I allowed myself some reminiscence today, just flipping through the blog archives and what not.
Is it just me, or has my writing gotten insufferably dismal?
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
One thing that I’ve noticed as of late: college students, at least those attending the University of Utah, are awfully fond of marriage. Yes, they certainly do like it.
My cute physics TA? Married. The 4 people I know in ARCH 1615? Married. The kid in my ARCH 1630 class that looks like he’s 14? Married.
Oh yes, and half of the students in my institute class? Married to the other half of the students in the class.
I don’t know why it strikes me this way, it’s just odd when you ask your peer who looks and acts much younger than you where he got his brushes and he says ‘my wife got them for me’. I’m expecting an answer like Utrecht or Rules, and all of a sudden I find out he’s already walked down the ivory isle.
I must have forgotten that I’m attending school at the third largest meat market in the eastern hemisphere.
My cute physics TA? Married. The 4 people I know in ARCH 1615? Married. The kid in my ARCH 1630 class that looks like he’s 14? Married.
Oh yes, and half of the students in my institute class? Married to the other half of the students in the class.
I don’t know why it strikes me this way, it’s just odd when you ask your peer who looks and acts much younger than you where he got his brushes and he says ‘my wife got them for me’. I’m expecting an answer like Utrecht or Rules, and all of a sudden I find out he’s already walked down the ivory isle.
I must have forgotten that I’m attending school at the third largest meat market in the eastern hemisphere.
Last night at 9:45 I finally finished that wretched fingerprint after working for 4 more hours. It took a very, very long time but I’m glad I put all the effort into it; today on the board it was referred to positively and the TA stepped back and said "damn" when I showed him my work. I think I'm going to go ahead and lump that in with the positive feedback category. The professor (prof Adams) basically told us to work on the foreground, keeping in mind that blank space is part of our work, and then told us to get started. I kid you not.
“Don’t forget that when finding the solution for this problem that if you do a negative you have a problem in a problem.”
Problem? So far we’ve painted our fingerprint. The problem would be….what exactly?
“Ah. You want to know what the problem is. It’s mentioned in my syllabus through two ancient Hebrew proverbs: ‘The problem is the problem’.”
“And the second?”
“‘There is no solution. Seek it lovingly.’ You have your fingerprint, now get some work done.”
I was able to grasp what was desired when talking with the much more helpful TA. Apparently we need to view our piece abstractly, work figure/ground, activate and engage the empty space. I have an idea of what to do and I’m becoming more excited about the problem, even though I’m still clueless as to what the problem is.
“Don’t forget that when finding the solution for this problem that if you do a negative you have a problem in a problem.”
Problem? So far we’ve painted our fingerprint. The problem would be….what exactly?
“Ah. You want to know what the problem is. It’s mentioned in my syllabus through two ancient Hebrew proverbs: ‘The problem is the problem’.”
“And the second?”
“‘There is no solution. Seek it lovingly.’ You have your fingerprint, now get some work done.”
I was able to grasp what was desired when talking with the much more helpful TA. Apparently we need to view our piece abstractly, work figure/ground, activate and engage the empty space. I have an idea of what to do and I’m becoming more excited about the problem, even though I’m still clueless as to what the problem is.
Monday, August 30, 2004
I don’t know what I’m doing; I honestly haven’t the slightest bit of time to write right now. I am, however, endeavoring to preserve my sanity and passion for education, so I allow myself to write anyway. In ARCH 2630 we’re assigned to paint our fingerprint on a 30x20, which will keep me occupied until the day the pope comes out of the closet and publicly dates Mick Jagger. I’ve devoted two hours to the project and have thus far completed about an 8th of the fingerprint.
It’s due tomorrow at 9:10 am, by the way.
I’m really tired but I enjoy the work. I feel so devoted when I sit on my front porch, percolated in concentration. It’s tiring though, and I have to rip up the downstairs countertops before mum comes home at 4:30.
I allotted myself a 5 minute break, and I still have to use the bathroom, so I bid you adieu.
It’s due tomorrow at 9:10 am, by the way.
I’m really tired but I enjoy the work. I feel so devoted when I sit on my front porch, percolated in concentration. It’s tiring though, and I have to rip up the downstairs countertops before mum comes home at 4:30.
I allotted myself a 5 minute break, and I still have to use the bathroom, so I bid you adieu.
Sunday, August 29, 2004
Blanket
By my dearest brother Ricky
The source of all heat,
A child’s best friend.
Many long hours
In the arms of a toddler.
Crying begins
When it goes to wash.
But when it is done
A glorious feeling swells inside,
In the heart of a child,
That his friend is back.
How exquisite! By brother is a poet!
By my dearest brother Ricky
The source of all heat,
A child’s best friend.
Many long hours
In the arms of a toddler.
Crying begins
When it goes to wash.
But when it is done
A glorious feeling swells inside,
In the heart of a child,
That his friend is back.
How exquisite! By brother is a poet!
Friday, August 27, 2004
“Do you ever miss being a baby?” My mother inquired of me as we drove home from Costco.
I gave a puzzled, slightly worried look in response.
“You know, those golden days in which the extent of your contribution to society was a big stretch.”
Another puzzled, slightly more worried look.
“When all you had to do was wave an arm or roll on your side and passersby would applaud your every move. That all I want. I want to wiggle my big toe and have everyone cheering. Now I have to work full time, restore a house, feed my kids. I have to take care of my mother, keep the house clean, clothe my children, pay for a mission, and almost no thanks is given me. One day I want to wiggle a bit and satisfy everyone around me. I think I would enjoy that.” She laughed a bit in her fatigue.
An understanding, though still worried look.
Humorous as this was, it woke me up in a sense. Mum does do a lot. She does come home after teaching till 4 and paint the basement. And she even feeds her kids.
One day I’m going to wake her up, and when she stirs a bit I’ll cheer for her as loud as I can.
I gave a puzzled, slightly worried look in response.
“You know, those golden days in which the extent of your contribution to society was a big stretch.”
Another puzzled, slightly more worried look.
“When all you had to do was wave an arm or roll on your side and passersby would applaud your every move. That all I want. I want to wiggle my big toe and have everyone cheering. Now I have to work full time, restore a house, feed my kids. I have to take care of my mother, keep the house clean, clothe my children, pay for a mission, and almost no thanks is given me. One day I want to wiggle a bit and satisfy everyone around me. I think I would enjoy that.” She laughed a bit in her fatigue.
An understanding, though still worried look.
Humorous as this was, it woke me up in a sense. Mum does do a lot. She does come home after teaching till 4 and paint the basement. And she even feeds her kids.
One day I’m going to wake her up, and when she stirs a bit I’ll cheer for her as loud as I can.
“There's a fine line between genius and insanity. I have erased this line.”
Oscar Levant
(1906 - 1972)
How utterly saddened I am by the supposedly sane. It is depressing to see a mind of value and a mind of brilliance restricted by the barriers of judgment and sense that is declared to be good. How can one define good sense?
Today I was muttering to myself as I sorted my mail. I stopped, chuckled at myself, and proceeded to shuffle about after ceasing the dialect I was thoroughly enjoying before. And then I realized something. A sweet epiphany fell upon me, descending in rebellious and defiant splendor. Why had I stopped talking to myself? I wasn’t actually holding a conversation with one of my other personalities, though there doesn’t exist one doubt in my person that many do indeed exist, but I was just narrating to myself what I thought of the material before me. It was dreadfully entertaining.
So why did I stop? What is so terrible about thinking aloud? It is considered abnormal, to say the very least, and yet why is that? It’s not as if we talk to the people who surround us any more. We talk on our cell phones plenty, but not while we walk or go through with our general chores. No one seems to smile on the streets any more and pleasant greetings hardly transpire between strangers nowadays.
So why not talk to yourself?
To dwell in silence when one’s own voice could caress the wind about him or her is a pity. The only way to truly discover what thoughts scurries through one’s mind is to say them out loud and preferably in public. How absolutely nauseating it is to think that I stopped amusing myself so simply because the act isn’t one of the general public. How ashamed I am! Think of what I could have learned; think of what musings could then have been made know unto me. How unjustified was the termination of my audible contemplation!
Surely the only good sense in existence is one’s own sense of mind. Is there really such a thing as “bad” sense, or simply a different sense? No. The only sense that could be considered remotely “good” is any of the following: intuition, thought that is rational to the person thinking, and the art of being eccentric.
Oscar Levant
(1906 - 1972)
How utterly saddened I am by the supposedly sane. It is depressing to see a mind of value and a mind of brilliance restricted by the barriers of judgment and sense that is declared to be good. How can one define good sense?
Today I was muttering to myself as I sorted my mail. I stopped, chuckled at myself, and proceeded to shuffle about after ceasing the dialect I was thoroughly enjoying before. And then I realized something. A sweet epiphany fell upon me, descending in rebellious and defiant splendor. Why had I stopped talking to myself? I wasn’t actually holding a conversation with one of my other personalities, though there doesn’t exist one doubt in my person that many do indeed exist, but I was just narrating to myself what I thought of the material before me. It was dreadfully entertaining.
So why did I stop? What is so terrible about thinking aloud? It is considered abnormal, to say the very least, and yet why is that? It’s not as if we talk to the people who surround us any more. We talk on our cell phones plenty, but not while we walk or go through with our general chores. No one seems to smile on the streets any more and pleasant greetings hardly transpire between strangers nowadays.
So why not talk to yourself?
To dwell in silence when one’s own voice could caress the wind about him or her is a pity. The only way to truly discover what thoughts scurries through one’s mind is to say them out loud and preferably in public. How absolutely nauseating it is to think that I stopped amusing myself so simply because the act isn’t one of the general public. How ashamed I am! Think of what I could have learned; think of what musings could then have been made know unto me. How unjustified was the termination of my audible contemplation!
Surely the only good sense in existence is one’s own sense of mind. Is there really such a thing as “bad” sense, or simply a different sense? No. The only sense that could be considered remotely “good” is any of the following: intuition, thought that is rational to the person thinking, and the art of being eccentric.
Thursday, August 26, 2004
“Thanks for the food. I’ve got some physics to do.” I said.
“Do you feel that Dr. Peterson prepared you for physics?” My mother spontaneously asked.
“No. I did learn a lot about alcohol from his class, however.”
“Do you know what I fantasize when I get angry?” she responded. “I imagine that I kidnap the irritator and then take them to Iceland, and force them to live there.”
“You do know that Greenland’s the cold one, right?”
“Oh, it’s not about the climate. No one I know speaks Icelandic, and therefore wouldn’t be able to get a job. Peterson would have a difficult time of getting beer. The economy’s in ruins and the culture isn’t a very hospitable one.”
“You’ve seriously over thought this.”
“Do you feel that Dr. Peterson prepared you for physics?” My mother spontaneously asked.
“No. I did learn a lot about alcohol from his class, however.”
“Do you know what I fantasize when I get angry?” she responded. “I imagine that I kidnap the irritator and then take them to Iceland, and force them to live there.”
“You do know that Greenland’s the cold one, right?”
“Oh, it’s not about the climate. No one I know speaks Icelandic, and therefore wouldn’t be able to get a job. Peterson would have a difficult time of getting beer. The economy’s in ruins and the culture isn’t a very hospitable one.”
“You’ve seriously over thought this.”
Wednesday, August 25, 2004
I looked down at the tampons.
“Ricky, Some education for you.” I said, turning to my younger brother.
Ricky looked down at the tampons and ran out of the room. Yes, I make strong statements but I’m never too worried about proving my point. I kid you not, there is no exaggeration in what I am about to tell you. I hadn’t yet ranted to him about the vexing paranoia men have, I was going to do that after explaining that tampons aren’t scary.
Ricky ran out of the room, muttering “no, no”. He ran out the front door onto the porch, jumped off the 5 foot porch, and then proceeded to throw grapes at me.
So it’s just my family, then. The male gender is not to blame, the problem once again lies in the dysfunction of my family.
Whatever.
“Ricky, Some education for you.” I said, turning to my younger brother.
Ricky looked down at the tampons and ran out of the room. Yes, I make strong statements but I’m never too worried about proving my point. I kid you not, there is no exaggeration in what I am about to tell you. I hadn’t yet ranted to him about the vexing paranoia men have, I was going to do that after explaining that tampons aren’t scary.
Ricky ran out of the room, muttering “no, no”. He ran out the front door onto the porch, jumped off the 5 foot porch, and then proceeded to throw grapes at me.
So it’s just my family, then. The male gender is not to blame, the problem once again lies in the dysfunction of my family.
Whatever.
What’s with this whole “get paid for blogging” thing about? Don’t we already have enough blogs without point, passion or purpose? One would think that adding a secondary motive to writing would then dim the original motive, thus producing crap. At least I do, and I’m against this silly idea. But if it does prove lucrative for some I might start a new blog and bank in. But that would be after losing a pathetic inner struggle with my opportunistic side.
Anyways…
My first day of college was wonderful. I absolutely loved it. I ran around a lot today, trying to get my schedule worked out. I’ve upped it from 2 classes to 3, so I’m feeling less and less like a slacker. Some magical day soon I’ll be taking 4, once I go tomorrow and try to see if I can get into arch 1630 even though it is full. You know, I feel pretty full. I ate 6 cookies today, and 3 bowels of cheerios, which is 420 Cals for the cookies and about half that for the cereal.
Oh my. Oh my oh my oh my oh my oh my.
I’ve become a paranoid calorie counter.
shoot me. please.
Anyways…
My first day of college was wonderful. I absolutely loved it. I ran around a lot today, trying to get my schedule worked out. I’ve upped it from 2 classes to 3, so I’m feeling less and less like a slacker. Some magical day soon I’ll be taking 4, once I go tomorrow and try to see if I can get into arch 1630 even though it is full. You know, I feel pretty full. I ate 6 cookies today, and 3 bowels of cheerios, which is 420 Cals for the cookies and about half that for the cereal.
Oh my. Oh my oh my oh my oh my oh my.
I’ve become a paranoid calorie counter.
shoot me. please.
I love being a woman. I do. At times there is nothing more empowering and fun than being a young beautiful woman. A woman can wear heels (without receiving strange looks from others), accessorize much more completely and wildly than any male can, a woman can feel the sway of her delicate, sexy walk. A woman can tilt her head up and feel her rich hair flowing down her back, a woman can be forever graceful without the interference of masculinity. A woman can pout her lips and look sexy, not disturbed. I enjoy femininity immensely.
But it’s not all perks. It’s definitely not all fun. It’s worth while, but sometimes certain things a woman has to endure can get to you, you know? The shaving, plucking, brushing, applying, moisturizing, waxing, and exfoliating can become tedious at times, but some men subject themselves to a couple of those. No. I’m not talking about that, and the women and moderately aware males present know exactly what I’m talking about:
A woman’s period.
In all actuality I shouldn’t be complaining. I never get cramps or headaches or other debilitating symptoms that plague many women. I should be grateful for my mild menstrual cycle. And usually I am, but there are times when it’s just freaking annoying. When your sitting in ARCH 1615, and you just changed your tampon, and you realize that you have a Nile river of blood about to ruin your day completely, it’s annoying to leave the class, hunt down a bathroom in the building and change your tampon once again. It’s really annoying to open your purse when someone asks for a pen and display to the world the amazing gamut of feminine hygiene products that you cart around with you. You wanna tampon? We got normal, super, and super plus. We got ones with applicators, ones without. I even carry them in pink and white. You prefer a pad? We got panty liners, winged ones, small ones, big ones, and a few that rival your chem. text book in size.
And do you think it’s fun to carry this mini flea market of sanitation around? No! It’s annoying, vexing, interrupting and at times painful.
But what annoys me the most are the men that get grossed out every time they see any personal hygiene propaganda. Like the guys who cringe every time a tampon or pad is discussed, referenced to, or sitting in a box by the toilet. What? Where else would I put the freaking box of tampons? Under a towel? In another locked box? Yes, I could put them in the cabinet outside the bathroom, but why would I? It doesn’t gross me out! Come on! How does that funny little misogynistic saying of evil go? Oh yes- BE A MAN! Get over it! Women have periods! You can’t change that! And the next time I need a tampon I’m not going to whisper it discreetly to my closest friends, as if the words could cripple civilized company if said too loudly. Nope! Not any more. The next time I need a tampon, my dear friends, I’m standing on a table and screaming out the necessity!
But it’s not all perks. It’s definitely not all fun. It’s worth while, but sometimes certain things a woman has to endure can get to you, you know? The shaving, plucking, brushing, applying, moisturizing, waxing, and exfoliating can become tedious at times, but some men subject themselves to a couple of those. No. I’m not talking about that, and the women and moderately aware males present know exactly what I’m talking about:
A woman’s period.
In all actuality I shouldn’t be complaining. I never get cramps or headaches or other debilitating symptoms that plague many women. I should be grateful for my mild menstrual cycle. And usually I am, but there are times when it’s just freaking annoying. When your sitting in ARCH 1615, and you just changed your tampon, and you realize that you have a Nile river of blood about to ruin your day completely, it’s annoying to leave the class, hunt down a bathroom in the building and change your tampon once again. It’s really annoying to open your purse when someone asks for a pen and display to the world the amazing gamut of feminine hygiene products that you cart around with you. You wanna tampon? We got normal, super, and super plus. We got ones with applicators, ones without. I even carry them in pink and white. You prefer a pad? We got panty liners, winged ones, small ones, big ones, and a few that rival your chem. text book in size.
And do you think it’s fun to carry this mini flea market of sanitation around? No! It’s annoying, vexing, interrupting and at times painful.
But what annoys me the most are the men that get grossed out every time they see any personal hygiene propaganda. Like the guys who cringe every time a tampon or pad is discussed, referenced to, or sitting in a box by the toilet. What? Where else would I put the freaking box of tampons? Under a towel? In another locked box? Yes, I could put them in the cabinet outside the bathroom, but why would I? It doesn’t gross me out! Come on! How does that funny little misogynistic saying of evil go? Oh yes- BE A MAN! Get over it! Women have periods! You can’t change that! And the next time I need a tampon I’m not going to whisper it discreetly to my closest friends, as if the words could cripple civilized company if said too loudly. Nope! Not any more. The next time I need a tampon, my dear friends, I’m standing on a table and screaming out the necessity!
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
Honest people rock. Today I left my U card, bus pass, and money in the bathroom at the field house and I found it all turned in at the front counter. Including the money. What type of diehard turns in the money? I don’t understand it, but I am thankful, all the same.
The field house is wonderful. I burnt 300 calories. It doesn’t sound like a lot, but that’s a good 40 minutes on the treadmill. Then I walked around for 2 hours in an attempt to find my text books and my classes that failed miserably and left me exhausted.
So I came home and decided to eat tortillas instead.
Yes. This entry isn’t really about anything; I just wanted something to do while I ate my tasty tortillas. And now that my tortillas have all been consumed, I’m afraid my talking to you serves no purpose whatsoever. Bubye.
The field house is wonderful. I burnt 300 calories. It doesn’t sound like a lot, but that’s a good 40 minutes on the treadmill. Then I walked around for 2 hours in an attempt to find my text books and my classes that failed miserably and left me exhausted.
So I came home and decided to eat tortillas instead.
Yes. This entry isn’t really about anything; I just wanted something to do while I ate my tasty tortillas. And now that my tortillas have all been consumed, I’m afraid my talking to you serves no purpose whatsoever. Bubye.
Monday, August 23, 2004
I’m currently at the multimedia office in the Marriott Library. I’ve registered, received my U card (which allows me to finally ride the hideous motor vehicles of death for free, which dims my bitterness about UTA a wee bit), and I’m waiting to go accost teachers and harass them into letting me into their full classes. It’s been a very productive day.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited in my life about entering a new phase or atmosphere. I feel so much more comfortable here, I feel less annoyed as I walk along and observe my classmates. My classes excite me as opposed to insulting me; I can’t wait to get started.
Today as I was standing in line I saw a girl who I took trig with last year. She was waiting with her boyfriend. She has to go back to east for another year to get the diploma that swings in my book bag. Sucker.
I’ve decided to release fashion from my clutches while I’m a student. I have no money and soon I will have no time. I’ll wear clothing, and I’ll cover myself. That, however, will be the extent of my wardrobe during the next 4 years.
I think the professor is in his office now and ready for battle. Farwell.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited in my life about entering a new phase or atmosphere. I feel so much more comfortable here, I feel less annoyed as I walk along and observe my classmates. My classes excite me as opposed to insulting me; I can’t wait to get started.
Today as I was standing in line I saw a girl who I took trig with last year. She was waiting with her boyfriend. She has to go back to east for another year to get the diploma that swings in my book bag. Sucker.
I’ve decided to release fashion from my clutches while I’m a student. I have no money and soon I will have no time. I’ll wear clothing, and I’ll cover myself. That, however, will be the extent of my wardrobe during the next 4 years.
I think the professor is in his office now and ready for battle. Farwell.
Sunday, August 22, 2004
Today a member of the high council came to talk to me. Even though I knew I wasn’t in trouble or anything silly like that, it still makes any Latter Day Saint nervous to get a call from a high councilman and schedule an appointment. The good news is that I’m not getting excommunicated for having a love affair with shoes. The even better news is that I’ve been asked to serve as a counselor for mutual for the handicapped. The bad news is that the bat has developed an obnoxious 150-decibel snore. But I shan’t be distracted: I’m very excited about this calling.
I will pick up a handicapped young woman and spend time with her throughout the activity every Thursday. I think it’s a great opportunity and I’m very thankful for the calling. Hopefully it will dampen my pessimism and the hopeless depression I fall into every now and then. In my mind there is none more innocent than the people I’ll be serving and I hope that I can make a difference in the lives of the girls I’ll be with. They are such sweet teachers, and I am so grateful for this opportunity.
And oh yes, the snore. A chart, if you will:
Points of Reference *measured in dBA or decibels
· 40 quiet office, library
· 50 large office
· 65 - 95 power lawn mower
· 80 manual machine, tools
· 85 handsaw
· 90 tractor
· 90 - 115 subway
· 95 electric drill
· 100 factory machinery
· 100 woodworking class
· 105 snow blower
· 110 power saw
· 110 leafblower
· 120 chain saw, hammer on nail
· 120 pneumatic drills, heavy machine
· 120 jet plane (at ramp)
· 120 ambulance siren
· 125 chain saw
· 130 jackhammer, power drill
· 130 air raid
· 130 percussion section at symphony
· 135 The sound erupting from the bat’s drooping mouth during REM
· 140 airplane taking off
· 150 jet engine taking off
· 150 artillery fire at 500 feet
· 180 rocket launching from pad
Saturday, August 21, 2004
Of course they pulled up then. I knew the consequences of my hesitance wouldn't be positive. I over analyzed the situation, and because of that I’m left with nothing but an unforgettable smile and a simple first name.
I believe in regrets, completely and unashamedly. Who can sincerely say that he or she doesn’t long for an outcome of one particular situation that differs from the unchangeable mount of reality? What realistic, self respecting individual can truly say that they don’t wistfully ponder life as it would be had they taken a risk? What rubbish! The possibilities that stand in passed opportunities never fail to intrigue the adventurous or the intelligent. Yes, you learn from mistakes, but does this mean that you can’t regret? Does this mean that regret is pushed aside and hidden, avoided and despised? Regret isn’t a vice; quite on the contrary it is an opportunity to question the strength of one’s determination.
I just returned from EFY. I had wonderful time, I made plenty of friends and fell hard and willfully for this boy named Kyle whom I adore. Complication has a cost, however, and because of this I have no email address, last name, natural hair color. I have his face and his first name. Sad and tragic, I know, but romantic in it’s own insignificant way.
I met a wonderful girl named Niki from Pocatello, Idaho. We talked forever and ever, and transformed the bras of our roommates into blocks of ice in a wonderful escapade of pranks. She is quite an extraordinary gal.
I’m absolutely dead, however; I’m afraid I didn’t quite make it to bed last night. I leave you to nap!
I believe in regrets, completely and unashamedly. Who can sincerely say that he or she doesn’t long for an outcome of one particular situation that differs from the unchangeable mount of reality? What realistic, self respecting individual can truly say that they don’t wistfully ponder life as it would be had they taken a risk? What rubbish! The possibilities that stand in passed opportunities never fail to intrigue the adventurous or the intelligent. Yes, you learn from mistakes, but does this mean that you can’t regret? Does this mean that regret is pushed aside and hidden, avoided and despised? Regret isn’t a vice; quite on the contrary it is an opportunity to question the strength of one’s determination.
I just returned from EFY. I had wonderful time, I made plenty of friends and fell hard and willfully for this boy named Kyle whom I adore. Complication has a cost, however, and because of this I have no email address, last name, natural hair color. I have his face and his first name. Sad and tragic, I know, but romantic in it’s own insignificant way.
I met a wonderful girl named Niki from Pocatello, Idaho. We talked forever and ever, and transformed the bras of our roommates into blocks of ice in a wonderful escapade of pranks. She is quite an extraordinary gal.
I’m absolutely dead, however; I’m afraid I didn’t quite make it to bed last night. I leave you to nap!
Sunday, August 15, 2004
You would think that a fashion conscious lady of style such as my self would abhor any shop where the brilliance of designers is ripped off and thrown into horrid, cheap knockoffs to be displayed and made trendy by the general public.
And yet I have completely fallen in love with Payless shoe source.
The concept of being financially capable of buying more than one pair of shoes at a time is entirely foreign to me. I have always bought the best my money could buy, which was, considering my current financial situation (completely broke) the upper end shoes of a moderate store (usually $75-100, or thereabouts, unless a great deal falls on my lap, which happens quite often. This might be odd considering my current financial situation {completely broke} yet I always have money for shoes. Huh). But today I meandered into payless and couldn’t decide between a pair of shoes. After 20 minutes of looking, testing, and clunking around unevenly like a pirate with one shoe, an epiphany came to me: I could buy both.
How strange.
The battle between my mother and I ended today, and we patched up things rather well. We went shopping, and came back with a lit magnifying mirror and an adorable CD full of French café music (I actually bought my music. Completely legitimate. No Kazaa involved. Yes, yes, I thank you for your applause). I’m happy to be on good terms with the mother unit for the time being. It was awful to fight with her so intensely. I’m surprised the extensive crying on my part didn’t lead to dehydration. We’ve decided that my graduation and entrance into college requires more freedom because of the natural possibilities.
I would stay and chat, but I’m afraid mum has a wonderful little fête planned for me, and delightful French music and my new birthday shoes beckon me. Farewell!
And yet I have completely fallen in love with Payless shoe source.
The concept of being financially capable of buying more than one pair of shoes at a time is entirely foreign to me. I have always bought the best my money could buy, which was, considering my current financial situation (completely broke) the upper end shoes of a moderate store (usually $75-100, or thereabouts, unless a great deal falls on my lap, which happens quite often. This might be odd considering my current financial situation {completely broke} yet I always have money for shoes. Huh). But today I meandered into payless and couldn’t decide between a pair of shoes. After 20 minutes of looking, testing, and clunking around unevenly like a pirate with one shoe, an epiphany came to me: I could buy both.
How strange.
The battle between my mother and I ended today, and we patched up things rather well. We went shopping, and came back with a lit magnifying mirror and an adorable CD full of French café music (I actually bought my music. Completely legitimate. No Kazaa involved. Yes, yes, I thank you for your applause). I’m happy to be on good terms with the mother unit for the time being. It was awful to fight with her so intensely. I’m surprised the extensive crying on my part didn’t lead to dehydration. We’ve decided that my graduation and entrance into college requires more freedom because of the natural possibilities.
I would stay and chat, but I’m afraid mum has a wonderful little fête planned for me, and delightful French music and my new birthday shoes beckon me. Farewell!
Thursday, August 12, 2004
I’ve done it! I hit the big number 3 approximately an hour and a half ago! It feels pretty good to be on the Salt Lake City runaway list for the third time running, and I think I’m aiming for 5, it sounds like a nice number. It only took me an hour this time, too. Honestly. I walked home from the passport office after mum and I got in a tiff, I arrive safely home less than an hour later, and I’m a runaway! It’s my record. Do you think I could do it in half an hour? I don’t know if I’m that good…
Yes. So I would like to officially tell all that I have just experienced the worst birthday ever. Well, it’s only 5:30, so I suppose it’s bound to get progressively worse. The good news: I was accepted into the University of Utah although I don’t yet have my high school diploma (don’t even begin to start asking me how that works out; I’m afraid I have no idea, I’m just viewing it as a wonderful mystery.) Bad news: I haven’t done anything all day but run around while simultaneously bickering with my mother and I have yet to really accomplish anything.
If a drank, this would be a night when I would go get myself sloshed and wake up half a week later in Reno, and never be bothered by this wretched day again because I would be incapable of remembering it. But I don’t, so I’ll just have to guzzle my premium orange juice and ask Maile to hook me up with some quality catnip.
Not really. What I’m really going to do is begrudgingly attend my family birthday party, act positive and happy like a good girl, and thank every deity known to man for Maile’s presence.
Bah! Birthdays are such folly!
Birthdays are malevolent because of the following bitter reasons:
· They remind one that he or she is, indeed, one year closer to his or her imminent death. For older women this is especially disturbing, but it applies to all age groups. It also reminds them of how extraordinarily little they managed to accomplish in 365 days, therefore robbing life of all point and purpose.
· It forces one to spend more time than normal with one’s family. For some this is enjoyable, but these people are simply incurably insane. Perhaps get-togethers are pleasant in some families, but mine is dysfunctional and confrontational, so there is always fighting whether or not I am a part of it or the cause of it.
· It raises one’s expectations for the day and therefore creates a breeding ground for disappointment. Birthdays are supposed to be “special”, so the daily routine will not satisfy. Because of this, one tries to organize some fancy-to-do that never goes as planned, and feeds the monstrous disappointment that cannot be escaped or avoided.
· It reminds you how many acquaintances would forget your birthday, because they do. This doesn’t really matter to most; it merely serves as yet another kick up the already sore backside.
I believe that we should abolish birthdays! Maybe I can start picketing at my party tonight, wave a banner and everything.
On the upside, however, Carter called me up while I was with the architectural chair and sang happy birthday to me. I was surprised and he really made my day until my mother succeeded in ruining it for the second time 20 minutes later. Many other people called while I was sitting with my advisor, but I was really happy to hear from Carter. He is adorable. Props to you, darling, it was quite the considerate and sweet thing to do.
I must go prepare for my party. Oh, how terrible that one should dread a party thrown in her honor!
Yes. So I would like to officially tell all that I have just experienced the worst birthday ever. Well, it’s only 5:30, so I suppose it’s bound to get progressively worse. The good news: I was accepted into the University of Utah although I don’t yet have my high school diploma (don’t even begin to start asking me how that works out; I’m afraid I have no idea, I’m just viewing it as a wonderful mystery.) Bad news: I haven’t done anything all day but run around while simultaneously bickering with my mother and I have yet to really accomplish anything.
If a drank, this would be a night when I would go get myself sloshed and wake up half a week later in Reno, and never be bothered by this wretched day again because I would be incapable of remembering it. But I don’t, so I’ll just have to guzzle my premium orange juice and ask Maile to hook me up with some quality catnip.
Not really. What I’m really going to do is begrudgingly attend my family birthday party, act positive and happy like a good girl, and thank every deity known to man for Maile’s presence.
Bah! Birthdays are such folly!
Birthdays are malevolent because of the following bitter reasons:
· They remind one that he or she is, indeed, one year closer to his or her imminent death. For older women this is especially disturbing, but it applies to all age groups. It also reminds them of how extraordinarily little they managed to accomplish in 365 days, therefore robbing life of all point and purpose.
· It forces one to spend more time than normal with one’s family. For some this is enjoyable, but these people are simply incurably insane. Perhaps get-togethers are pleasant in some families, but mine is dysfunctional and confrontational, so there is always fighting whether or not I am a part of it or the cause of it.
· It raises one’s expectations for the day and therefore creates a breeding ground for disappointment. Birthdays are supposed to be “special”, so the daily routine will not satisfy. Because of this, one tries to organize some fancy-to-do that never goes as planned, and feeds the monstrous disappointment that cannot be escaped or avoided.
· It reminds you how many acquaintances would forget your birthday, because they do. This doesn’t really matter to most; it merely serves as yet another kick up the already sore backside.
I believe that we should abolish birthdays! Maybe I can start picketing at my party tonight, wave a banner and everything.
On the upside, however, Carter called me up while I was with the architectural chair and sang happy birthday to me. I was surprised and he really made my day until my mother succeeded in ruining it for the second time 20 minutes later. Many other people called while I was sitting with my advisor, but I was really happy to hear from Carter. He is adorable. Props to you, darling, it was quite the considerate and sweet thing to do.
I must go prepare for my party. Oh, how terrible that one should dread a party thrown in her honor!
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
The Book of the Anti-Lowi-Acedemia-ightes
Chapter 1
composing verses 1-15 exclusive
1.In the 16th year of the reign of the judges it came to pass that there dwelt a fair maiden beyond the hills in the land of Salty Mc Salt Salt. The maiden was exceedingly fair and bright, yea, a maiden of only 10 and 6 years, yea, a searcher and a doer of all things beautiful and right.
2.But she was one of eagerness, yea, filled with the desire to rush, and it came to pass that patience was not a virtue known unto her.
3.She dwelt in the land of Salty Mc Salt Salt, however, where public education was a thing of ugliness, and of sin, and of low budget.
4.She said unto her mother “Yea, I shall leave this perdition in which I must stay, and I will wander yon over the hills to the glowing white town of UniversityofUtah. But I must first complete my journey in the smelly black pit of high school first, and labor towards a diploma of light and truth.”
5.And it came to pass that the fair maiden labored all of her days to achieve that which was desired by her and trialed and worked until sweat covered her brow, and her hands were black and scarred.
6.She journeyed to her school counselors, yea, even the evil, idolatrous Pharisees of Academics, and they said unto her: “You cannot leave this place, you must stay.
7.For behold, we find you to be lacking one half of a credit of the electives, and for this iniquitous technicality we shall bind you, and torture you in the smelly black pit until the moon has risen and fallen in all of it’s luminescent fullness 12 times.
8.And it came to pass that the fair maiden did rent her clothes.
9.But she did it in private, mind you, for she was modest and genteel.
10.And now, seeing the horror that laid before her, she did journey to the house of her mother after putting on modest, unrent clothing and did weep.
11.And she also knowing the wisdom of her gentle mother, she did ask for aid and did pray undo the mighty Lord.
12.And it came to pass that the Lord did open up the heavens, and did pour his love down upon the fair maiden in the form of a Clep test, which is native to the glowing white town of UniversityofUtah.
13.The fair maiden did take the test, and did pass with flowing colors of red and silver and a tad of pink, and she did obtain not one half of a credit of the electives, but one full credit of the electives.
14.And there was much rejoicing.
15.And the fair maiden did journey to the glowing white town of UniversityofUtah, and yea, did stay there for two years until the 19th year of the reign of the judges. And she dwelt in righteousness, and happiness for the remainder of her years.
Chapter 1
composing verses 1-15 exclusive
1.In the 16th year of the reign of the judges it came to pass that there dwelt a fair maiden beyond the hills in the land of Salty Mc Salt Salt. The maiden was exceedingly fair and bright, yea, a maiden of only 10 and 6 years, yea, a searcher and a doer of all things beautiful and right.
2.But she was one of eagerness, yea, filled with the desire to rush, and it came to pass that patience was not a virtue known unto her.
3.She dwelt in the land of Salty Mc Salt Salt, however, where public education was a thing of ugliness, and of sin, and of low budget.
4.She said unto her mother “Yea, I shall leave this perdition in which I must stay, and I will wander yon over the hills to the glowing white town of UniversityofUtah. But I must first complete my journey in the smelly black pit of high school first, and labor towards a diploma of light and truth.”
5.And it came to pass that the fair maiden labored all of her days to achieve that which was desired by her and trialed and worked until sweat covered her brow, and her hands were black and scarred.
6.She journeyed to her school counselors, yea, even the evil, idolatrous Pharisees of Academics, and they said unto her: “You cannot leave this place, you must stay.
7.For behold, we find you to be lacking one half of a credit of the electives, and for this iniquitous technicality we shall bind you, and torture you in the smelly black pit until the moon has risen and fallen in all of it’s luminescent fullness 12 times.
8.And it came to pass that the fair maiden did rent her clothes.
9.But she did it in private, mind you, for she was modest and genteel.
10.And now, seeing the horror that laid before her, she did journey to the house of her mother after putting on modest, unrent clothing and did weep.
11.And she also knowing the wisdom of her gentle mother, she did ask for aid and did pray undo the mighty Lord.
12.And it came to pass that the Lord did open up the heavens, and did pour his love down upon the fair maiden in the form of a Clep test, which is native to the glowing white town of UniversityofUtah.
13.The fair maiden did take the test, and did pass with flowing colors of red and silver and a tad of pink, and she did obtain not one half of a credit of the electives, but one full credit of the electives.
14.And there was much rejoicing.
15.And the fair maiden did journey to the glowing white town of UniversityofUtah, and yea, did stay there for two years until the 19th year of the reign of the judges. And she dwelt in righteousness, and happiness for the remainder of her years.
Thursday, August 05, 2004
mtv
p.o. box 2001
new york, ny 10108
Dear Sirs:
Upon turning on my television for the first time this summer I was shocked to see that your popular television program “The Real World” was not currently on the air. I have come here to spit in your face in defiance and lay my insulted body between this noble show and the figurative bulldozer that you and the rest of your corporate buffoons plan to launch upon it.
p.o. box 2001
new york, ny 10108
Dear Sirs:
Upon turning on my television for the first time this summer I was shocked to see that your popular television program “The Real World” was not currently on the air. I have come here to spit in your face in defiance and lay my insulted body between this noble show and the figurative bulldozer that you and the rest of your corporate buffoons plan to launch upon it.
You say that there must be seasons in which certain shows do not run for the sake of production, but I find this reasoning to be skewed, unacceptable, and particularly ugly. How difficult can it honestly be to shove 7 strangers into a modern dwelling and press the “record” button on one of your video devices? How excruciatingly painful is it to take less than 6 months to do this? It is my firm belief that any quality soap dish of moderate size could perform the aforementioned task if presented with the appropriate materials, which I'm sure a rather large network such of yourself is capable of providing. If you honestly feel you cannot produce a season of “The Real World” in under half a year, then I would urge you to deliver the creative opportunity to the soap dish, which, I might add, can be found at any Bed Bath and Beyond or Linens N' Things in the bathroom accessories department.
Now that we have settled the issue of the producer, I might say something of the cast of this newly redesigned “The Real World”. I am disgusted by the young, corrupted offenses against good taste who attempt to act as civilized, refined human beings who have previously starred in your show. To see them squabbling over milk or sexual relations or whatever they choose to stupidly humor themselves with is not entertaining, nor is it conducive to a stable society. The general public, I can assure you, is in need of deep psychological discussion such as the dispute over dial-up internet connection versus the pricey, petty opulence of cable connection. I demand persons capable of such expostulation. I believe you can find such individuals in universities, in office max fan clubs, or in employment at any state DMV.
Now that I have outlined the expected results, I might indulge myself to add one more comment that is less germane to the issue at hand. I am nauseated by the fact that “The Real World” has disappeared from the channel and yet its ghastly mockery of a counterpart, Road Rules, plays on. The producers of this show should be thrashed and then impaled upon the cheap fountain pen they used to write such appalling feculence.
Sincerely Yours,
Ivory
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