Cain On a Fucking Stick.

Really Long Survey (over 200)
What is your name?:	Rebecca Lynne Just Realized Maybe I Shouldn't Put My Full Name in My Blog
Are you named after anyone?:	No... Sort of my mother, I guess, because she's Linda. Sort of my father because he's Just Realized Maybe I Shouldn't Put My Full Name in My Blog? *chuckles*
What's your screename?:	BeckyF342
Would you name a child of yours after you?:	Probably not directly, or as a first name.
If you were born a member of the opposite sex what would your name be?:	According to my preferences? Peter, since it is my confirmation name. According to what my mom and dad planned? I think Andrew or Nathan. I like Andrew better, I think.
If you could switch names with a friend who would it be?:	Jesus Christ.
Are there any mispronounciations/typos that ppl do w/ your name constantly?:	Not constantly. Once I was Rebecca Fawn in a mailing.
Would you drop your last name if you became famous?:	No! I would sound silly.
Basics
Your gender::	Female
Straight/Gay/Bi::	Basically straight, but since I just had a whole revelation about how the entire system of sexual labeling is in fact a service to the patriarchy, I feel compelled to object.
Single?:	Multiple! But not dating, if that's what you mean.
If not, do you want to be?:	But I am.
Birthdate::	4/20/82. Not 3/20/82.
Your age::	23
Age you act::	God, I don't know.
Age you wish you were::	God, I don't know.
Your height::	5'2"
Eye color::	Dark brown.
Happy with it?:	Ecstatic.
Hair color::	Dark brown.
Happy with it?:	Desperately un, but my religion forbids hair dye
Lefty/righty/ambidextrous::	Righty. If that really requires an y.
Your living arrangement::	I don't believe in an arranged life.
Your family::	What about it? I love them; they're crazy?
Have any pets?:	No living ones.
Whats your job?:	Finding missing apostrophes all over the internet and pointing it out.
Piercings?:	Ears.
Tattoos?:	Ears.
Obsessions?:	Ears.
Addictions?:	Ears.
Do you speak another language?:	Spanish.
Have a favorite quote?:	START WEARING PURPLE FOR ME NOW!
Do you have a webpage?:	Where you are if you're reading this, and www.uncutpages.org
Deep Thoughts About Life and You in it
Do you live in the moment?:	Of course. I just keep forgetting.
Do you consider yourself tolerant of others?:	Never.
Do you have any secrets?:	I always have secrets.
Do you hate yourself?:	That's an awfully dramatic way of putting it. Let's just say mildly detest.
Do you like your handwriting?:	That's an awfully dramatic way of putting it.
Do you have any bad habits?:	Never.
What is the compliment you get from most people?:	You are the most intelligent and stunning person I have ever met. Please come to bed with me at once, and afterwards talk about all things in life.
If a movie was made about your life, what would it be called?:	Deep Thoughts about Life and You in it
What's your biggest fear?:	Hippodick. Wait, I thought it said favorite swear word, but that will do.
Can you sing?:	Never.
Do you ever pretend to be someone else just to look cool?:	Not JUST to look cool. Also to gain prestige and sexual partners.
Are you a loner?:	In fact, I am alone now.
What are your #1 priorities in life?:	Ears.
If you were another person, would you be friends with you?:	Not JUST to look cool. Also to gain prestige and sexual partners.
Are you a daredevil?:	Not JUST to look cool... ok, I'll stop.
Is there anything you fear or hate about yourself?:	You mean the whole demonic possession thing? I've basically accepted it.
Are you passive or agressive?:	Best of both worlds!
Do you have a journal?:	I have.
What is your greatest strength and weakness?:	Profound. Are they in fact always the same? In any case, ears.
If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?:	Sexier ears.
Do you think you are emotionally strong?:	In fact, I have a psyche of steel.
Is there anything you regret doing/not doing in life?:	Yes. Both, at the same time.
Do you think life has been good so far?:	No life is good except your father in heaven. Wait, doesn't work.
What is the most important lesson you've learned from life?:	Take care of your ears, and they will not fall off due to frostbite.
What do you like the most about your body?:	Elbows.
And least?:	Belly button.
Do you think you are good looking?:	You should see my fucking elbows.
Are you confident?:	With these elbows?
What is the fictional character you are most like?:	A sort of combination of Jay Gatsby, Boo Radley, and Catherine Earnshaw. Duh.
Are you perceived wrongly?:	Not JUST to look cool. Also to gain prestige and sexual partners. Sorry, I lied before.
Do You...
Smoke?:	When burning with passion.
Do drugs?:	Why is it "do" drugs?
Read the newspaper?:	When burning with passion.
Pray?:	When burning with extra passion.
Go to church?:	Why is it "go" to church?
Talk to strangers who IM you?:	And lie outrageously. I know... you wouldn't think I had it in me.
Sleep with stuffed animals?:	It's better than drinking alone.
Take walks in the rain?:	It's better than drinking alone.
Talk to people even though you hate them?:	I do hate people, and therefore I eshew verbal communication whenever possible.
Drive?:	I like to think I have drive.
Like to drive fast?:	Well, the one time I tried it, it was fun.
Would or Have You Ever?
Liked your voice?:	Never, and therefore I eshew verbal communication whenever possible.
Hurt yourself?:	When burning with passion. The burning, mostly.
Been out of the country?:	Never been in it.
Eaten something that made other people sick?:	Yes. I have carefully built up a tolerance to all known poisons. It was a grand state dinner last fall.
Been in love?:	Is that the opposite of the country?
Done drugs?:	Let's not get redundant, here.
Gone skinny dipping?:	Not JUST to look cool... hehe, you know the rest.
Had a medical emergency?:	In fact, I am currently having a medical emergency. Never mix burning and arsenic.
Had surgery?:	NEVER mix burning and arsenic. NEVER.
Ran away from home?:	Walked. Slowly. If you run, they will shoot.
Played strip poker?:	I won, too.
Gotten beaten up?:	Sex with Klingons is like that.
Beaten someone up?:	Sex with Klingons is like that.
Been picked on?:	Sex with Klingons is like that.
Been on stage?:	You've been talking to Charlotte, haven't you. DON'T believe her. I HATE PLAYS!
Slept outdoors?:	In a blizzard. Luckily, I was having sex with a Klingon at the time. #1 for body heat production.
Thought about suicide?:	Sex with Klingons is like that.
Pulled an all nighter?:	And it pulled back.
If yes, what is your record?:	The Original Cast Recording of Brigadoon.
Gone one day without food?:	It's better than sex with Klingons. And drinking alone.
Talked on the phone all night?:	Talked to the phone all night. I was very lonely.
Slept together with the opposite sex w/o actually having sex?:	Impossible.
Slept all day?:	Impossible.
Killed someone?:	That would be one of those secrets. Let's just say I am no stranger to the mark of Cain.
Made out with a stranger?:	Made off with a stranger.
Had sex with a stranger?:	You think I have a lot of Klingon buddies, or something?
Thought you're going crazy?:	I've heard that only sane people think they are going crazy, because crazy people believe they are sane. Yet I persist in thinking that I am going crazy. Which may be proof.
Kissed the same sex?:	I'm not sure I've kissed sex at all.
Done anything sexual with the same sex?:	You didn't think I meant a male Klingon, did you? At least not the first time.
Been betrayed?:	One doesn't carefully build up a tolerance to all known poisons for one's health, does one? That didn't come out right. Yes.
Had a dream that came true?:	In an abstract Kinder Egg way.
Broken the law?:	Shattered it, and walked barefoot over the pieces.
Met a famous person?:	Let's just say I am no stranger to the mark of Cain.
Have you ever killed an animal by accident?:	Not by accident.
On purpose?:	Oh, I got ahead of myself there.
Told a secret you swore you wouldn't tell?:	Not by accident.
Stolen anything?:	Only livers. Wait--hearts--was thinking in Chinese again.
Been on radio/tv?:	Radiotv is my favorite place to be.
Been in a mosh-pit?:	Sex with Klingons is like that.
Had a nervous breakdown?:	Have you been reading this carefully?
Bungee jumped?:	By accident.
Had a dream that kept coming back?:	Let's just say I am no stranger to the mark of Cain.
Beliefs
Belive in life on other planets?:	Hello! Klingons.
Miracles?:	After observing the perfection of ears... how could I not believe?
Astrology?:	Does Astrology mean Star-Words? 'Cause that would be hot.
Magic?:	I'm an alchemist.
God?:	I have seen the perfection of ears... how could I not believe?
Satan?:	Then again, it never hurts to hedge your bets.
Santa?:	Does it sound like I had the sort of home life that would facilitate such a belief?
Ghosts?:	Let's just say I am no stranger to the mark of Banquo.
Luck?:	No.
Love at first sight?:	No.
Yin and yang (that good cant exist w/o bad)?:	No. And yes.
Witches?:	They were persecuted.
Easter bunny?:	Great ears.
Believe its possible to remain faithful forever?:	Let's just say I am no stranger to the mark of Hester Prynne.
Believe theres a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow?:	Absolutely.
Do you wish on stars?:	I have never been on a star.
Deep Theological Questions
Do you believe in the traditional view of Heaven and Hell?:	No, I have a telescope and I intend to use it.
Do you think God has a gender?:	Many.
Do you believe in organized religion?:	Many.
Where do you think we go when we die?:	Limbo. Limbo. Life without life.
Friends
Do you have any gay/lesbian friends?:	You're really NOT paying attention, are you? Isn't half the survey about Cain?
Who is your best friend?:	I talked all night to a telephone. I don't really have a lot of friends.
Who's the one person that knows most about you?:	George W. Bush.
What's the best advice that anyone has ever given to you?:	The thing about burning and arsenic from before.
Your favourite inside joke?:	The thing about burning and arsenic from before.
Thing you're picked on most about?:	The thing about burning and arsenic from before.
Who's your longest known friend?:	See above re. demonic possession.
Newest?:	The telephone.
Shyest?:	You.
Funniest?:	Karl Rove.
Sweetest?:	Death.
Closest?:	See above re. demonic possession
Weirdest?:	The guy who got me started on the whole poison thing.
Smartest?:	The guy who got me started on the whole poison thing.
Ditziest?:	Probably the Klingons.
Friends you miss being close to the most?:	My GOD, I'm SORRY already about this whole killing business.
Last person you talked to online?:	Rachel.
Who do you talk to most online?:	The spirit of Napolean Bonaparte. Fascinating conversationalist, but can't spell.
Who are you on the phone with most?:	Haven't we been over this?
Who do you trust most?:	Trust no one.
Who listens to your problems?:	The goddamn fucking telephone.
Who do you fight most with?:	Sex with Klingons is like that.
Who's the nicest?:	Nice isn't really high on my list.
Who's the most outgoing?:	Death! Really knows how to work a room.
Who's the best singer?:	Napolean Bonaparte. Self-proclaimed, since obviously I have never heard him.
Who's on your shit-list?:	Am I going to write that in a public forum?
Have you ever thought of having sex with a friend?:	Not just thought.
Who's your second family?:	I think I'm starting to lose brain function.
Do you always feel understood?:	Always.
Who's the loudest friend?:	Oh, absolutely the Klingons.
Do you trust others easily?:	Yes. Can you hear my snide tone of voice through my typing fingers?
Who's house were you last at?:	My own.
Name one person who's arms you feel safe in::	NOT Klingons!
Do your friends know you?:	In fact, we've never met.
Friend that lives farthest away::	Oh, absolutely the Klingons.
Love and All That
Do you consider love a mistake?:	Always.
What do you find romantic?:	Ears.
Turn-on?:	Ears.
Turn-off?:	Having to sing or talk.
First kiss?:	No thanks.
If someone u had no interest in had interest in dating u how would u feel?:	Like I've been reduced to a meaningless vowel.
Do you prefer knowing someone before dating them or going:	Going. God, please, going.
Have u ever wished it was more socially acceptable 4 a girl 2 ask a guy out:	Night and day.
Have you ever been romantically attracted to someone physically unattractiv:	Night and day.
Do you think the opposite sex finds you good looking?:	Night and day.
What is best about the opposite sex?:	Ears.
What is the worst thing about the opposite sex?:	Feet.
What's the last present someone gave you?:	Ears and feet. It gave me this strange feeling of trembly and sadomasochistic pleasure.
Are you in love?:	That would be telling.
Do you consider your significant other hot?:	What did I say about burning and arsenic?
Who Was the Last Person...
That haunted you?:	Did you read what I said about ghosts? And Cain?
You wanted to kill?:	Did you read what I said about ghosts? And Cain?
That you laughed at?:	The Klingons. Bad idea.
That laughed at you?:	Rachel. A lot.
That turned you on?:	The Klingons. Bad idea.
You went shopping with?:	The Klingons. Bad idea.
That broke your heart?:	In fact, I have a heart of steel.
To disappoint you?:	This survey writer in the love section with all the bad grammar.
To ask you out?:	The Klingons. Bad idea.
To make you cry?:	In fact, I've been sobbing for the last twenty minutes of this damn thing.
To brighten up your day?:	Codename "Cain." Doesn't that suck?
That you thought about?:	Obviously, for everyone, it would be the person in the previous question.
You saw a movie with?:	My ex-siamese twin, Edgar.
You talked to on the phone?:	We've been over this.
You talked to through IM/ICQ?:	Bekah.
You saw?:	I've been staring at my neighbor across the street for three successive mornings now.
You lost?:	STOP IT!
Right This Moment...
Are you going out?:	No, I'm sitting here.
Will it be with your significant other?:	No.
Or some random person?:	Yes.
What are you wearing right now?:	No.
Body part you're touching right now::	Heh. Ears. You caught me.
What are you worried about right now?:	That this agony will never end. In a literal as well as a figurative sense.
What book are you reading?:	Wizard's Holiday
What's on your mousepad?:	I use actual mouse skin. Do you think that's creepy?
Use 5 words to describe how you're feeling::	No, I won't, you fellator. (Ironically, these were also you-know-who's last words)
Are you bored?:	I take the 5th.
Are you tired?:	Never.
Are you talking to anyone online?:	Yes.
Are you talking to anyone on the phone?:	Leave me the fuck alone about the phone already.
Are you lonely or content?:	Both.
Are you listening to music?:	Both.
Take this survey | Find more surveys You've been totally Bzoink*d

Uh-oh, I found a survey website!

This one has questions starting with every letter of the alphabet. I will try to restrict myself to such interesting ones.

[the alphabet survey]
Act your age:	Ridiculous and basically without meaning.
Born on what day of the week:	Tuesday-- full of grace, me.
Chore you hate:	Dishes and laundry and... oh, everything.
Dad's name:	Patrick Henry Fullan, Jr.
Essentail make-up item:	None. Essentail? Perhaps some ribbons, if one is a show horse.
Favorite actors/actresses:	So many... Geoffery Rush, Alan Rickman, Jude Law (yes, for the beauty alone), Matt Damon a lot of the time, Emma Thompson, Susan Saradon, Kate Winslet.. this list is random...
Gold or sliver:	Gold (or Silver and Gold like Yukon Cornelius)
Hometown:	Syracuse, NY
Instruments you play:	Played the flute, but I haven't in years.
Job title:	Marketing and Public Relations Assistant
Kids:	Haven't any. Love them, though.
Living arrangements:	I live in a two bedroom apartment with Rachel, who I was about to call my roommate, but that's obvious, isn't it?
Mom's name:	Linda Ann Elizabeth Chiappone Fullan
Number of socks you own:	God, I don't know. Most not in pairs.
Overnight hospital stays:	Stayed for several weeks as soon as I arrived in the world. Other than that... I've made it into the night, but always gone home again.
Phobia:	Severed heads and the severing thereof.
Quote you like:	"And all the wickedness of the world, that man might work or think, is no more to the mercy of God than a live coal in the sea."
Religious affiliation:	Roman Catholic. Isn't affiliation an interesting word?
Siblings:	One, Patrick Chiappone Fullan, born without kidneys when I was three and a half. None that I've known or seen.
Time you woke up today:	Woke up randomly at 7:16 or something, alarm went off at 7:30, got up at 8:20 (oops)
Unusual habits:	None that I've noticed, but then, I wouldn't, would I?
Vicious thing you've done:	I guess I've told people things I knew would really stick them hard.
Worst habit:	Self-criticism, and procrastination as a product thereof.
X-rays you've had:	Teeth many times, stomach area (I think), head and sinus area in Spain.
Your favorite season:	Fall and Spring... moderate temperatures, pretty plant life.
Zodiac sign:	Taurus. Or Ares. I'm on a cusp. Doesn't that sound dramatic?
Take this survey | Find more surveys You've been totally Bzoink*d

No Free Night of Theater for Me!

Boooooooooo! The show I was going to go to for the "free night of theater" is in fact sold out, and has been for weeks, despite the fact that it is not listed as sold out on the website. I am very sad. I want a free night of theater, please! Why did I not know about this earlier? Apparently I should check the Philly Fun Guide at all times.

Sorry, this post is a random and uninteresting expression of my disappointment, and nothing more. I'll try to improve things later on.

In Light of the Grad School Issue, Something to Consider?

American Cities That Best Fit You:

70% New York City

65% Boston

65% Washington, DC

60% Philadelphia

55% Atlanta

I Wasn't Trying!

Ok, Todd should totally call me so I can stop adding these pointless quizzes to my blog and go home... but....

Your Inner European is Spanish!

Energetic and lively. You bring the party with you!

Who's Your Inner European?

A Bit Random, Considering that it Comes From Comparing People to Saltine Crackers and Meat Snacks... but ok...

What You Really Think Of Your Friends

Katie is your soulmate.

You truly love Lilah.

You consider Chelsea your true friend.

You know that Maddie is always thinking of you.

You'll remember Rachel for the rest of your life.

You secretly think Julia is creative, charming, and a bit too dramatic at times.

You secretly think that Kirstin is colorful, impulsive, and a total risk taker.

You secretly think that Bekah is loyal and trustworthy to you. And that Bekah changes lovers faster than underwear.

You secretly think Elizabeth is shy and nonconfrontational. And that Elizabeth has a hidden internet romance.

That's Nice...

Jude Law: you like them romantic and British with
beauiful green eyes.


Which guy are you destined to have sex with?
brought to you by Quizilla

Despite the womanizing and reputed sex addiction, he's lovely... right, Tom?

That's Tom Ripley, not Tom Abrams, though obviously anyone named Tom can answer the question if he feels inclined.

On Graduate School and the Research Process Thereof

It's been such a long time since I said anything here. I realized that, while I may not have hoards of readers, nonetheless they may grow bored with continued silence and seek other forms of entertainment.

That, and I sort of want to bitch about grad school.

Grad school is weird. I don't understand it. I feel a little slighted because I am not receiving the volumes of mail I did for undergrad, but beyond that, it is simply difficult for me to sort through the many, many programs that exist without something physical to look at, read over, and judge from. I don't know if I'm doing this for the right reasons, but to be honest I feel rather trapped. I certainly don't want to wake up ten years from now and find that I've climbed some sort of theater management ladder and am doing more of the same in a more high-powered way. Which, when I put it that way, doesn't sound too horrible. But it's not what I want... If school is weird, offices are ten times weirder. I find myself saying my new job (Marketing and Public Relations Assistant) with pride because I think it's a cool title and because I expect that people will be impressed, not because I think it's a fantastic thing to do. So, it's clear that continuing a long time on this path is not for me.

Of course, arguably this whole Merriam thing is just my day job, and nobody's day job is her passion, right? Arguably, I have Uncut Pages to fuel me and satiate my creative appetite. Another tricky question... because no one else in Uncut Pages is, in fact, solely working a day job and biding time until the next project. Which means I must either cut my strings and go it alone, or twiddle my thumbs while everyone else engages in stimulating activities. The question of what I would do if that were not the case looms large, but I truly don't know how to answer it. If everyone else in the group was totally gung ho about working as they needed to keep body and soul together, but otherwise devoting the majority of free time and energy to Uncut Pages, would that be enough for me, too? Not that I'm expecting or truly wanting anyone to do that... but would I be satisfied then without school in my life? Sometimes it seems that way... and it's easy to get caught up in confusion and the illusion that others can control the way I live my life. If they would just answer their surveys, I would know what to do... right? And the idea of losing the enterprise, of letting it drift slowly to an end before it's really begun... well, it fills me with a painful sort of panic, and I'm not even entirely sure where it's coming from. Perhaps I feel that this is my last chance to create my great adventure. But, if it comes right down to that, there's something in me that says I would still want to do this, even if Uncut Pages full time was a totally viable option. I hope that something is right and true. It seems very important to me. I'm quite afraid that I'm going to school as a sort of "everyone else is doing it/better than the other options" measure. And that seems... wrong. It seems like, if that is really the case, then I should not go. But not going... feels wrong, too.

When I first left college, I felt a sort of compulsive desire to return to school. Partially because school was familiar and I knew what to expect. After all, the vast majority of my life has been spent in school. At that time, just a few months after leaving, it felt extremely urgent. I needed to be studying, reading scholastic things, doing research, etc. Yet somehow I didn't need it enough to apply, not then anyway. Now it feels less urgent, somehow. I've seen that it's perfectly possible to survive without school, and have an interesting (and in some ways more relaxed!) time. I still think, I still read, I still have exciting ideas. But this time, maybe because it is less necessary, I am taking more concrete steps toward application. In the form of serious sustained research of schools, and signing up for the bitch of an English subject GRE. As stupid, insane, uneccessary, stiltified, prejuicidal, gratuitously expensive, and plain ridiculous as the thing is, I am in some ways clinging to the fact that I've registered and to my preparations for it... because it's concrete and clear, and it is something I have accomplished and can continue to accomplish in definite ways. You would think the applications might feel that way too... but in truth the applications just feel scary as hell.

Ok. Time to break it down a bit. Why do I want to go to grad school and in what? Last year, I was really gung-ho about the Comp Lit, despite the fact that I do not have a third language, let alone a fourth as many schools require. I felt that Comp Lit was my home, I understood it, I was fucking good at it, it narrowed the list of schools a bit, and, most importantly, I could continue to float around in interdisciplinary land; I could retain my precious transgressive flexibility. Maud's email on the subject confused me (in positive and negative ways) to the point where I stopped looking at schools for almost a year. Well, to be fair, I'm sure it was not entirely Maud's email that did this, but let's use it as a talking point. Maud said she did not recommend grad school in comp lit, because it was difficult, the resources were scattered, and you came out less employable. Also, I was not yet qualified for "any comp lit program worth its salt," because I do not have a second foreign language... whereas, in an English program, my Spanish would serve as a powerful asset. She suggested doing English or "something else altogether," like this gender studies thing her friend was running. I feel like I should have taken into consideration the fact that Maud did her degree some time ago at an institution I was not really considering, but in the long run... I basically took it on faith, abandoned (though not immediately) my Comp Lit search, and began to look at the English programs at schools she recommened for me-- Harvard, Yale, Duke, Princeton, UCLA, UVA... all completely big-shot, top of the top sorts of places... the other part that floored me. She seemed to take it for granted that I was qualified for such schools, that such schools would be the natural places for me to consider continuing my education. I hadn't quite grasped that...that my undergraduate education and performance has, in fact, made me more attractive academically than I was when applying to college. It makes sense... it just hadn't quite occured to me. So it took me awhile to deal with that. And now... well, I'm excited. :) I want to be the best. I just hope these schools are actually, also, the best for me. I hope I end up doing this, all of it, for the right reasons.

And there are so many reasons... I want to be cool, I want people to talk about me and say, wow, she's going to ______, I knew she was smart, but I didn't know she was that smart. I want to be the first one in my family to get a PhD. I want to show my parents, and my uncles, and my cousins, and my teachers, and my friends... and my not-friends... that I, in fact, am the smartest bitch they're likely to know, and that is enough to excuse all the awkward moments, all the lack of boyfriends or a driver's license, the derth of knowledge on feminine arts of beauty... because there was always something greater in me, because I am, perhaps, an excuseable genius. Hmm. It's not them I want to show, really, is it? It's me. I have these problems with myself and I have this need to enhance my own opinion. And that's there. That's totally there, right beside my applications and my study book and my number two pencils (which I don't have yet but should buy before the exam). If I can't be the absolute 100% best, I at least have to show that I'm as good as anybody else out there. All right, so... let's not call it a bad reason, per se, let's just say it's an unachievable one. As long as that frosty drive is inside of me, it will never, never, never be satisfied. I could graduate from all of those institutions at the same time, and it would say that there was something left undone.

Writing that paragraph left me very nervous. Autumn cleaning? I hope so.

So... as of now, the list stands at Harvard (both for English, which boasts an impressive list of names and less exciting courses and for their Divinity School, which I stumbled on by chance, and which is so impractical and so enchanting--Amy Hollywood from my thesis, and tons of classes I want to take. Also Lilah.), Duke (for English. The friendliest, most complete and helpful website ever, and apparently they're very highly ranked for gender studies within the English field. And the classes sound wonderful.), Cornell (for MFA in Creative Writing leading into PhD in English--nifty little program, also very close to Syracuse-home. I think I found a couple of classes I like), NYU (for Comparative Lit, I think, one of the first programs I looked at, and the last Comp Lit holdout... it's beautifully funded, I like the organization of the program, and I promised Charlotte), Yale (for English, mostly because Rachel's into it... like Harvard, lovely professors, less exciting class descriptions. Also, in earlier years for some reason I always liked the idea of Yale better than Harvard, so it seems odd to just apply to the latter.) Not a bad list, you say, and it isn't. It just feels so... random. I'm entertaining a casual flirtation with Drew University, too, and I still want to look up Chicago, and Princeton one last time, because I remember being so impressed with them as an undergrad. Might want to take a gander at the D.C. options too, just because I still would love to get a chance to live and work there. I feel like a safety school or two wouldn't hurt, either. And there was that program in Madrid.... Any input would be lovely.

I was supposed to decide by today, and email my potential recommenders. I know I have to, but the idea of it is so nervewracking. But I can't let it get much later. I don't want this to slip by me again.

What is it I need? Is it patience and faith, that it will all work out somehow? Or perhaps a more decisive and dilligent approach? I try to remind myself that college was once this uncertain, and I agonized over my choices. I only hope something like Bryn Mawr, or the Bryn Mawr-esque experience (in terms of personal fit and importance) emerges now.

I feel like there is endlessly more to say, but this has gone on long enough, and should be posted. More on this and other topics soon, especially if it continues to be this slow at work.

One Show Left, or The Post About Everything Ever

So much... so much... SO MUCH has happened, is happening. There are so many things to say. And I'm not entirely sure why I'm writing this, except that I want contact with someone, something, and half the apartment is cavorting at a bar, one quarter of it is cavorting in the shower, and the other eighth (excepting myself), is in some sort of catatonic state on the floor.

The problem with writing after so long is that I feel an obligation to catch up, and if I tried to do that now, I would be here for the next several months.

My God, the Fringe. The Fringe, my show, the Fringe, the apartment, the Fringe. Can I just say I feel everything about it? I feel everything about it. I feel that it is going wonderfully and horribly, and I love it and hate it, and all the gradations and shades in between. I know I couldn't keep this up for that much longer, but the fact that tomorrow is our last show might also break my heart. For good reasons and bad ones. Good reasons like love and wonder and delight in what we have done, are doing, in the talent and energy and the amazing women all around me. Bad reasons like panic over Philadelphia, and fear, the terrible cankerous fear of the moment when we all are definitively split. Fear that the moment has come and gone already, and that I am singularly disposable, less-than-ardently loved.

My own need to be loved haunts me. There's very little I can say about it without cringing. It follows me like a child, like a parasite... the more I hate it, the more it grows in power.

Well, and. And I saw a wonderful show tonight. It said lots of things, some things beautiful, some difficult, some weird. It was about terrorism, I guess, but about the terrorism in our hearts, too. Some of the things it said were so much like the things I was trying to say in my play. It was extremely frightening. I loved it, although it was sometimes extremely hard to handle. I think I sort of want to talk about it, but Crista has disappeared, and Rachel hated it so much she practically fled through the streets of New York to get away from it, which was extraordinarilly irritating for those of us trying to keep up with her. (I think you got that message from me, anyway, Rachel, but if not I apologize, because I don't want to be one of those weird passive-aggressive types who vents her frustration only in a private-public forum such as this one.)

So whatever... I mean, I'm annoyed... in fact, there are lots of little annoyances adding up to a little flame of anger inside of me, though the anger is not for anyone in particular, it just... is. I think mostly I'm lonely. Which is an odd thing in an apartment full of people. Or maybe it's to be expected. Why am I so concerned with having a place? Why do I need to be loved, not just at all, but in the right amounts by the right people at the right times?

I mean... it isn't all the time, but it's enough. The strange squeezed feeling inside, and the way I click, suddenly, into some kind of tunnel vision. I want to feel important! I may as well be honest. But inside I feel greedy, and grasping, and strange, for wanting this. And I hate being angry, but at the same time I can feel myself making decisions about it. Like, going down the street after Rachel, I could feel the anger come and offer itself, I could feel the warring desires to move toward it and away... the need to stay with the depth and the open space in me from the play vs. the need to be tethered and responsive to other people's feelings. What I don't feel is the moment of decision. I just seem to slip by, from one to the other, and then it has occurred, and my distress at that fact serves mostly to entrap me the more.

What is it that would be enough? When I was walking down the street, I had a moment of clarity, and before that while sitting and watching the play. In the play it was about compassion, about the tricky, particular nature of compassion, and the simplicity of it, that it is compassion that is holy and filled with truth, and compassion that tells the truth to our hearts in the face of horror and confusion and pain. Walking down the street, I was arm in arm with Crista and I realized that connecting is what matters, connecting with whomever is beside you, with as many people as you find... that it isn't who or for how long that detirmines connection and love, but only the magic that happens, between so many people. Like that old footprints on the heart thing, I guess... but it was very powerful. It made me see that I have not lost the people I loved, that the love is real even if it is only for a little while.

But somehow I moved from that to the complete particularity of anger, self-pity, grief. Anger at being abandoned, self-pity at same, grief at losing. Perhaps I am just afraid to be alone with myself... not to tangle myself up in my feelings but simply to be with them. I don't know, but I want to tell someone, Please don't go. Please don't forget me, Please love me. I'm here, please love me enough, love me with an ardent sort of echo in your eyes. Notice all the things about me that no-one has, and tell me so that I should know.

Am I talking to a friend, many friends, a lover, someone I want? Am I talking to God? No, I don't think it's God. Am I talking to me?

Weechee-in. Help me.

At the play there was a warm certainty. You must pray, I thought to myself, you must pray, pray and be full of compassion. But when I thought of prayers, of praying, of the supplicating act, that was not it. That was not what the warm certainty was asking for. My faith is perhaps being shredded by claws. Perhaps they are divine claws, or my own. Perhaps I shall make scarves out of the tatters.

The woman in the play said that great things are seen, are built, are understood through bodies and bloodshed and seeing such things. She did not name the cross, but I thought of it. She was wrong, I know that she was wrong. Or... that's not it. She was right. But there is another way. Make eyeholes in the mask of my beliefs, let me see it, let me see.

Then there is the voice that says I am afraid to see, that I am afraid always, that I am... Well, you know all about it. My God-- just realized I've turned into Professor Dilexi. Stuck between going forward and going back, between the unknown something and the known purgatory. Limbo! Like Bingo only less singing involved.

All right. Starting to ramble now. One show tomorrow. One show left. I'm scared. I feel sort of pierced. I will see my aunt tomorrow. Why doesn't my father call me back? Why doesn't he want to see me? Well, that's another thing.

One show left, one show. I do love you, you know.

Past Perfect Tense

Lately the past has been oddly present to me, but in strange, fretful, half-forgotten ways. For a mild example, when I started writing this entry some time ago, I was wearing a shirt with "Anything Goes" on it. And, as I walked across the Bellevue floor to go to the bathroom before lunch, I became overwhelmed by memories of performing Anything Goes... specifically how important it was at the time, and how my field of experience was so different from what it is now.

I am afraid of the past in many ways, yet I am also afraid of the fluidity with which it slips away. Rachel and I had sort of a collective-yet-separate revisiting of old documents and things from several years ago, in the heat of dire(-seeming), emotionally boiling situations. I certainly (perhaps we all did) went through a time when I was eager to rip myself open, in hopes of getting to the cancer inside, so to speak, and getting it out of me.

But what exactly convinced me that I have something cancerous to get rid of? I suppose that's a whole separate topic, but it seems related. I guess the problem is that I am uncertain of my relationship to myself in the past. Does that make sense? There are feelings I know I had, that I can no longer understand. Or... I feel ashamed of feeling them. Ashamed is the best word I can think of, but what it really feels like is a hot feeling all over my body, sparking and sudden, that makes me want to turn away from what I was.

I can feel the past closer to me now than it used to be, both in terms of mundane events and big sweeping ones. I am also more aware of things I thought I had left behind, that are still there. How is it that something can be dismissed in your mind, but linger in some part of yourself, as hot and strong as ever, ready to rise up again? Maybe not as strong as ever... that's not quite right. But there. There and full of influence. I am disturbed by looking back at how events have unfolded in and around me, because I can see how I might have calculatingly planned it all out, to work to my advantage. I wasn't aware of such a thing... but it's possible.

I realize this is all maddeningly vague, and I still have a lot to say, but it's time to eat dinner now, and clean the kitchen.

Speaking of punches packed from the past.

Well, fuck that, anyway. I have a kitchen in which I can eat dinner. Score one for the great escapee.

Stop. Think. Speak.

I would like to propose this threefold system of communication to President Bush, and also specifically to Randi and Michael of the box office. Especially President Bush, but since my influence on him is limited, I guess I'll have to start small.

Today I was reading about Bush's speech last night regarding our progress in Iraq, and it was so deeply angering to me that I simply had to violate my vow of silence on matters of import at work, and bring it up to Albert. He agreed... in fact, he had become so angry viewing the speech that he turned it off.

My anger stems from two basic things: First of all, the speech seems to me to be deliberately, blatantly, flagrantly misleading in its constant references to September 11th, and now the link between Iraq and that attack is explained as a common ideological framework. Last time I checked, we cannot attack people because they share an ideological framework with actual military enemies, no matter how insidious we view that ideological framework to be. For example, I feel that refusing or being unable to discriminate between members of a population... or even a general cultural group... (eg. U.S. citizen vs. President Bush, U.S. citizen vs. British citizen, Iraqi leader vs. September 11th attacker, Iraqi vs. member of other Middle Eastern country)... is, in fact, a disturbing ideological framework that we seem to share with our enemies. By that logic, the next step the U.S. should take is to invade itself.

Anyway, as Albert and I were discussing this without going into a whole lot of depth, but expressing our mutual anger, Randi came into the box office. Albert proceeded to say that she was a fan of Bush, and we were off to the races. It was very strange, and at some point when Randi said "they were all out to attack us, anyway," I literally started shouting, "Who? Who? Not Iraq, tell me who?" Which is highly unusual, and partly attributable to the fact that Randi seems to say almost everything at top volume and with total conviction. But it was this total jumble of sometimes contradictory cliches, and I was trying my best to argue back rationally... Randi was literally saying things about how all people in the Middle East wanted to kill us, and just complete bollocks, but with such incredible conviction! I was quite worked up, though, and it surprised me. I guess the nice-quiet-worker facade got torn right open.

I kind of liked it. Although I was sort of trembling with anger at some point when Randi and tall young Michael proposed sending all the prisoners to fight in Iraq. I said something scornful about training, and they sort of said they were kidding. I think Michael sort of just likes to get a rise out of me. I do NOT like it when people think it's funny when I'm angry, and a lot of people seem to think so. Why? I have as scorching a wrath as anybody else, when roused.

And, one good way to avoid such wrath is to try out Stop Think Speak. Not necessarily when you're talking about your annoyance at work or your ex-boyfriend or your mom... but when you're talking about large global events and war? Please. Give just a moment's ponderation to what comes out of your mouth!

I wish I could convince people that the passionate application of their minds matters, and is worth the trouble.

I Want to Post!

But I have to go to work.

Hello, Rachel and Katie and anybody else reading this.

I will actually communicate soon.

Just one thought-- why, whenever I am not clearly busy and focused, do I experience a strange feeling of panic about whatever tasks I have not yet done? And seem to think that such tasks are impossible because of a certain deficiency within myself? This is obviously incorrect thinking...

But I am uncertain about my relationship to work and busy-ness and accomplishment. That is, it seems to be often a negative cycle, working to not experience bad feelings rather than to experience good ones. Anybody else feel this way?

Damn, I really do have to go to work.

The Survey That Ate Philadelphia

Or at least my life! Try it! Inquiring minds want to know.

Have you ever...

snuck out of the house – No… as a child I never tried to run away, which interests me in retrospect.
gotten lost in your city – Yes, sometimes on purpose.
seen a shooting star – Yes, many times… the person I got this from (random stranger whose blog I was reading) said no. That seems very sad to me! Shooting stars are not that uncommon, are they? I usually see them every summer at least once.
been to any other countries besides Canada – Yes, should I list them? Maybe I will. Onondaga Nation (does that count?), Holland, Belgium, China, Spain, Portugal, Moracco, Italy, Austria, Germany, Czech Republic, France, Ireland, England…Yay for being well-traveled. I’m in the mood for another trip soon, I think.
had a serious surgery – I don’t think so… I didn’t really have any surgery as a baby, so I guess no.
gone out in public in your pajamas –Yes, if Bryn Mawr or the laundry room of my apartment counts as in public.
kissed a stranger – Assuming we mean a passionate sort of kiss, no. Well, I guess assuming we mean any kind of kiss, unless we’re counting children or something. I think I’ve kissed strange children if they attach themselves to me.
hugged a stranger – I think so. I mean, not a total stranger without any introduction first. I’ve been told that as a child I had to be told not to hug everyone on first introduction.
been in a fist fight – No. Never been in any sort of serious physical conflict, and even came to playfighting rather late in life.
been arrested – No, only had one sort of interesting and at the time intensely humiliating encounter with the police, when some woman caught me dancing on her dock because it was a beautiful day and I was happy (and not aware that it was a private dock), and she thought I was insane and suicidal and called the police. That was quite horrible, in fact.
laughed and had milk/coke come out of your nose – Yes. Milk, I think, at lunch in high school, at one of those hexagonal (or whatevergonal they were) tables, probably about some random sexual joke that didn’t actually make lots of sense, but was still one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard.
pushed all the buttons on an elevator – No… do people really do that?
swore at your parents – No. I’ve sworn in front of my parents before, but not often. I don’t really swear at people much. I mean, I have in my life. But I take it pretty seriously.
been in love – I think so. I get confused about this, because I’ve not been in love with someone who has been in love with me. That I know of. But… putting aside wishful thinking and the idea that if it didn’t work out, it wasn’t really love, then I’ve been in love at least once, probably more like three times… and I hope I can also count the first time, when I was about 12 and so was he, and it was this kind of mutual sunshiney thing where we just smiled at each other a lot and I watched him play soccer, because that was by far the nicest and least painful. Hopefully that doesn’t sound bitter. I’m confused about love.
been close to love – What does this mean? Close to being in love? Clearly, yes, see above. Close to people who were in love? Yes, certainly, that’s pretty easy to do. Close to people who were having sex? Sometimes unpleasantly so, though never in an obscene ridiculous way.
been to a casino – Yes! Several in Atlantic City, mostly to use the bathroom or to prowl around for no especial reason. I think my favorite is still the Wild West one, though Caesar’s is kinda cool too. Casinos are super-weird, I think. Like… the imitation of riches in the presence of actual riches, but mostly not with actual rich people.
been skydiving - No
been skinny dipping – Yes, and with great enthusiasm. Once in the ocean in Spain (fabulous!!) and many times at Bryn Mawr, of course.
skipped school – Not as in, skipped a whole day of elementary or high school. Yes, if we’re talking about college. YES YES YES if we’re talking specifically about statistics, which I think I skipped more often than I attended.
seen a therapist – Yes, just after my parents split up. I liked him, but I’m not sure the experience did me much good, since it was not at all self-initiated and I was in a strange hidden state at that time. But probably he saw it differently and understood more about me than I would have liked, or even still like. Who knows?
done the splits – What does this mean? Is it sexual? Talking simply about doing a split? Alcohol related? I don’t think I’ve done it, whatever it is.
played spin the bottle – Sort of. This is a good story, I think. I was 14, and at a friend’s birthday party, and we were playing spin the bottle. Well, I was nervous, I didn’t want to play but I sort of did, so I was just sitting around on the outside of the circle with other non-players. And then this kid John—very strange, very talented, very attractive and very very very disturbed, as it turned out in the end—spun the bottle and it pointed at me. He was poised there in the circle for a moment, and I swear he looked like some sort of wildcat about to strike, and then he pounced at me and pressed his lips to mine, and it felt very nice and very sweet, like a tiny spark of life. And I was glad, because I had been concerned that I would end up being “sweet sixteen and never kissed,” and as it turned out, without him I would have been. And then I had to spin, and it landed on Nathaniel and we kissed, too. Later I found out that Morgan got her first kiss that night too, and neither of us knew the other had.. Strange, huh?
gotten stitches – Yes. One stitch. It was the night before we were moving out of Country View apartments (where we lived my fifth grade year) to High Acres, where we live now. I was playing outside with my friend Erica… she was younger than me, but really a brick, lots of fun and up to all kinds of fantastic games. We were playing in this fabulous rock filled ditch thing, where we pretended to have a wild hide-out and eat cattail hotdogs and raise falcolns, that sort of thing. Also, one of my rock people lived there. His name was Peter and he was very big, a sort of large folk-heroesque man who was a miner in the rocks. I don’t think I told Erica about him, or about Wiz and Wizina, the wizard couple who lived in the bushes nearby with their baby girl, whose name I forget, or about the old sailor whose memories appeared over the crest of the hillside that the apartment building was on, and we could watch them like movies. Anyway, Erica and I were playing, and this strange little boy who lived across the way from me came out and was smashing rocks against the tarvia, and all of a sudden I looked up and saw this rock heading straight for me. So I ducked, but it hit my head anyway, and I looked up and just felt this strong, sudden pain, which gave me energy, so I started yelling at the kid, something inane like, “You don’t do that! You don’t throw rocks at people!” but it must have impressed him in some way, because he ran away. I didn’t realize it was more serious than that until Erica was like, “You’re bleeding,” and I looked down and saw a big drop of blood land on my shoe, and then another. I can still see that very clearly, the shape of the blood-drop on my shoe. I started to cry then, and Erica ran to get help. And then the mom of the rock-thrower lead me around the house and my mom and dad and grandma came over to see what had happened. I spent the rest of the evening in the emergency room watching sitcoms with a handsome high school boy who had broken some bone in a sporting accident, and ended up with my one stitch. Somewhere under my hair there is probably a scar. Our move was a bit forestalled. And moving anywhere with my parents was always a calamitous journey, to say the least.
drank a whole gallon of milk in one hour – No… is that something people do very often?
bitten someone – Not anyone else, that I know of.
been to Niagara Falls – Yes… with my parents and Lauren in… third grade, I think? We sang “America” from West Side Story the whole way there and back, and didn’t know the words, so it was mostly, “DA DA DA DA DA AMER-I-CA, DA DA DA DA DA AMER-I-CA!” We also went over the falls in a bathtub, which I have a picture of, a wonderful picture of Lauren and I with big round eyes and mouths. And we went on the Maid of the Mist, and into the Caves of the Mist, which was wonderful. It was a very good trip, I think, even though I did get sick at one of the restaurants we went to. But I had fun.
gotten the chicken pox – Yes. Once I learned they were not a food, I became susceptible.
kissed a member of the opposite sex – Yes, but not at all as often as I would have liked.
crashed into a friend's car – No.
been to Japan – No.
ridden in a taxi – Yes, for the first time in NYC after the Beginnings Acting Workshop when I was 14… many times thereafter in many places, most notably and constantly in Seville, where the taxis are cheap and the drivers are friendly. Mostly in a good way… occasionally in the way where they tell you you are the kind of girl boys want to have babies with.
been dumped – Not really, I guess… but sometimes I’ve felt dumped, if not always in a romantic context.
shoplifted – No, not unless you count the time I took about a hundred business cards from some guy my dad knew with the intention of using them as pretend airplane tickets and got in lots of trouble.
been fired – No.
had a crush on someone of the same sex – Yes, often in the “gosh she’s cool and smart and lovely and I want to be her friend” way, less often in the “gosh she’s cool and smart and lovely and I want to kiss her and take her clothes off” way… but it’s happened both ways.
had feelings for someone who didn't have them back – Yes… is there anyone over the age of 12 who would not answer yes? How did they get that hand dealt to them? Maybe they don’t have feelings for people very often?
gone on a blind date – No, though it might be interesting.
lied to a friend – Yes… certainly in the casual, “I can’t do the thing you want to do for a better reason than my actual reason” way, or feigning a bit more disappointment than I actually felt about the collapse of plans… Probably in more serious ways too, but they don’t come to mind at the moment. Unless you count keeping secrets. It seems to be in my nature to keep secrets.
had a crush on a teacher – Never in a serious way… more in flashes of “Ooh, smart and powerful figure just said something marvelous and we sort of think the same way and they’re not bad looking at all…”
celebrated Mardi-Gras in new Orleans – Nope, I’ve done my farewelling to the flesh right in my hometown. Well, and in Bryn Mawr and Philly.
been to Europe – Yes, see initial country question.
slept with a co-worker – No. God, no. And unless I get a new job with very different people, I really don’t intend to.
been married – No… we don’t count the faux four-way all-female marriage Roz, Liz, Abby and I cooked up for a potential high school reunion, do we?
gotten divorced – No.
had children – No.
seen someone die – No… not actually seen.
had a close friend die – Do we count my Uncle Alan? I loved him, and we had started to be something like grown-up friends, as well as uncle and neice.
been to Africa – Yes, to Moracco for one whirlwind weekend full of touristy strangeness and animal encounters (camel and snake).
driven over 400 miles in one day – No.
been to US – In fact, I was born there.
been to Mexico – No, oddly enough, seeing that it is the closest Spanish-speaking country and I speak Spanish.
been to India – No… but I’d really like to go!
been on a plane – Yes… the first time when I was 7 or 8 to go to Florida for grandparent-visiting and Disney World. The most recent time on the way back here from Seville this January.
seen the Rocky Horror Picture Show – Yes, though it took me awhile to see it all the way through in the right order, and now I own a copy by default, though I’ve never watched my own copy… a sad fate of many movies I buy.
thrown up in a bar – No, nor ever due to alcohol, long may that record hold.
purposely set a part of myself on fire – No, unless you count the passing your fingers through flame trick, which I loved loved loved as a kid and still think is pretty darn cool.
eaten sushi – Yes, but I’m still squeamish about the raw fish aspect.
been skiing/snowboarding – No, actually, at least not downhill skiing, despite my Upstate NY creditials. But I liked cross-country a lot when we did it in school. Except for some reason I was exempt from going down the big hill, and I don’t know why. Was I incapable of doing it? Was I scared? I can’t remember.
met someone in person from the internet – Yes, by accident! I just happened to be at a coffeehouse with some friends, and they happened to know this random guy there, and we were all hanging out and playing games, and lo and behold, it’s a guy I’d been talking to online for a couple of months. It was sort of fun and coincidental.
lost a child – No, thank God.
gone to college/university – Yes, I’m a Bryn Mawr grad!
graduated college/university – Oh, I jumped the gun there.
fired a gun – Speaking of guns… no. I have fantasies where people are attacking me and I get the gun and I have to pretend I know how to use it, when I don’t at all.
purposely hurt yourself – Yes, but not in a terribly dramatic way… I don’t think. For example, if I have a really bad headache, sometimes I’ll dig my fingernails hard into my head to distract myself… and I’ve been known to bite my forearms and fingers out of extreme frustration, or seemingly outletless frustration. I’m still rather self-conscious about this habit, but it’s never gotten terribly common or intense.
taken painkillers – Yes. Surprise?
been intimate with someone of the same gender – Are we talking about sex? If we are, then no. If we’re talking about love and sharing and trust and things… yes, certainly.

The Heat has Broken!

Huh, what happened to me getting to choose the font I want? Oh well.


Yes, the heat has broken! I heard it was supposed to today, but I was hesitant to believe. But my tepid faith was nonetheless rewarded at lunch time by this amazing, cool breeze blowing all down the street. I was so happy. I was grinning all the way to the Bellevue. I passed all these sad-faced people and I wanted to tell them, hey people, it's cooler now! I saw a big black woman smiling like me, and you could tell she knew. I passed the Academy of Music, and there was some kind of television interview being taped for outside. And just as I was trying to figure out which way to get by without getting in the way of anything, this little crowd of people started applauding for the kid who was doing the TV interview. It was exciting. The Academy of Music is starting Evita, and they were playing "Star Quality" into the street. I had this whole fantasy about what if they wanted people to sing it on TV and I was very excited, and then I realized that I don't know the song very well. This minor problem was dispelled in my imagination by the time I got into the Bellevue.

The security guy who likes how I dress ducked away from his little counter thing to say "Hey, Lady." I saw him do it real fast so he wouldn't miss me. And I didn't say good morning at 2 in the afternoon the way I did last time he said hi to me. I behaved quite normally, I think, and we shook hands and talked about the weather. He said I looked cool, anyway. It's not that he's especially handsome or young, but the first time he complimented me was right when I was feeling insecure about my clothes, and he does wear a little white flower in his buttonhole as part of his uniform, which I think is enough to impress a girl these days. So I went down the escalator (is that spelled right?) practically dancing with Star Quality all over me.

It didn't stay quite that nice, since I was sitting next to some people whose conversation made me think of that strange elusive club of social understanding that I am never quite in. And while the food I had (U Dong, which is some kind of lovely Japanese noodle soup), was really good, it was too hot to finish it all before I had to leave. By that time I was feeling less cute and aware of my belly, which is generally not a good thing.

BUT-- for one brief shining moment, it was COOL in Philadelphia, and I was the hottest thing in sight. ;)


Since I finished reading Millions today, I feel compelled to thank the patron saint of coldness, but sadly I do not know who that is.

Thanks anyway! :) Please please keep it up.

Anxiety, Compassion, Mardi Gras Beads

Here are some people I saw today:

Coming into work, I passed this shirtless man. His chest was handsomely contoured, but sort of a pale, ashen color, which seemed different from the rest of his skin. He seemed to have some nicks or cuts on his body, but I couldn't tell if he had been hurt externally or if this was some kind of disease. He lurched when he walked. He seemed tired. I was struck by him. I thought he was in trouble. I sort of stopped, uncertain of what to do. Everyone kept moving, including me and him. We were going in opposite directions. I thought about going back, and asking if he needed help. I kept looking back as he got farther away. Almost as soon as he was too far to go back to, I became convinced that this is what I should have done. I prayed that he would find help if he needed it, and that I would get another chance...

Then, I had to go to Rite Aid on my lunch, and I passed this old, scrawny guy sitting on one of the planters near there. He had pink feathers and Mardi Gras beads around his neck, and some ratty, dirty shirt and shorts on his body. I think he was sort of talking to himself. I was struck by him, too.

On the way back to work, I passed this tall black guy selling flowers. He had roses this time, lovely red roses. He says he's homeless and trying to earn money honestly. I've bought flowers from him a couple of times before. I said I had to go to work. He said he could walk right with me, I didn't have to slow down. He follows you with this hangdog hopeful look that will instantly turn to disappointment and disillusionment if you say no. I didn't want to buy them and take them into work. I wanted to get away this time, and I did.

Michael let me out of work early. We were watching the Sopranos all day. Violence and heart, and I don't know which there is more of. Anyway, I was gonna come down here to this cafe to use the internet where it's cool. And on my way I pass this guy sitting there with his cardboard sign, and his head is down over his hand, and his face is crumpled like he's in despair. He looks sorta young, like maybe when he lifts his head he will be handsome. And I think fuck, I just can't, I just can't go by while somebody looks like that. I think maybe he'll be handsome when he looks up. I read his sign. It doesn't make much sense. Something about a train he needs some money for, his dead father, some aunts in Connecticut, he's so depressed, he had to spend his money on two days of sugar medication, please, please. So I go off, thinking I'll get him some food and bring it back. I walk halfway down the street, and I don't see anything but McDonalds. I'm thinking, what if he hates McDonald's. What if he's a vegetarian. What kind of thing is it to get somebody food without knowing what they want. Besides it's sort of near Bally's and I don't want to risk running into Rashool.

Back to the man with the cardboard sign. I see myself in the window. You don't look as hot as you think you do, in that skirt. I see myself, bending down to him, before I get there. I am very aware of my skirt. It's pretty. I am becoming, maybe, a girl who wears clothes that other people admire. I have, maybe, earned admittance into the female club. Or maybe it's the money club, or the make-up and plucked eyebrows club, in which case I am out.

"Hey," I say. "Hey." He looks up at me. He is not handsome. His face is full of troubling angles. His eyes are red, bloodshot. He is not ok. I don't think I ask. "Hey, are you hungry? Are you thirsty?" His mouth spills words. Words about getting out of here, about how excited he is, just needs the 8 dollars. I lie and tell him I don't carry cash money. I ask, where is your train. I offer to go with him to 30th St. and get his ticket. He says somebody will give him the money, whatever. He voice is confused. It wanders around, trailing his meaning behind it, in tatters. His voice is not hopeful. It is not excited, when he says he is excited. "Listen, I bet you're hungry. Thirsty. Why don't I get you something to drink?" Ok maybe Pepsi. "Ok, you stay here. I'll go get it, I'll be right back."

Back on over to Rite Aid. I find about a million kinds of Pepsi. It is dazzling. Lime and lemon and diet and vanilla and one calorie and caffeine free. I pick caffeine free. I decide to get some food. There's a sale on cereal. I pick a heart healthy bran thing. I think that means love, and caring. When you give somebody nourishing food, and not candy or something. When you know it's probably the only food they have right now. Maybe he will think it's stupid. At the counter, it turns out that you have to buy the two cereals to get the discount. It is only 70 cents less to get the one than it would be to get two. I feel I am in the hands of destiny, a bit trapped by logic. I go back and get cornflakes with bananas already in them. I didn't know that was an option. My bill is $6 something.

The man is still bent over himself when I arrive again. I think about how I would feel in the heat, how crazy I felt when there was no air conditioning yesterday. I bend down and say I got him Pepsi and cereal, too. He doesn't want the cereal. He says he would only want the cereal with milk, anyway he's going to be on the train for like 4 days. So take it, I say, to eat on the train. No, honey, you keep it, it's better you keep it. Only enough medicine for two days anyway and then when I run out I can't eat. Keep it, I say. For those two days. Ok? Maybe you will get hungry. I take out the heart healthy one. You take this one. You keep this one. Ok? Good luck. Thank you, he mumbles. I do not know what our eyes said together, his and mine. He bent back over his body.

I straightened up. I wondered what the man across the way is thinking of us. Does he think I am a good person? Does he think I am a foolish person? A little white girl who thinks she's some kind of angel?

I am afraid of these things... I am afraid I am a fool. I am afraid I do not understand the world, or that I understand too much. I never know what to do, and I do not approve of other people nor of myself.

But I am trying to see him. Because he said he would be there. And I am afraid, I am afraid of leaving him on the street, alone, because he was wearing pink feathers and had sores or a crazy drugged brain. I am afraid that I am already like them, already crazy. I do not consider that I too have that face within my face.

I see you hungry all the time. I see you mad and frightening, with your signs all full of words. I am full of words too. I am frightened of you, and of myself.

O Lord come back, and this time...

Redemption? I kept the cornflakes with bananas. I too am a child of God.

Does anybody else think about this stuff?

Hippodick Day

Things that sucked hippodick about yesterday:

1. 93 degree weather (probably about 10 degrees hotter in the apartment, or so it feels. I was literally short of breath from sitting in one place, and my very light weight dress was like a skin-burning suit of armor!)

2. Being told that as of next week, my fellow phone operator and I will be uncerimoniously cut to half-time, given that the theater is not busy enough to support us both full-time. This apparently is a routine thing, which was never mentioned to me before. I can't afford this now... I've worked hard to save a little money for NY, and if they go through with this, I will be forced to use it, when what I really need is to save more.

3. Having NO information WHATSOEVER about the PR job I applied for, which I was supposed to hear about on Tuesday.

4. 93 degree weather (and having to eat in it)

5. No more visiting twins.

6. Being told that my job performance has somehow gone from "great" and "wonderful" to "ok" in the last several months, without any further explanation. Perhaps it's because I am less desperately needed.

7. 93 degree weather (and having to do laundry in it)

8. Not being able to get ahold of a single living person actually connected with a venue... and trying to get ahold of 20.

9. 93 degree weather (and having to sleep in it)

Things that did not suck hippodick about yesterday:

1. My new stuffed panda bear, proud supporter of Variety Children's Charity.

2. Rachel

3. Patrick Stewart

4. Cold showers

5. Having food and lots to drink, and I suppose a place to live, though it is very much like the pit of hell and less like a home at the moment.

Standing Out!

So, I definitely want to follow up on the morality comments I got, from my two faithful readers. Guys, is it silly that we have one more way to communicate between us(and apparently mostly exclusively so), or is it nice? I think maybe it's nice. And I don't have time to say much else right now, so the rest will have to wait...

But I'm wearing excessively colorful clothing today in really loud patterns, and I was thinking about how one minute this makes me more confident, and the next I feel like everyone is criticizing my appearance. Which brings us back to the questions of standing out and fitting in that I also think are at the heart of the morality thing. But I've gotta go, so two parting thoughts:

1. I am a riot of summer color today.

2. The Talented Mr. Ripley still completely captivates me.

Goodbye Heather!

Yesterday was Heather's last day at work. I shall miss her! She made working at the office so much more fun, and made me realize that it is NOT unreasonable to expect normal, fun, warm interaction with co-workers. Heather-- thanks for the games, the blunt opinions, the tarot cards, and the genuine interest in what I said and did! I hope you sell a million pools. :)

Morality Play

Things got kind of strange at work today... Tall young Michael made some comments about women, how he thought women should be subordinate to men or some such, and it all sort of went downhill from there. Heather countered him, mentioned my name, and the next thing you know we're embroilled, eventually getting all the way to gay marriage and religion. I feel rather odd about the whole thing. On the one hand, I feel like if I'm going to go around with a very good opinion of my own articulation of ideas, and support for my positions, I can't really avoid these kinds of conversations. And to a point, they can be very interesting. But it's hard with tall young Michael, because he's so naive and definitely uneducated in many, many ways... but somehow he also strikes me as sort of innocent. He says terrible things, really not ok... but I feel, ironically, that I should be gentle toward him, because he is still, in some fundamental way, a little boy. He wouldn't thank me for that, I know. And it's hard because I express myself in such measured, qualified prose, which at this point is natural for me in matters of import, but doesn't seem to be natural for anyone else there, so I'm not sure if they understand what I am really trying to say. I think the really difficult thing there is that I have adopted such phrasing because I have been taught that it is in some ways essential to clear communication, and yet often it hinders my ability to communicate in situations where people have not been so trained. So that kind of defeats the purpose right there, doesn't it? I have an inordinate love for linguistic care, and I don't know if this makes me a more precise communicator, as I would wish, or not. And Heather is so forceful and convinced that it is hard to disagree with her. Or maybe it's just that now we are on a "side" together in the argument, but in actual fact I do not agree with all the conclusions she draws.

Maybe the point is that I am really, really, really confused about morality, and it preoccupies me to an extent that even my closest friends don't always understand the mixture of intensity and trepidation with which I approach the subject. Because intellectually it is clear that morality is a relative, culturally detirmined thing. But my heart wishes for a standard against which I can hold my own actions and those of other people, and therefore... be justified in judgement, I suppose, be it good or bad. I know judging is a trap, but it is so incredibly hard to avoid, and to be honest I like it. When I can make a judgement I feel safer, more certain about the world.

And it's easy to question morality when those around you have a different point of view, but it's not something we even think to question when we are all making a moral judgement in consort. For example, later in the day we watched Oprah, and there was no debate over whether the mother who gave her children Xanax to sedate them was morally wrong to do so-- we were all certain that she was. And I am certain. But what if this was a highly contested issue? Would I remain certain?

I think one of the bottom lines I come to is that morality can be detirmined situationally rather than generally. Take the issue of gay marriage, or marriage at all. There definitely may be couples where it is morally wrong for them to marry, and couples where it is not wrong (I don't know if marriage is morally "right," since to me that carries a bit of a compunction to commit a right act). This has nothing to do with their respective genders. Are there actions, then, that are always or almost always wrong? It's interesting to get to this point, because I think that murder is essentially worse than rape, however I would say that rape is always wrong, while killing may not be. It's so CONFUSING!

Also, I'm often nervous about expressing my views in a company where people disagree with me, and I don't like this about myself. I am morally scrupulous, but I'm not sure that it makes me essentially better as a person.

Then there's the fact that I love shady characters and antiheros, and can forgive in fiction what I would condemn in life, and especially in myself.

WHAT IS MORALITY? Is it relevant? Is it absolute? Is it relative? Is it the essence of what makes someone a "good" person, or is it merely an attempt to codify compassion? Does it actually relate to compassion directly? Now accepting submissions on all of these questions!

Ooh... and if anyone really thinks that women are inferior to men, I think your opinion is the intellectual and moral equivalent of horseshit.

I'm a bundle of contradictions. Love to my faithful readers, if you happen to exist... sound off! Inquiring minds want to know.

Dear Katie

I can't post in your blog either, without signing in to whatever service you have. But I think I should have fixed the problem on my end. This post is just for you. :)

Mayday, I'm on the fringes...

Wow... what a strange couple of days it has been. Before I say anything else, I want to say this: WE GOT INTO THE NY FRINGE! And it's my play, and the admission is based purely on our merits!! Though the news is still hitting me, that's helping make life a lot better right now. "We" for the uninitiated, is The Uncut Pages Theater Company. www.uncutpages.org. Please go, and donate money. ;)

The news about the Fringe couldn't have come at a better time, literally right on the heels of May Day, my first May Day as an alum. I had a really good time for most of the day. For some reason I decided to get very drunk in the afternoon, but not (I hope) obnoxiously so, or to the point where I got sick or could not speak or walk. I hope I continue with the record of never getting to that point, because I would not like to see the scorn I tend to have for other people who do (more the obnoxious than the sick) turned on myself. But... it was a beautiful day, after a coldish and cloudy beginning. The sun came out right in the middle of the May Hole dance, as the vigorously shaken purple parachute launched flower petals into the air and everyone danced around in giddy feminist circles. (Sometimes I am struck by how much of what we do/have done at Bryn Mawr seems like the kind of thing that only happens in movies or books. But it's real. These things do happen. Does everybody have such moments in their lives? What does it mean that the cinematic or literary creations, mirrors, and takes on reality become the reference points for our real lives? Especially interesting since so many, many people commented on how the events of September 11, 2001 felt like a movie, or they thought they were actually watching a movie. Anyway. Bryn Mawr is like this in a much more lovely, idealistic kind of way.)

The rest of the day was lovely. I went dancing and skinny dipping about, and generally did all things appropriate to May Day.

I did not see my flower fight girl, who I have had a flower fight with every year since I came to Bryn Mawr. Katie told me she was there, but, superstitiously, I did not seek her out. I guess it felt like a cycle had come to an end, and I should not interfere.

That feeling is probably also why I felt so strange at the end of the night. Like the cycle of being at Bryn Mawr and leaving Bryn Mawr had completed its course, and now I was really and truly gone. Sometimes I hate so very very much that I have been out of college for a year and I'm still afraid of leaving college, which, after all, I have already done. I feel so inept whent that fear comes over me...

But this entry has been going on forEVER, and it's time to end it before I get kicked off here as has happened about 500,000 times when I tried to finish it.

More when we fix the internet at home. :(