started happening a long time ago.

Add to this that for some reason I was suddenly much less attractive yesterday than I had been in several days. I looked strange and full of bulges, and my face was abruptly much less pleasant to look at, and I noticed the slight differences in the way I walk. Isn't it odd how perception can change in a flash? I'd been very pleased with my appearance for several days preceeding yesterday.

Add to this that Cristina may or may not be coming tonight, and she's had a really hard week. So I really want to be present to her and help, but I'm afraid I'll stay in Weird Stressland, and there's this selfish part of me that is afraid now I won't get my own crap done, getting ready for Friday, etc. Even though in truth I want to be with her. Feelings are so damn complicated. And when we got home last night she had left this message telling me that she wasn't going to work tomorrow, but she might still want to come today, and she was crying the whole time... and I really wanted to call her back, but she'd said she was going to bed, so I didn't. I think one of the problems is that whenever I think about this whole situation and I can't be with her I feel anxious and agitated and helpless. I mean, that's inevitable. When I can be with her I feel much stronger, much more certain and open and clear. So, we'll see, but goddammit. I wish I could fix it. I really do.

Add to this that I got a thin little letter from Cornell saying that I was not accepted to their English department, but they're sure I'll have a fine career anyway. I really thought I'd get in there. I also thought I'd get in to Duke. I don't know why, but I was much more worried about getting in to other schools. So now, I have this horrible feeling that I did all my applications wrong in some indefinable way and I won't get in anywhere. My mom and Liz will be disappointed that I'm not coming back close to home, though maybe it's good. I guess I have to trust that it's good, and that I'll end up somewhere right for me, just like at Bryn Mawr. But ugh. I hate hearing no. I hate the slippery hold I sometimes have on confidence and faith.

Add to this that we're trying to clean the apartment by Friday, a task I really applaud and want to do, but which is sure to lead to at least a few bouts of paralysis. I get so... irrationally fearful of actually dealing with the messiness. As though somehow that will actually make it worse, or prove that it is impossible to fix. Not helped by the fact that putting liquid plumr (or however that odd thing is spelled) in my toliet made the contents of it it bubble, turn green, and come this close to overflowing all over my feet (which circumstance was staved off my frantic plunging) before just sitting there. That is really not what I was hoping for in my efforts to clear the clog. I mean, actually we got a lot done in the living room. By which I mean that Rachel got a lot done and I put some decorations away, but still. It's a great start. I just have trouble seeing it.

I think that's all there is to add at the moment, but this morning I was just... dreading everything, especially the part where I left the house and went to work. I stumbled down the stairs and had my first shock of pleasure when I saw that there was still a cluster of people at the bus stop-- I hadn't missed it! I hurried over to join them, and there he was. This middle aged black man, casually dressed in jeans and work boots and a sensible, dark, puffy winter coat, with a stubbly almost-beard, carrying one of those little tape recorders, the flat ones about the size of a hardcover book, playing opera. Beautiful opera music shared with everyone! Well, I'm sure everyone didn't love it, but I did. I loved this crazy image of all of us just standing around waiting for the bus while this music floated all around us. I loved the music. It made me smile, this sudden spontaneous smile, and he was smiling too... and well, here I am at work, and I don't really feel that much more together or confident or anything. But I am going to try to remember the opera...

Keep in Mind

2006-02-21T10:21:00.000-08:00

A mis-overheard statement of Bob, the group seller, to someone on the phone:

"Then again, they're sports, and we're theater, you must keep that in mind... we're also amusing."

(I realize now it was "music" not "amusing," but still. Isn't that great?)

Ninth Book: World of Wonders

2006-02-17T15:05:00.000-08:00

My goodness, in finishing that other monstruous post, I almost forgot that I finished another book the other day. World of Wonders, the last in the Deptford trilogy by Robertson Davies.

It was really good and exciting, like the others, but I think somehow I'm a little disappointed at how they all fit together. Maybe I was just left with too many unanswered questions? I don't know.

But the characters were really great, and I love Dunstan Ramsay, and enjoyed learning about Paul Dempster's history, though it wasn't at all what I expected. However, I really want to know what happened to David... I think this post will be extra short, to contrast with my extra long Valentine's Day post.

Happy Valentine's Day to Me... and to You. :)

2006-02-17T13:37:00.000-08:00

I think it started when I was walking home from the gym on Monday. It felt great to exercise, and I felt suddenly healthier and more capable in the world. Then, as I was walking home, I saw the most beautiful silver-white moon against a dark blue sky. And spindly trees stretching up to touch it. It felt wonderful. I was suddenly at peace, and happy to be by myself, experiencing this lovely night.

I had been feeling some trepidiation about Valentine's Day. I'd been in a generally gray mood lately, quick to self-pity and slow to relaxation. And the thing is, I've never, never been one to complain about Valentine's Day. I like it, and I'm always remembered, even if it's never been romantically meant. But this year... I was feeling complainy. Rachel has a girlfriend, and my other friends are occupied on Tuesday nights, or not at all in the area. I was getting antsy about the idea of being alone. Quite frankly, I thought maybe the day might suck, and I was rather displeased with myself for joining the ranks of the alone-on-Valentine's complainers. But, as it approached, I began to notice how much care I was getting from all different sources. Two adorable cards from my mom, a present from Jeff (her boyfriend), a really hilarious card from Bekah, a card from my aunt and uncle (who always remember me on Valentine's Day), the promise of mail from Katie (which has now come! a wonderful, thoughtful card), and really beautiful and tender cards from Rachel, too. I've never really done much for Valentine's Day in terms of gifts or cards for others, and it touched me that all these people would be so thoughtful and kind and loving to me.

So, on the lovely walk home on Monday, I decided I would take myself out for Valentine's Day, and buy myself a present. I was thinking about comfortable and sexy lingerie, as I have none. I thought maybe I would also take myself to dinner, and see if anything else appealed to me, like seeing a movie or some kind of event. I also had this sudden and striking thought, in the way that sometimes words just appear in your head... that I had no idea what my romantic life would hold. I had no idea who I would end up loving in that way... it could be a man, as I have mostly assumed and sought, but it could also be a woman, which seems oddly more possible (in terms of my own internal compass) now that I am not at Bryn Mawr... it could even, though it's hard for me to imagine, be more than one person... anything was possible. But whatever it will be, the fact that it hasn't started yet is not a judgement on me... it just means there's a surprise coming, and knowing now would ruin the surprise. I don't know where this idea came from, but it was very clear and it felt very good.

Then, Valentine's Day itself started out fine. Almost everyone in the office wore red or pink, which was very pleasing. And I got a valentine from Courtney, with whom I don't even interact that much. But the highlight of the work portion of my day came when we were supposed to have a staff meeting, and instead we had a nice lunch/Valentine's party, courtesy of DeVida. It was yummy and exciting.

Throughout the day, I browsed online for activities and events happening in the evening, and I found this thing called Night of a Thousand Plays. Basically, it was many many little tiny plays (though not actually 1,000) all performed one after the other, by different groups of actors. I was kind of intrigued, though I had no idea whether this format would actually work for me. But they had a half price Valentine's Day special, and I decided to print out the coupon and see if I felt like going when it came time. Meanwhile, I was talking online to this man who had messaged me while I was messing around on Okcupid, with whom I had hit it off decently in our brief conversation... and I mentioned the show, and he seemed interested. So I invited him. And he said yes. Boom, Valentine's Day date. :) I was so surprised! We decided to meet for dinner and he gave me his number and his name (Swami, short for something really really long and Indian).

The plan we made was that I would go to the theater after work and try to pick up the tickets. I did, but the box office was not yet open. So I called him and we set a time to meet for dinner. Of course, there wasn't time to go home and change. Happily, I was wearing a new red skirt and nice shirt, but less happily, I was wearing my very very beat up and scuffed snow boots. I haven't bought new ones yet because I can get spendthrifty about shoes and clothes and I figured, hey, they're still workable. Which they are. But last night, I was suddenly very self-conscious and worried about them. So I found a shoe store, and went in. The cheapest shoes I found in there were over $100, and most were $300 or $400. Um, no. I'm even used to more high end shoes, or so I thought, because my foot is sometimes hard to fit. But PLEASE. What could they possible have done to a few pieces of nice leather or whatever to make it worth $300? NOTHING, at least not from where I and my bank account stand. So I got out of there, beginning to despair of my shoe changing plan... when I turned a corner and saw an Aerosoles shoe store! I went in, and found lovely little red suede boots, with tassels, in my size, for $30. So I bought them. And some tan trouser socks. And popped over to the McDonald's bathroom to change them, stuffing my mismatched cotton socks and scuffed up boots into the Aerosoles bag. Feeling new and spiffy, I hurried out to meet Swami by 6:30.

When I arrived at the appointed corner, at first I saw only an old man. But then I caught sight of a young man on the opposite side of the road, surveying everyone who passed. We ascertained our mutual identities and he came over to my side of the street. To my delight, he was handsome! He had dark, full, wavy hair and beautiful dark eyes with long eyelashes. He gave me a hug hello, which was interesting to me, because I had been debating between a hug and a handshake. We headed down the street to a little Italian restaurant right across from the theater, and got seats even though we didn't have a reservation. It was a really pretty, cozy place, and all the waitstaff were very friendly.

We talked throughout the meal about various things. He's really smart. I mean, he's about to get his PhD from Penn in physics (he'll be done in December) and he's only 25. Apparently in India he just had this really driven life and had to go go go all the time... and now that he's here, he's sort of sick of science and he doesn't really want to keep on with it as a career. He's more interested in the artistic arena, apparently, and tried many things before he settled on this improvisational jazz thing that he does. He plays percussion. But it's funny how I could notice his scientific training coming through in his way of perceiving and noticing things. For example, there was a candle on our table, and we were watching the light come through the candleholder and splinter into little points on the tabletop. And suddenly he tells me that he did a project on why light does that in just that way. It was kind of fascinating. He also told me that he loved to play with fire as a child and he has little scars on his hands from it. Which sounds like he's way more edgy than he mostly seemed, and I'd almost forgotten that until I wrote it down here.

We also talked about adjusting to a new culture, and movies... he asked if I thought he should see Brokeback Mountain, and of course I responded enthusiastically in the affirmative, and then that led to an interesting discussion of how he has trouble connecting emotionally to gay stories. He basically said that he can understand and accept it intellectually, but emotionally he hasn't made that connection. So... I tried to indicate how connected I am to such matters without exactly saying "some of my best friends are gay." Though that's basically what I said, because even though it sounds silly, it's absolutely true. And he hastily assured me that he lived in an "artists' house" and that most of the time when they had parties there were gay people making out all over the place... though it didn't seem he was entirely comfortable with this. Yet, he could hardly be entirely uncomfortable or he wouldn't have brought up Brokeback Mountain, I suppose. Anyway, we had a pretty lively talk about the movie, and how I really thought he should see it because I think it's ideal for making exactly that emotional connection. He expressed some skepticism about "Oscar movies" in general, which I found a bit pretentious, but you can't win 'em all, right? This discussion led me to ask about cultural differences in this area of thought between India and the US, and he said that, because men and women were mostly kept apart until marriage, the bonds between male friends there are much more at the level of intimacy that is expected between female friends here. I think this is really interesting, though it makes me wonder if he had much contact with women his own age before coming here.

We also talked quite a bit about the intellect, and what kind of importance it has to us, or has had in the past... he said that for his whole life he has been so focused on the intellect as the paramount thing, but now he realizes that it is not the most important thing, and he really wants to branch out and explore other parts of himself. It's funny, because he's obviously excellent in an academic environment, but I got this strong sense of him being, more than anything, sick of it. I told him about my decision to take time off after Bryn Mawr. I think, in a lot of ways, he's in a similar mental place now as I was then, even though he's light years ahead in terms of the schooling he has finished. Although from how he speaks, his work in physics is never going to be his life commitment, or even his job beyond a few money making years. He said something about wanting to work for a few years and save up money to do something else, like open a restaurant. That surprised me, since he also said he didn't like/know how to cook. So I don't know what's up with that. Really, it seemed like his real love was this percussion/improvisation/free jazz thing. I find this kind of fascinating, because I can see that trait in him (starting with the fact that he was often drumming with his fingers and working out a rhythm in pauses in conversation, especially in the theater and once we were out of the restaurant). According to him, he just decided that science was not his thing (which continues to astonish me, given how far he's going with it), and that he wished to engage artisticially. He then tried writing and painting, among other things, and finally hit on his affinity for music. Maybe this is baffling to me because I had my strongest affinities from a very young age... the first thing I was going to be was an actress who writes her own plays. And, the way Swami tells it, he was all science science science, and then one day decided art was it for him, instead. It's a very different sort of experience.

He asked me lots of questions, but I think I did the same. There were a few awkward pauses, but less than you might expect for two total strangers. Overall, I really enjoyed it. He was an interesting combination of being rather shy-seeming and a little deferent (sp??) on the one hand, and being sort of suddenly extremely committed to his opinion (the Oscar movie thing, for example). And dinner was quite excellent. I had lobster ravioli, and he had some kind of other seafood/pasta dish. Oh, this was kind of odd- at the beginning of the meal, when we were looking at the menus, I asked him if he wanted to get wine. He responded right away by saying he didn't drink. I said ok. Then he said I could get it if I wanted to, of course. Then he said he would have wine if I picked one for him that wasn't too strong. He said he was happy to try things but he didn't like them too strong. So I picked cabernet sauvingnon for myself, and then asked the waitress if she had a suggestion for a sweeter, less dry wine. She seemed very confused about what I was asking, for some reason, and finally pointed one out that said "dry" in the description. So I had no idea what was going on there, and I decided to order him chardonnay, since I find that sweet and in general white is sweeter and more palatable to less enthusiastic wine drinkers than red. I don't know if he liked it. He ate like a bird... only about half his entree (I find many restaurant entrees big, but this was just the right size, to me) and maybe half of his wine. I polished off my whole entree and my whole glass of wine, which, just to give you a picture, came in a glass the size of my head. I mean, it was not full, of course. But his came in this tiny, delicate wine glass. I know it's something I would understand if I knew more about wine, but it was odd. I had the briefest moment of being insecure about my dramatically larger appetite, but it passed quickly. I was hungry, and I decided to be ok with that. :-) I think it was interesting (word of the day, sorry), too, that were had this sort of odd back and forth in who took what kind of role in the evening. I mean, I invited him, made the plans, ordered his wine, and paid for his theater ticket. He, on the other hand, carried my shopping bag, paid for dinner, stood on the bus behind me instead of sitting somewhere else, and initiated all of the (awkwardly executed yet warm and pleasant) cuddling that took place during the play. So I don't know. I probably wouldn't be this obsessed with it if I didn't worry a little that he will suddenly turn into a real partriarchal type. Or, to be honest, that the cultural differences between us mean that he has expectations of women of which I'm fundamentally unaware. Well, who knows, I guess.

By the end of our dinner he'd expressed interest in my theological leanings (I told him about applying to grad school), and we discussed my thesis briefly. He latched onto the idea and said he could tell me about parallel situations in Indian religion and mythology. I'm super excited about that. I tried to explain it carefully and well, without assuming that he had or didn't have a base knowledge about Christianity. I can't wait to see what ideas he has about it...

Anyway, we finished up our dinner, and headed out. The waitress came running after me to give me a rose, which apparently she was supposed to bring to the table! I was thrilled! A pretty red rose, just for me, just because it was Valentine's Day and I was a woman and there. :-) Though I've also been thinking lately how men must sometimes feel less special than women, overall. I mean, I won't say that women don't still get the raw end of the deal, because we do, and I would trade being coddled for being powerful any day... but still. On Lost, there was this part with two men talking about the possible destruction of an Iraqi village in the first Gulf War. And the one said to the other, think of everyone who will be killed. Innocent women, children. And I thought, what about innocent men? What does it say that men are consistently told that women are somehow more "precious" than they are? I'm not saying I don't understand the concept of "women and children first," or whatever, but just as it is destructive to women to assume that we are inherantly sweet and innocent, it is destructive to men to assume that they are inherantly not, or that women have some kind of uncorrupted innocence/worth that men must seek to protect even at the expense of themselves, because men are powerful, and therefore not innocent. My dad said that as a kid he hated hearing that girls were "sugar and spice and everything nice" and boys were "snakes and snails and puppy dog's tails." He didn't understand why he didn't get to be nice things, too. Bah, the whole dualistic hierarchical gender system hurts everybody!

But that was a loooooong soapboxy tangent. I was delighted with my rose. Let's go back to that. ;-) We went to the show, and I insisted on paying for his ticket (it was, after all, still much less than the meal). It was at the Adrienne, in this space called the Playground, which was a really nice little theater. I wanted to sit front and center, and he was startlingly adamant about sitting back (and side, which I thought would be the worst view), and we agreed at last to sit back and center. I wasn't sure why this was such an important thing to him, like, we were looking around and i was like, well, we could sit up front, and he was like, no. Back. It was odd. Aggressive reticence? I don't know.

The play was good. I know if you've made it this far you probably are getting a little overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information in this post, but it was, and I feel I should say something about it, too, not just my date. For the first couple of little three minute (or so) bits, I wasn't sure if it would be good. Then either I wrapped my head around the format or they hit their stride or both. There was one that was basically ruined because for some reason one of the young women was on book, which was utterly distracting for us, for her, and for the other actors. And there were a bunch that fell flat. But there were also wonderfully hilarious ones, especially as the evening wore on. There was one that reminded me a lot of Dilexi, in a way! It started with this coffee barista trying to sell coffee to a rushed man. The man kept asking for something plain, and she would offer him a ridiculously complicated list of choices. It seemed a funny, if ordinary set-up. But then, the man remained calm, and the barista got all crazy, saying that he couldn't win, and the way the sketch had to go was that she kept offering him all these pointless choices until he became overwhelmed and collapsed to the ground. And then another woman came in and she and the man started flirting, and exchanged names, and the barista was freaking out because they weren't supposed to be able to do any of this... well, it was funny and exciting. The best one, hands down, was this one about a really reserved, precise man who got into a totally unexpected sexual situation... i was so funny and so well acted. There were also a couple of songs done by this guy who apparently was the musical director of Hedwig and the Angry Inch. I don't know where, but they seemed pretty proud of this, so maybe it was the original production. Anyway, he was very good.

And, true to his proclivities, I guess, it was during the musical numbers that Swami started snuggling up to me. As I said before, most of this was done rather oddly and awkwardly, but... I find him attractive, so it was nonetheless quite pleasant and I didn't mind. Though there was one moment where for some reason he started stroking my throat quite a bit, and that got weird, so I guided his hand away. But generally, aside from the awkward and abrupt way in which he intiated most of our contact, it was very gentle and nice and exploring, without being too much or going to the wrong places. And he smelled really good. ;-)

After the show we waited for the bus together, having discovered we live about three blocks apart! This got a bit long, and was the part of the evening where I was most aware of not being sure of what to talk about. But we finally got on the bus, and he stood behind me as aforementioned, and pet my head from time to time, and told me a bit about his family and also his taste in ice cream. Oh, yes, this is also when I though he was telling me something more about his grandmother's education, and I said "Wow" with a big smile, and then realized he was telling me that his grandmother had died. Whoops. That was my most awkward moment of the night. But we got over that, and when he left he bent and kissed my forehead before getting off, and we made plans to get together again sometime next week.

I was a happy camper coming home, and I put my rose in water and went online to tell people about my night... where I was promptly engaged in conversation by this other boy from Okcupid, and I found an email from a man who wanted a date for Margaret Garner (an opera I am so eager to see) saying that though he'd already gotten someone to go, I was really cute. And I still have to deal with Mark, who continues to call and email me though I haven't responded in a bit... (I know, it's not a good way to handle it. But I'm not used to this). I think that's the bottom line. This is all really great... but I'm not used to it! Apparently all of a sudden all I have to do for male attention is stretch out my hand... it's soooooooooo so so different from my previous experiences. Not that I'm complaining, but it's... weird. And I definitely want to see Swami again, but it all makes me a bit nervous as well. Like, I've gotten so used to being single I can hardly imagine what it would be like to be otherwise. Bah, I sound like I'm at least middle aged, and I'm not trying to be pretentious... but you know? It's true.

Ah, but all that aside, it was fun. It was fun fun fun and cozy and pleasant and I felt attractive and smart, even though he was definitely also attractive and probably smarter, or at least more educated. (God, at one point he was saying that he should learn a foreign language and I asked if he had studied any, and he was like, no, I just speak six Indian languages, completely serious, and I was l

Anyway, the whole thing left me grateful and happy: Grateful for my first "romantic" Valentine's Day, grateful for my truly wonderful friends and family, who are so central to my life, and grateful for the fact that I really, actually do enjoy my own company... and that I was willing to have a go at being lonely to figure that out.

:-) I wish you all the same sorts of experiences, in whatever way they work for you. And those of you who I know read this... I love you! Thank you for being in my life. It means the world.

Clearly, More Men Should Be Figure Skaters...

2006-02-16T23:45:00.000-08:00

Because they're beautiful and graceful and I love their outfits. Sexy and amazing yay.

:)

A Lively Little Hedgehog

2006-02-12T15:30:00.000-08:00

adopt your own virtual pet!

Eighth Book: The Manticore

2006-02-12T11:34:00.000-08:00

And the second book in the Robertson Davies trilogy beginning with Fifth Business. Given my ravings about that volume, you may will guess I enjoyed this one as well, and I certainly did. However, it took some getting used to, as I'd become so used to Dunstan Ramsay as the narrator that it took me some time to get 'round the voice of David Staunton. And it took a long time to like him, too, but not as long as I thought it did.

By which I mean that while I still thought I was quite uncertain about him, I think I was actually already really absorbed in his point of view. As I'm really eager to get on with the third book, I don't think I'll say a lot about it, but I think it's interesting and ironic that now I'm having... not a tough time with the new/old narrator, exactly, but I keep wondering what the heck happened to David. Seeing that it left off a bit precipitously.

As usual, the characters were strong and the writing was unwaveringly excellent. And here is the very very best quote of this (or perhaps any) book for you:

"Toad showed a tendency to shine up to me afterward, when we were having ice-cream and cake at the Ladies' Aid expense, but I was cold. When I have squeezed my orange, I throw it away; that was my attitude at the time."

Robertson Davies, I love you!

My Constant Comment's Phooey? A Complaint.

2006-02-12T02:40:00.000-08:00

Oh, fuck this. Oh, fuck this.

Namely being sick. I'm really really sick of being sick. I know a week isn't huge in the scheme of things, but I've had it up to here with the new and interesting variations on my symptoms that my body puts forth each day. And since 3 out of 4 participants in my life urge me to see a doctor, I figure I should probably see a doctor. Well, I know I should, it's gone on long enough and with a severity that is not normal for my colds. I just don't want to deal with my damned insurance and finding a time when I can actually go, which probably is never, or at least not til next Saturday.

I hate it. I really hate it. OW.

It makes everything more sucky than it would generally be, whether or not it would be sucky on its own. I want someone to carry me to a big feather bed, and stroke my hair and give me mint chocolate chip ice cream that also soothes and heals my throat on contact, and makes me stop coughing and stop hurting inside my head. I want storytelling and singing just for me, and maybe even Vicks VapoRub, or however the heck that's spelled. Most of all, I just want to feel rested and normal and fine again, in a consistent way, or for more than a couple of hours. And cared for and not like a prickly sick creature.

And I feel frustrated and overwhelmed and sort of colorless, but for all I know that's another symptom of this sickness thing. It certainly relates. And I'm lonely, and all the bits of my ears and mouth and throat and nose hurt, and ARGH.

Soon I will have another book post and that will be much pleasanter, for I am enjoying the book. But for now.... GRRRRRRRRRRRR. :( Love me and give me pleasant friendly things, says sick Becky. Even though I'm growling. Hold up my end of the conversation until I can talk normally again.

Hehe-- I could end with a song, too.

This is all very neat... this is all very smart! This had better be a goodbye, illness, this had better end in the blink of an eye! Don't feel responsible, after all, we're through. I'm not responsible! Hate me or need me, just make sure you feed me... This had better be a goodbye, illness, why, illness, try, illness, bend... This had better come to a, this this this this, this had better come to an end! This had better come to an end.

I don't know if that's quite right anymore, but in the real thing "illness" is mostly "Marvin." Anyway, trust Falsettos to make me feel a bit better. Except why do I have to go to the bathroom again? And why is my toilet stopped up?

Stupid stupid stupid boo. Thank you for listening to this message of disgruntlement. Goodnight.

Seventh Book: Radical Acceptance

2006-02-08T17:19:00.000-08:00

This book, found by my mother and written by Tara Brach, Ph.D., is very gentle and practical. I think she has a way of putting revolutionary things so that they seem very self evident. Or maybe she just has a way of revealing the self-evidentness of things that seem revolutionary. I really want to try her meditation practices, they seem very useful. I also wonder if I shouldn't endeavor to learn more about Vipassana meditation, this being the second time it's come up in the recent past. Instead of going on and on about this book, I want to give you a few quotes:

My beloved child,
Break your heart no longer.
Each time you judge yourself you break your own heart.
You stop feeding on the love which is the wellspring of your vitality.
The time has come, your time

To live, to celebrate and to see the goodness that you are...

Let no one, no thing, no idea or ideal obstruct you
If one comes, even in the name of "Truth" forgive it for its unknowing
Do not fight.
Let go.
And breathe--into the goodness that you are.

--Bapuji

Enough. These few words are enough.
If not these words, this breath.
If not this breath, this sitting here.

This opening to the life
we have refused
again and again
until now.

Until now.
--David Whyte

Here's a tough one, from my friend Rumi:

This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
Some momentary awareness
comes as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!...

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

--Rumi

And one last one I really like:

"Seeing pure awareness without engaging lovingly in our life is a daydream. Living in this relative world without vision is a nightmare."
--Japanese Proverb

Now there's something true.

An Old-Fashioned Journal Type Post, or Sickness and Then Some

2006-02-08T15:40:00.000-08:00

Well, I know y'all are getting sick of surveys and quizzes and whatnot... or maybe you prefer those, in which case hang on and I'll get back to that eventually. But I've had a weird couple of days, and a weird day today in particular, and I thought I'd write it down and see what I thought about it then.

The most pressing matter is that I've been sick. It started Sunday night (como siempre!) with a sore throat, but then I woke up sometime in the night freezing, just completely freezing, and with wildly aching legs. So I got up and took some medicine, and put on three pairs of pants and three sweatshirts, turned the heat up, and huddled under two blankets until I finally fell asleep.

Monday morning, as you might expect, was not the most fun time ever. I was feeling really determined to go to work, though, because we have a show this week, so I dragged myself there. But I was really spaced out the whole time, and really did next to nothing. Todd even came into my office and said to stay home on Tuesday if I felt horrible. So... I did. Even though Tuesday is opening night and I really wanted to be there. I decided I would sleep awhile and try to go in for the afternoon. I did; in fact, I rode the bus all the way there, and then felt so yucky and disoriented that I turned around and came right back. That was hard for me. I realized I feel inordinately insecure about my work. I never think I'm doing enough/a good enough job, and therefore I feel called upon to make up for it by extending myself whenever I get the opportunity to do so. It's really strange... I mean, a strange feeling. I think I became more aware of it because I was reading this book my mom got me called Radical Acceptance (book post to follow! :) ), which is basically about using Buddhist principles and meditation practices to open yourself to awareness and acceptance of everything you feel. So I was more conscious of what is going on beneath the surface, and I realized I just have this frantic feeling about work sometimes, like I'm going to be caught as a not-good employee and thrown out. Kind of like the feeling I used to have as a student, in fact. Or the feeling I sometimes have in my personal relationships, even, that if people know/understand such and such about me, or see that I feel this or that, they won't like me anymore. I also tend to think that sickness somehow says something bad about me... maybe because there have been times when I welcomed it so that I could rest. I think it's also because my mom used to get mad at me when I was sick, because she was frustrated at not being able to "fix" me.

It was fascinating, in this book, when the author talked about how all the feelings we hate about ourselves, all the petty things and the weird things and the jealousy (spelling?) and anger, aren't signs that we're spiritually deficient or missing the boat or something. It was a new idea for me to regard feelings in general as not "belonging to" or "becoming" me, but rather something experiential that I move through. Of course, then there's the whole "I" thing, the whole not having a self thing, which I have heard plenty of times, but I'm not sure I get it. Does it relate to the times when I have been looking at something, a very ordinary thing like my hands or whatever, and suddenly my perspective shifts, and there's a voice saying, "I'm alive," and it both is and isn't me? It used to happen to me fairly often as a child... less so now, but maybe different things happen now.

Anyway, so this morning as I was debating whether or not to get out of bed and go to work this morning, there was a moment of clarity when I realized there really was no right or wrong decision. It may sound simple, but it took a lot for me to see that! Or, it didn't really, it just happened. But it hadn't really happened in this matter before. So, I decided to stay home, and it felt very kind, to me. A kind thing to do for myself. I went back to sleep, and was awakened close to noon by a phone call from my dad.

I had been reminded yesterday of the CDs I made for him for his birthday, and called to ask if he'd gotten them, and he called to say he had, and he really liked them. And also to tell me that my grandma (his mom, will be 90 April 15th) is now in a nursing home and has dementia, and that my aunt Lisa (his sister, substantially younger than he, adopted from Korea) has had an operation on her spine for some kind of tumors. He also said that my aunt Susan (also adopted from Korea, and, I think, the youngest) is handling everything well, meeting with lawyers and everything. She's been taking care of my grandmother this whole time, in fact. It's amazing, because it would be for most people, I guess, but also because Susan is mentally ill. Also, his older brother Richard (12 years older, in fact) is having some trouble with his sciatic nerve. But apparently other than that he's ok.

And then he asked me if I wanted a laptop for grad school, which I think is incredibly generous of him. And then he had to get off the phone and get ready for work. (He works evenings, as a nurse's aide, and his floor is mostly patients with dementia.) So he did.

I feel confused about all of this information. I did actually hear a brief outline of it from my mom on the answering machine, before, but I just got all the details. I don't know what to think. I haven't really been close to my grandma in years, though I liked her very much as a child. I feel guilty that I didn't make more of an effort to stay close to her. And I wish I had more time to get her stories. I know she was an actress and a storyteller, like me. I know my father was very ambivalent about her, probably still is. He got the impression from her that a man was a bad thing to be, and that's a rather hard thing to put aside. And my aunt Lisa was always my favorite. When I was a child, she seemed like a dazzling personage. And last summer she was very kind to me when I needed a place to stay in NY. And this summer she came to see my play. But she seemed... different. Distractable. Ill. Old. On the phone, her voice sounded like my grandma's, actually.

Memories about each of them:

Grandma: She promised one year to take me to Wendy's for my birthday, but for some reason she couldn't. But for years she remembered that she owed me a trip to Wendy's. She got on well with my other grandma, and they did a big puzzle of the Smithsonian Christmas tree together. She sent me a tape about boxes tied with silver ribbon, and not dying with the music still in you. I often did not know how I was supposed to relate with her. She got me a beautiful nativity when I was small, piece by piece. She seemed to care a lot about making herself available to me, if I needed help or anything. I wondered if she was remembering her own life as a young woman, but I don't know. She came up for my graduations, from high school and college.

Aunt Lisa: She seemed like the coolest person ever. When we went down to Florida for my grandpa's funeral, she gave me an anklet. I treasured it and kept it on until it broke. She always wanted me to visit her in NYC by myself, but my mom said no. She was sort of wild and had boyfriends and was thin and pretty. She sent me pictures from Italy. I like her boyfriend now, Martin, and I hope he does well with all of this. She seemed less and less shiny every time I saw her, lately, but always kind to me.

Uncle Richard: He was sort of a little scary, and said things that hurt my feelings, like calling me slowpoke and laughing when I was nervous about the cows in the meadow, but I knew he liked me. He used to come up every year for the Fair, and I liked that. He would always get a shirt, and that's why I started to get them, too. He was big, and he would pick me up and say, "I know you. I know you." At the time I knew it was supposed to be special but I didn't know why. But the best story about Uncle Richard was how we went to Disney World together, and he was late coming out of the Mickey section, and we were waiting for him in the little train, and he came out all breathless and said that Mickey had called him back, and asked about me, and given him Mickey Mouse ears to give to me. That was the best. I felt so special.

Aunt Susan: I was a bit nervous around her for a long time, but very curious once I realized she was sick. She is a great artist, I mean truly excellent, but she hasn't done art in a long time. She grins and laughs and talks to herself, and engages in odd behavior around the house, but apparently she can keep it together in front of strangers. Once, they tried to have her in an institution and she escaped and walked home! It was a long way, too. She always calls me "Beck." Her Korean name was Rosanhi. I thought that was just beautiful and fascinating as a child, and I named a doll I had after her. I still think it's beautiful.

Well, that's all for now. That side of my family hasn't been very close for awhile, really. So, if you pray, say some prayers for the Fullans, and if not, just wish us all well.

Word Association for a Sick Day

2006-02-07T17:57:00.000-08:00

*word association. (165 words)*
word association.
You:	rock
person:	people
mouse:	rid
head:	heart
hard:	soft
star:	shine
Crime:	death
knife:	stab
cat:	mouse
Vision:	see
radio:	star
Zip:	code
Alphabet:	written
Oral:	exam
santa:	claus
number:	one!
light:	bulb
hell:	fire
genitals:	touch
vacuum:	empty
molecule:	one
Money:	open
blacelet:	bracelet?
neck:	cord
russain:	dressing
japan:	island
odour:	smell
internal:	organ
document:	paper
men:	mendosa
monster:	rar
dream:	float
negative:	no
half:	baked
function:	math
typo:	wrong
wonderful:	counselor
foreign:	other
lynx:	zoo
lodge:	cabin
salmon:	pink
amber:	flow
fire:	burn
Utah:	state
Canada:	up
Braces:	teeth
Metal:	shine
Rubber:	band
Elasticity:	pull
Zodiac:	symbol
order:	rifle
court:	order
tampon:	insert
french:	orange
toxicity:	fumes
bitch:	nasty
sandpaper:	rough
palm:	tree
pod:	split
pester:	bug
hex:	curse
formeldehyde:	taste
corrosion:	rust
stamina:	push
Length:	measure
london:	tall
lactose:	milk
sugar:	sweet
tolerance:	low
colour:	red
Mammoth:	big
valid:	feeling
love:	bird
heart:	song
skillet:	pan
skittles:	click
Aero:	bed
floor:	foot
bedroom:	door
flash:	lightning
flat:	tire
truck:	purple
thief:	night
blood:	red
story:	book
Jack:	beanstalk
revolting:	gag
pubic:	hair
symphony:	music
pants:	on
inside:	out
combustion:	boom
steam:	engine
sport:	old
ping:	pong
gold:	leaf
gnome:	burrow
store:	up
finger:	beckon
up:	down
church:	building
faerie:	land
brittish:	accent
wild boar:	tusks
pig:	oink
skirt:	short
behind:	you
boast:	brag
shaft:	harm
torment:	break
merge:	one
band:	arm
stem:	cell
leaf:	vein
cell:	membrane
red:	rose
shallow:	pool
ex:	lover
step:	son
poison:	gas
mind:	meld
kernel:	corn
KFC:	chicken
corn:	cob
cobweb:	spider
widow:	black
door:	knob
peel:	banana
speech:	bubble
eyeliner:	black
bench:	sit
stench:	nose
wrench:	pull
stitch:	sew
forbidden:	barred
castle:	wall
german:	forest
Nine:	lives
Morgue:	cold
Forgery:	fake
sister:	hood
Irritant:	eye
period:	mark
nod:	head
egg nogg:	thick
new:	old
whilst:	why
yesterday:	now
night:	day
lights off:	breath
turn on:	touch
snack:	food
fork:	lift
steal:	take
steel:	rod
rock:	roll
tears:	fall
sea:	shore
harry potter:	cape
seal:	me
loo:	toilet
master:	slave
women:	men
ALL DONE!:	yes?
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Play With My Pig (the 100th post!)

2006-02-06T17:50:00.000-08:00

Here is a pig. See, Lauren, I remembered! And I'm not embarrassed.

Please play with my little pig.

adopt your own virtual pet!

Sixth Book: The Memory of Running

2006-02-06T17:27:00.000-08:00

This one, by Ron McLarty, was lent to Rachel and me by Rachel's parents, both of whom read and loved it. I wondered if it would be good... it was, and engrossing enough that I read it all day, pretty much straight through. It reminded me of She's Come Undone and sometimes John Irving. I was fascinated by the depictions of family, insanity, honesty, and love. I was particularly engaged with Bethany, and the effect she had on her family. It made me think a lot about mental illness--specifically psychosis and schizophrenia-- as more than a defacto condition for certain people, which is the only way I have experienced it in my life. I did wonder why Smithy kept getting beaten up, though.

And I think I'm too tired and sick to say much more about this, except that it's a great read and I recommend it.

The Most Astonishing Description of Me Ever

2006-02-06T17:07:00.000-08:00

From a post by a lister apologizing for not recognizing me at an event she invited listers to:

Fast forward. 6:45 p.m., the church hall. People are coming in, and, by
way of giving up a comfort zone, I am extending myself to greet those I
know little or not at all. Suddenly I see a classically beautiful woman,
dressed with the poignant elegance of a young woman of style who is
nevertheless tenderhearted. Her face has a dark Sephardic beauty so
compelling that I have to look away. But I know I have spent several hours
in a group with her very recently; my eyes could not forget that aesthetic
high point. She must be a parishioner, of course. I hastily review my
past and conclude that she must have participated in a "share the graces"
session on Wednesday night as part of a week of prayer the parish sponsored
in January. I met several young women there whom I had not seen before.
Being committed (quite unnecessarily, as it turns out) to giving up looking
good, I asked her name. She said "Becky." I said a few friendly words and
gave a vague smile, hoping to conceal my indecent envy of her invincible
beauty.

!!!! I'm stunned and flattered and a bit embarrassed. I mean, obviously this is overstating things, perhaps for the case of a very nice writing style, but.... just the idea that I could make such an impression is enough to make me grin and blush. Mark should take a few lessons in email description from this (unbelievably) kind lady. On second thought, maybe not. And I probably would trust it less from somebody who was trying to date me. But anyway, uh... wow. If I were to describe my appearance in the ideal universe on my ideal day, I don't think it would come close to this praise. I also don't remember at all what I was wearing.

Well, I'll save this one for a rainy day, even though it could never be quite lived up to in real life! Thank you, lister friend!

First Response! Duke has returned!

2006-02-06T15:35:00.000-08:00

Wow, this was the last thing I was expecting to find in my inbox right now:

"I am writing to you to give you an update on the status of your application
to the English Department Graduate Program at Duke University. The first
thing you should know is that we (an Admissions Committee of six that
reaches out to the entire Graduate faculty) LOVE your application.
Unfortunately, we do not as of yet have a fellowship to offer you, so we
have done the only thing we can do in the interim. We have asked the
Graduate School to place you on its official "waitlist."

Let me explain a bit further. For the sake of basic democratic equity and
simple decency, the English Department at Duke does not admit anyone to its
Ph.D. Program without "full funding." This year we received 436
applications for a very few places, which means we are required to proceed
very carefully. But the limitation placed on us does not translate in any
way to our being "luke warm" on you--in fact, we would be delighted to have
you join us should that come to pass, and we apologize for making you wait.

One more thing, which involves formal procedures here at Duke. If our
request to place you on the Graduate School waitlist is approved, you will
automatically receive an email from the Graduate School. The Graduate
School's notification email is a legal document standardized across all
departments, and it is, for that reason, a bit formal, even cold. Sorry
about that!

In the meantime, please accept our congratulations on the great strength of
your file, and let's stay in contact. I will call soon, but don't hesitate
to email or call us first:"

What to think of this?? Is it good? Is it bad? Is it good and bad? I feel excited and disappointed and pleased and jittery. I guess it's good to know that if I do eventually get in I'll be fully funded...

I'm baffled! And nervous! And eager!

A Beautiful Picture

2006-02-03T16:49:00.000-08:00

I don't know if this is true of me or not... I don't think I'd describe myself as "fragile and delicate," though I like the stuff about strength and weakness. Anyway, I mostly just like the picture a lot.

Paper Lantern

Your inner light is a paper lantern. You are

fragile and delicate and you show people the

utmost respect. But, you lack confidence.

Just because you do not feel strong, doesnt

mean you are weak. Your feelings are your

most powerful weapon.

What's your inner light?
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Fifth Book: The Sunbird

2006-02-02T12:13:00.000-08:00

Or, why I love Elizabeth Wein.

Well, this is the latest book in the series that started with my beloved The Winter Prince. I had to work to get this one! Her books just disappear, and I don't know why, and it frustrates me so much, because they're so good and deserve to be on the shelf always, unless they have sold out to hoards of excited readers.

It's so discouraging!

But anyway, after checking back several times to see if The Sunbird was out in paperback yet, I placed an advance order. And lo and behold, it came almost at once! This book follows the adventures of Telemakos, Medraut's son, as he tries to prevent his home country, Askum (in what is now Eithiopia) from being destroyed by plague carried by smugglers. It was very, very good and engaging, and full of surprises. I was sucked in and couldn't stop reading. (I'm having very good luck with that lately. :) ) And there was quite a bit with Medraut and Goewin, old friends. Well, let's not dissemble, I'm quite in love with Medraut. And I have to admit that however good the following books are (and they are) nothing can quite rival The Winter Prince for me. It's simply a masterpiece. And I think I am always hoping Medraut will come back and narrate again, even though I understand why he hasn't.

But anyway, to the book at hand. I was definitely very engaged by the intriguing plot and the many fascinating characters, especially people like Sofya who really developed for me for the first time I was also really quite captivated by Telemakos, who is a very immediate and engaging character, and I am really interested in the fact that not only does he remind me of Medraut, his father, and Goewin, his aunt... but also, and strongly, of Lleu. The shadowy role that Lleu plays in this story, especially in the relationships between Medraut and Goewin and Medraut and Telemakos, was as fascinating to me as the exciting plot. It seemed very real, just as the combined inheritance of Telemakos, in terms of what he is like, seemed very real. It does make me have more questions about his mother, Turunesh, though, especially with the revelation at the end of the book (trying not to give anything away!)... I feel like I have a sense of her, but I don't know her well, and I certainly don't know very much about her relationship with Medraut, and only a little more about her relationship with Telemakos... or, maybe it's just that I find it interesting that Telemakos looks so strongly to Goewin and Medraut, but less to his mother. Perhaps in books to come I will learn more about her...

There was one scene that struck a bit of a false note with me, and I don't know why, because I understood all the things happening in the scene, and I agreed with the general emotional result this would produce, and I even was on board with what happened afterwards, but... I think it was the way Goewin fell apart, maybe, or the fact that too many people fell apart... I'm not sure. This is the courtroom scene, again not to give too much away for future readers. Anyway, I'd be curious to talk with these mythical future readers about this as well.

Overall, the book was excellent. And everyone should please buy books by Elizabeth E. Wein, especially The Winter Prince, which apparently is in danger of going out of print again, or perhaps already has. It's worth it. She's a wonderful writer.

A Prize!

2006-02-01T17:42:00.000-08:00

For Rachel and Katie, winners of that long ago contest. Totally unedited, and may not make any sense if you don't know these characters already. Or at least be unsatisfying. But anyway, no more caveats, here it is. Oh, except one, and I will take other precautions re. this... I'm always really paranoid about posting my work online... it's mine, the characters are mine, I made them up and/or have permission to use them, and so keep your hands off, all you random bitches who are coming around to steal my shit. Ahem. Thank you for putting up with my paranoia.

So, this isn’t how I met him, but this is how I knew I was in love. I didn’t know that I knew at the time, but later, I knew that that was when I would have known, if I’d been paying attention and not just fucking around. And do you know? It was before we ever had sex. Which is good, because if we’d just stumbled into sex I’d have been totally blindsided. Every time he gets an award for his work or some kind of honor or whatever I want to stand up and yell, and the best lay on the whole fucking island. I would say planet, but that might embarrass him a little. And overstate my sluttiness, which, while considerable, does not encompass the entire earth.

God, the sex is so good. One time, before the virus obviously, he had just finished some big deal article for one of those journals with the impossibly long names. And we were fooling around on the floor in the kitchen in his tiny apartment. He’d gone in to get some wine glasses and I followed him, and we ended up knocking over one of the glasses—before we started playing, actually, just, you know, normal slippage, and then we got carried away and I ended up with my legs around his waist and my head pressed against the wall, uncomfortably, staring at the oven. But it was incredibly hot, and I was picking bits of glass out of my back for days.

You know, I’ve said I’m a masochist, but that’s not really true. I just like to be taken care of. Swept off my feet. Sometimes I get that mixed up with pain. It’s a little embarrassing, the whole thing. But whatever, my lover reads romance novels, and he’s a fucking Ph.D. So we’re well matched or something. I’m not entirely comfortable with that side of myself. I just pretend to be. You’ll see that in a lot of maricones like me.

Right, but I was talking about being in love. It was… well, here is where I get confused, maybe our third or fourth date. I mean, the first sure wasn’t anything to make you fall in love, unless you get off on car accidents and hysterical boys. Boy, singular, man I guess, but I was hardly ready to think of myself that way. Besides, boys could be a bit more flitting and fey, and men… men were part of that strange class of creatures who could set your throat pulsing when they moved so carelessly from the locker room to their shiny manly cars, hair and skin all damp with sweat. I wanted to be a sponge, to soak it up and remain blameless. But to name myself as one of them would tip the scales, send me tumbling into some other class of being from which I could never return. I remember sobbing in the shower the day I graduated from high school, because everyone kept calling me young man, saying I was growing into a fine young man, things like that. And I wasn’t.

Boys could be fucked, but men did the fucking. Men did the choosing, boys could wait, and dally, and let things happen to them, let everything pass over them like clouds in a blue sky. You would think I’d have done a lot of pot, given my basic desire for a spacey state of mind, but I was afraid of drugs in high school. Reefer madness and all of that. I could see the red animal with small sharp claws under my skin, and I danced attendance on everything that would keep him at bay. I was afraid of everything, really, and the day I graduated from high school I was breathing in the steam and the soap and the tears until my head pounded and my fifteen year-old sister came into the bathroom without knocking and started to put on her makeup, and said, Jesus fuck in the fucking arsehole, David, you’re such a bloody fucking dishrag, why don’t you mop yourself the fuck up? She was going through an extremely profane phase at the time, which seemed to correspond with her extremely cruel phase, and preceded her extremely loud and yet romantic phase, which was a direct segue into her extremely drunk phase… but I digress.

I guess the point is that once I got out in the world, I realized you could stay a boy for as long as you wanted; there were always men ready to fuck you and ask no questions. And a little part of myself kept floating above it all, a balloon on a string, never quite part of the world of the me who went about interacting with things, just tethered a little by the red animal portion of myself.

Of course, I didn’t think of it that way at the time. I figured I was basically happy. I figured that happiness was like that, interspersed with inexplicable nervousness and uncontrollable tears. You just factored those things out.

On our third (or maybe fourth) date, I decided to take Andrew to a bar. Sort of a bar/club/gay dive, basically. We’d done the movies, and a cute little jazz show, but I was nervous because he hadn’t decided to fuck me yet, and I figured I’d get him buzzed and see what happened. That and I liked to dance. I wasn’t completely an insecure asshole. It was quiet there that night, fewer people than usual on the dance floor, and I was a bit uncomfortable with that. Andrew, for his part, was a bit uncomfortable with the whole scene. I mean, he hid it well. But he was quiet. I don’t know how I knew his bad-quiet from his good-quiet even then, but I did. He wasn’t drinking, either, so I followed suit. It felt very awkward. More so than our other dates, even the initial catastrophe.

After awhile Andrew went to the bathroom, and I waited for him so long I began to think he’d definitely scampered out the window, like people you read about or see in sitcoms, trying to escape their Very Bad Dates, and I was starting to get nervous and even a little mad—I didn’t think I’d done anything that horrible. You’ll think this is ridiculous, I guess, but it was at least ten minutes he was gone. And that was after I’d started to check my watch. I suppose I should have gone in and checked on him, but I kept thinking he’d come out any second and I wouldn’t have to make an ass of myself. So, anyway, finally he appeared, and he had this very strange expression on his face.

The thing about Andrew, I guess, is that he has a tendency to look sort of dreamy. I mean, his hair and eyes are rather soft to begin with, and if you’re not really paying attention, I can see how it would be easy to just sort of conclude, absent-minded professor, you know, and move on from there. But if you do happen to pay attention, you realize that the dreaminess actually comes from this focus that’s just utterly formidable. That he’s taking things in and processing them and giving them back at a level that’s probably well beyond you, no offense. It certainly is beyond me. And sometimes the dreamy fog-curtain of his outside thoughts just kind of peels away, and you’re left with his sharp, unvarnished interest. It’s a bit shocking. Like… lemon, or a deep-pore cleanser. Thank God he’s into religion, you know, and not, I don’t know, something black and white. He has a gentleness that he retains, even when he’s just chewed up whatever your argument was and spat out the bones.

Anyway, my point is, that as he came out of the bathroom and rejoined me at the bar, I saw that not-dreamy, not-veiled face of his for the very first time. It was like… well, I don’t know, I don’t want to get too dramatic. But I wasn’t expecting that kind of light in him. It’s like he had some kind of special hidden radiance he had suddenly let out… I don’t think he knew it. I don’t think he saw it. He seemed troubled when he came over to me, upset.

“Hey,” I said. I smiled, all sideways and crooked. I was trying not to run my hand over his arm to see if I could find the bottom of that glow against his skin.

“Hey. Um. Sorry I took so long. That was weird.” He let out a breath, and smiled back at me, looking nervous. “There was a weird guy in there; he sort of hit on me or something, I don’t really…”

I wasn’t sure what to say about that. Some guy in the bathroom hits on him, and he comes back to me all lit up? It looked not so good for me.

“Oh… was he hot?” I laughed. It sounded like my stupid sister’s laugh. Andrew’s eyes focused on me, looking mildly surprised.

“Sure. Yeah, he was.” Apparently this was the last thing that Andrew had considered. Apparently I was a bizarre, idiotic, horny prick.

“Oh.”

“He was… he seemed to have been sweating. He’d taken his t-shirt off and was wiping his face with it when I came in. It was white, the t-shirt, or it had been once. He was rather tanned.”

I bit my lips to keep from giggling inanely. What was this, some kind of porno set up or what? Maybe handsome, studious Andrew was actually a raging kinkster.

“But he was wearing a scarf,” Andrew continued, oblivious to my squirming. “I mean, like a muffler. A big knit one, made of this fuzzy gray yarn. It seemed completely… out of place. And it was torn, on the end. And he didn’t smell good. I sort of hate that, when people don’t smell good, because you know you should just ignore it, but you don’t. I don’t. I have a lot of trouble with that. Well, anyhow, he was obviously sort of agitated, and I didn’t want to stare at him, or whatever, so I just sort of went over to the urinal and tried to mind my own business. And the next thing I know he puts his hand on my back. I mean, actually on my back, not my ass or something, but still, I was very startled and I sort of whipped around, and he said, sorry.

“He had a really interesting voice. Low and a little rough, but not too rough. He swallowed, and he seemed to be hesitating about something. I was… frightened, but less frightened than I figured I ought to be.”

“Jesus,” I said. “He musta been on drugs.”

“Maybe,” Andrew said, slow and considering. He takes so little for granted. He spread his fingers out on the bar, looked at them, drummed them there.

“Well, what happened?” I said at last.

“He said, ‘Did you lose these?’ and he holds out my glasses that I must’ve lost, I don’t know, two months ago, certainly not here, and one of the lenses is broken and the side is bent, but they’re definitely mine…”

“Let me see,” I demanded, as though I had any idea about his missing glasses.

“Well,” he said, looking embarrassed, “I didn’t take them.”

“What?”

“I said they weren’t mine. I was freaked out, you know? Some weird guy handing me my glasses out of the blue sky in the middle of the washroom? I don’t know if he’s a stalker or some weird homeless prophet or what.”

“Oh.” He looked so nervous at this revelation that I touched his hand. “It’s ok, it does sound pretty fucked up. I bet I wouldn’t have talked to him at all. Unless he was really hot.”

Andrew smiled. “Well, so he tucked the glasses back in his pants pocket and watched me wash my hands, and then he was rooting around in his pocket again and I was really scared he was going to pull out my stuffed duck from when I was a kid, or something, and sort of hoping he would, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when he asked if I minded if he smoked… and I said yes. Which I think startled him, because after all you can smoke everywhere in the bar. But I figure, why ask the question if you won’t take yes for an answer, right?”

I laughed. “Gutsy,” I said.

“He took out a cigarette and passed it between his fingers, but didn’t light up. I would’ve thought he was being challenging, or something, but he just seemed curious. Somehow the smell wasn’t so bad now, either. I dried my hands and figured I should leave, but the whole thing seemed unfinished. I turned to leave anyway. After all, this isn’t a fairy tale, right? So I was heading out of there and I felt him touch my elbow again.

“ ‘You dropped this,’ he said ‘Anyway, I don’t like poetry.’” And he gave me this grimy, folded up piece of paper, and I took it, because I didn’t know what else to do.”

I waited expectantly, but Andrew was looking at the bar again. “Geez, what was on it?”

He looked up at me, with that sudden, unexpected clarity. “I don’t know. I wanted you to read it with me.”

“Why?” I said.

“You know, I don’t know,” he answered, and I figured I could trust him, because he wasn’t just being romantic, he was real and strange and talked to strangers and didn’t like cigarettes and saved things just because. “It just seems like it’s your story too.” And he took my hand and we walked out of the bar right then, really, and I couldn’t stop smiling. We read the paper under a street lamp, and this is what it said:

man like a blade of grass in sunlight

boy are looks ever

deceiving, he’s the moon

man.

he’s the moon man,

after all.

I didn’t get it then, and I don’t get it now, except that it produced such a longing in me, such a stupid longing, maybe it was just waiting to come out, waiting for something incomprehensible it could wrap itself around. And I looked at Andrew and I knew he understood, and we joked about how dumb it was to write incomprehensible poetry. And we made out for awhile and he took me home.

I stayed awake all night, and in the morning I called him and I said I wanted to sleep with him right away. And he didn’t laugh at me, but he made me wait until he went to all three of his graduate seminars.

It was great! Well, probably it was horrible and clumsy, and I thought it was great. But after all, I was in love already.

Fourth Book: Fifth Business

2006-01-31T18:13:00.000-08:00

That title is so neat that I must almost surrender my regret at not having read more this month. And I think this is a fitting book to end the month on, too. Fifth Business by Robertson Davies. Absolutely my favorite book of the year so far. It's so good. I can't believe it ended where it did. Katie, please give me more right away.

It came to me in a rather circuitous fashion, as Katie registered it on book crossing, and also said there that she was passing it on to me by way of Rachel. However, Rachel forgot about it, and I did not know that she had done so until I read it in her book crossing information. I was immediately excited. While I don't remember many of the details of the Cornish trilogy of Davies' which Katie and I read freshman year as part of the Arthur class, I do remember the overall feeling of the books, and my sense every time I come across that big volume I have of all three that it is something wonderful. I also remember some weird erotic scene involving jam. I'm sure there's more I have tucked away in my brain related to those books than that, but it sort of jumped out at me just now. Oh, anyway, I was rooting around on Rachel's floor looking for the plug to this very computer, in fact, and in the course of finding it I located the elusive Fifth Business.

Hooray! It is so, so good! Very intelligent without being inaccessible, and very eventful and colorful without being unpleasantly lurid. Robertson Davies is just... great. One of those writers whose so consistently and truly excellent that I just am full of delight and sort of awed hope that someday I could write that way, perhaps... I don't know, but it's a hope.

The characters are so consistently detailed and interesting and great. Dunstable/Dunstan was a very engaging narrator, and all the supporting characters were fascinating and I just loved the cosmology he was building... this sort of practical, psychological mysticism... well, it was fascinating, as I said. And the plot was supremely engaging and great and made me gasp and laugh and occasionally speak aloud to the book. It was so exciting and..surprising, every time I thought I knew where it was going it went somewhere else entirely, without seeming at all ridiculous. I was especially interested in the idea of rebirth, and the whole fifth business idea, and the way in which his ideas and worldview grew and changed over time. I think in his very narration Dunstable illustrates the points he makes about how we do and don't change from childhood to adulthood and so on. I think I will need to read it again sometime, actually, because there are ideas and plot points I would like to revisit at another time.

But now the president is about to give his state of the union, so perhaps I should cut this short. There are some quotes I want to put in, and other things to discuss, but I'll either make another post or add to this one later.

'Ware the Bovine Intruders!

2006-01-31T17:00:00.000-08:00

Cow Dodger
You scored 100 Cow Dodger!

Congratulations. You dodged the cow. However the fight will continue
between man & cow. Never let your guard down and never let youself
be taking in by their devilishly striking good looks.

My test tracked 1 variable How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 75% on Cow Dodger

Link: The Rampaging Cow Test written by Dirty_Hamster on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the 32-Type Dating Test