I have always dismissed advice given by strangers at the gym as pompous attempts to hit on me, but after an 85-year-old man interrupted my workout today to tell me that I was using the machine completely incorrectly I realized that I must be completely retarded at using the gym. Huh.
I prefer to think that all those body builders were just trying to mack on me.
All is well. I have 25 sketches due on Wednesday that I should probably start tonight. I think I’ll go do that. I went to Taco Bell today, by the way, and it was the best meal I’ve had in ages. Seriously.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
Jesus Christ. No love, no love at all for the tattoo idea thus far. God. You’d think that one might find support for such an idea from the creative counter-culture that is design, but alas, I have yet to find any. Today I was told by a man with a mohawk and a batman tee that I would taint myself with a large tattoo. What the hell.
I am beginning to have my doubts. I can’t decide which would be worse: looking back at age 65 and regretting that I never had the balls to get a tattoo that I always wanted, or looking down at age 65 and seeing a stretched, out-of-place blight that covers a third of my torso. Hmmmm… decisions, decisions. I simply love the idea of a pretty, conservatively dressed young professional who beneath the banana republic cardigan and darling heels has Russian literature tattooed all over her body. Surely there is someone out there who also finds that amusing and awesome. Speak up, you illusive tattoo-condoning individuals! Where are you?
Today was successful. At 11:00 I went to brunch with Dennis, my dear friend and previous regional manager at Chart House, at Honey, an awesome indy restaurant over in Northside. I like Dennis immensely; he’s intelligent and pleasant while unapologetically goofy at times. We live in separate worlds, he and I; I spend 70 hours a week in the dork bizarro bubble that is DAAP, whereas his time is spent in a world of restaurants, wine tasting and actually having money. He turns 30 next week and invited me to a celebratory soiree:
D: “What are you doing on the 18th?
Me: “ Oh my god, BATMAN!”
D: “Come again?”
Me: “Dude, The Dark Knight comes out on the 18th, and I made plans to go see it EIGHT months ago. We even planned a batman marathon in preparation. BATMAN. That is what I’m doing on the 18th.”
D: “…..”
Me: “Does that make me even more of a dork?”
D: “That makes you even more awesome”.
I agreed to stop by after the film and help him celebrate his being old, and I look forward to meeting his friends and family. I also look forward to Batman, obviously. I’m going with my studio friend Matt, the aforementioned tattoo-hater who is currently sporting a mohawk. He’s an even bigger batman fan than I am, so his presence, hopefully, will make me feel somewhat normal. I cannot contain my excitement for the movie; the trailers look downright spectacular. Though I was initially suspicious of Heath Ledger’s Joker, my worries were banished the moment I saw his demented makeup and that menacing Chelsea smile. It’s going to be creepy. It’s going to be fantastic.
On a side note, I’ve been going to the gym daily since school started, and it’s starting to show. While on coop I spent almost every weekend in Chicago with Ben, during which time we went out to eat for every meal. I, er, returned to Cincinnati significantly plumper than I had left it, and was unhappy with the state of affairs. I dragged my chubby little ass to the gym and have worked out an hour a day since then, and will soon be the walking ball of hotness I aspire to be. Things are looking up.
I am beginning to have my doubts. I can’t decide which would be worse: looking back at age 65 and regretting that I never had the balls to get a tattoo that I always wanted, or looking down at age 65 and seeing a stretched, out-of-place blight that covers a third of my torso. Hmmmm… decisions, decisions. I simply love the idea of a pretty, conservatively dressed young professional who beneath the banana republic cardigan and darling heels has Russian literature tattooed all over her body. Surely there is someone out there who also finds that amusing and awesome. Speak up, you illusive tattoo-condoning individuals! Where are you?
Today was successful. At 11:00 I went to brunch with Dennis, my dear friend and previous regional manager at Chart House, at Honey, an awesome indy restaurant over in Northside. I like Dennis immensely; he’s intelligent and pleasant while unapologetically goofy at times. We live in separate worlds, he and I; I spend 70 hours a week in the dork bizarro bubble that is DAAP, whereas his time is spent in a world of restaurants, wine tasting and actually having money. He turns 30 next week and invited me to a celebratory soiree:
D: “What are you doing on the 18th?
Me: “ Oh my god, BATMAN!”
D: “Come again?”
Me: “Dude, The Dark Knight comes out on the 18th, and I made plans to go see it EIGHT months ago. We even planned a batman marathon in preparation. BATMAN. That is what I’m doing on the 18th.”
D: “…..”
Me: “Does that make me even more of a dork?”
D: “That makes you even more awesome”.
I agreed to stop by after the film and help him celebrate his being old, and I look forward to meeting his friends and family. I also look forward to Batman, obviously. I’m going with my studio friend Matt, the aforementioned tattoo-hater who is currently sporting a mohawk. He’s an even bigger batman fan than I am, so his presence, hopefully, will make me feel somewhat normal. I cannot contain my excitement for the movie; the trailers look downright spectacular. Though I was initially suspicious of Heath Ledger’s Joker, my worries were banished the moment I saw his demented makeup and that menacing Chelsea smile. It’s going to be creepy. It’s going to be fantastic.
On a side note, I’ve been going to the gym daily since school started, and it’s starting to show. While on coop I spent almost every weekend in Chicago with Ben, during which time we went out to eat for every meal. I, er, returned to Cincinnati significantly plumper than I had left it, and was unhappy with the state of affairs. I dragged my chubby little ass to the gym and have worked out an hour a day since then, and will soon be the walking ball of hotness I aspire to be. Things are looking up.
Saturday, July 05, 2008
Dear God, I feel completely brain-dead. The weekend that held such promise has been pissed away by my sloth and adoration of my couch. Though things began somewhat social- I went out Thursday evening with my father’s friends and attempted a grill-out Friday afternoon- I have, for the past two days, spent the entire time in my pajamas indoors. For example, I am currently wearing my pajamas. At 8:05 on a Saturday evening.
To my defense, however, the quarter is bound to get unbearably busy any moment now, so I suppose if there were ever a time to slip into a Seinfeld/beer-induced coma, this is it. I’ve enjoyed myself, I suppose, with the exception of that horrible dizzy feeling one gets after sitting and staring at screens too long.
Hey, I mowed the lawn today. I saw the sun. Don’t hate.
Next week I begin training for a server position at P.F Chang’s. The job is the most ideal I could hope for and probably the most lucrative available, but is quite a commitment for the three months that I’ll be in Cincinnati. Training will take a couple of weeks, at the very least, and I need money now. I needed money last week. Things are getting dicey. Though I realize I’ve spoken of monetary woes many a time on this blog before, my bills have always been minimal. So minimal they hardly classify as bills. Now, however, I have rent to pay, as well as medical bills for a Jameson-induced ordeal that occurred while I was on co-op. It’s actually an enormously amusing story that I will tell in depth sometime later, provided everyone promises to suspend their judgment, well, indefinitely.
Classes are off to an abnormally slow start. We had been told that summer classes were noticeably more lax than conventional terms, and indeed the rumors are true. We’re designing a power tool, and I’m very excited with my idea. After watching my mum attempt to use floor edgers on multiple occasions, I’ve decided it’s finally time that they were improved. I have many ideas for the redesign, some reasonable and some completely out there, so I’m not too worried about the project at this moment in time. My floor edger will be awesome.
I think I want a tattoo. At least I have begun the process of contemplating one. I adore typographic tattoos and am considering getting one of the Dostoevsky passage I posted earlier this year. Both my father and Cindy think it’s a horrible idea, which is not too surprising, what with them being parents and all. The gears in my little head have begun to turn, and the thought of a huge passage on the side of my torso intrigues me.
This post is scatter-brained and sloppily written, but I must settle for whatever absent-minded dross I am able to force out of myself. I haven’t written in quite a while. Eloquence will follow with time.
To my defense, however, the quarter is bound to get unbearably busy any moment now, so I suppose if there were ever a time to slip into a Seinfeld/beer-induced coma, this is it. I’ve enjoyed myself, I suppose, with the exception of that horrible dizzy feeling one gets after sitting and staring at screens too long.
Hey, I mowed the lawn today. I saw the sun. Don’t hate.
Next week I begin training for a server position at P.F Chang’s. The job is the most ideal I could hope for and probably the most lucrative available, but is quite a commitment for the three months that I’ll be in Cincinnati. Training will take a couple of weeks, at the very least, and I need money now. I needed money last week. Things are getting dicey. Though I realize I’ve spoken of monetary woes many a time on this blog before, my bills have always been minimal. So minimal they hardly classify as bills. Now, however, I have rent to pay, as well as medical bills for a Jameson-induced ordeal that occurred while I was on co-op. It’s actually an enormously amusing story that I will tell in depth sometime later, provided everyone promises to suspend their judgment, well, indefinitely.
Classes are off to an abnormally slow start. We had been told that summer classes were noticeably more lax than conventional terms, and indeed the rumors are true. We’re designing a power tool, and I’m very excited with my idea. After watching my mum attempt to use floor edgers on multiple occasions, I’ve decided it’s finally time that they were improved. I have many ideas for the redesign, some reasonable and some completely out there, so I’m not too worried about the project at this moment in time. My floor edger will be awesome.
I think I want a tattoo. At least I have begun the process of contemplating one. I adore typographic tattoos and am considering getting one of the Dostoevsky passage I posted earlier this year. Both my father and Cindy think it’s a horrible idea, which is not too surprising, what with them being parents and all. The gears in my little head have begun to turn, and the thought of a huge passage on the side of my torso intrigues me.
This post is scatter-brained and sloppily written, but I must settle for whatever absent-minded dross I am able to force out of myself. I haven’t written in quite a while. Eloquence will follow with time.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
It’s been a while since I was last here, in front of my once-beloved blank screen and blinking cursor. I haven’t written in ages, and I’m sad for this; as I look back over my blog this afternoon I realize how valuable this journal is to me. I’m sad that I don’t have the past two years catalogued and documented as well as the previous two. Oh well. I’ve been busy.
So much has changed. So much. Rereading my posts from 2004 and 2005 is a surreal activity; I can’t believe my situation was once so radically different from what it is now, and I can’t believe that I was so radically different from what I am today. The changes, though, are for the best, I believe, and I am happy.
Damn, I was a pretentious motherfucker. Dear God. I’ve chilled out a ton. Nowadays I rejoice in things that are blue-collared rather than blue blooded; I enjoy a cheap beer on the patio on a hot summer’s day and affordable clothing, and have adopted an attitude that is inclusive rather than exclusive. I think abandoning the pursuit of “poetic” writing for poetry’s sake will leave me with a lot less bullshit and a lot more substance.
I am back in school after my three-month internship at whirlpool, living in a dumpy yet charming apartment next to school with two architecture students. I’m seeing Ben, an industrial designer who also works at whirlpool and lives in Chicago, and I’ll see him in two weeks time at an Al Green concert in Chi town (I am SO excited. Al Green is, well, there are no adjectives. He’s Al Green. Enough said). I have yet to find a job and I am DEAD broke, but not too worried about it.
Thus is the status quo. Summer in Cincinnati is lazy, exquisite and full of subtle pleasures.
So much has changed. So much. Rereading my posts from 2004 and 2005 is a surreal activity; I can’t believe my situation was once so radically different from what it is now, and I can’t believe that I was so radically different from what I am today. The changes, though, are for the best, I believe, and I am happy.
Damn, I was a pretentious motherfucker. Dear God. I’ve chilled out a ton. Nowadays I rejoice in things that are blue-collared rather than blue blooded; I enjoy a cheap beer on the patio on a hot summer’s day and affordable clothing, and have adopted an attitude that is inclusive rather than exclusive. I think abandoning the pursuit of “poetic” writing for poetry’s sake will leave me with a lot less bullshit and a lot more substance.
I am back in school after my three-month internship at whirlpool, living in a dumpy yet charming apartment next to school with two architecture students. I’m seeing Ben, an industrial designer who also works at whirlpool and lives in Chicago, and I’ll see him in two weeks time at an Al Green concert in Chi town (I am SO excited. Al Green is, well, there are no adjectives. He’s Al Green. Enough said). I have yet to find a job and I am DEAD broke, but not too worried about it.
Thus is the status quo. Summer in Cincinnati is lazy, exquisite and full of subtle pleasures.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
I have so many things to say that I don’t know how to go about saying them. I’ve never felt so miserable in my life, and this misery manifests itself in a sluggishness that further encourages my depression. I don’t know what to think, I don’t know what to do, and every time I sit down to write about my confusion I just feel an unyielding desire to sleep. I am impatient and frustrated with everyone in my life, with the exception of Bryan and my mother. I don’t want to say goodbye to Bryan, I don’t want to unpack my things, I don’t want to go to Michigan. I want nothing other than to cry myself to a dreamless, thoughtless sleep. Even though sleep is my only solace, I am terrified I will reach for his arm while lost in my dormancy, wishing to be held, just to wake and find that I am alone on a couch and not in my bed with him.
I didn’t know I would miss him this much.
I didn’t know I would miss him this much.
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Rachael (interior monologue): “And I’ll just pop out that gradient there a bit, just to highlight the edge of the side window...”
Computer: “You want to use a WHAT size brush after running photoshop and illustrator simultaneously for nine hours straight? Cute, real cute.”
Rachael: “There we go...”
Computer: “What did I tell you? What do I ever tell you? Why don’t you ever listen? We play this game all the time, I have to crash on you, and then all of a sudden I’m the bad guy. Just, just chill. Surf the web for a while, why don’t you? Read some gossip, god, FACEBOOK if you have to, just give the massive aps a break.”
Rachael: “And that overlay is looking a bit much, I’ll just knock it down a bit...”
Computer: “YOU CRAZY BITCH! I will crash on yo’ ass so fast you won’t know what hit you OR your cartoonish, sophomoric rendering!”
Rachael: “This rendering is looking awesome. I am a badass.”
Computer: “...”
Rachael: “Maybe just a bit more shadow...”
Computer: *bipzewwww…*
Rachael: “Fuck! NO!! God no! You piece of shit! FUCK!!! ...
Computer: ...
Rachael: “... This must be karmic retribution for picking all of the raspberries out of the fruit salad Cindy made this afternoon.”
Computer: “GOOD GOD YOU’RE DUMB!”
Computer: “You want to use a WHAT size brush after running photoshop and illustrator simultaneously for nine hours straight? Cute, real cute.”
Rachael: “There we go...”
Computer: “What did I tell you? What do I ever tell you? Why don’t you ever listen? We play this game all the time, I have to crash on you, and then all of a sudden I’m the bad guy. Just, just chill. Surf the web for a while, why don’t you? Read some gossip, god, FACEBOOK if you have to, just give the massive aps a break.”
Rachael: “And that overlay is looking a bit much, I’ll just knock it down a bit...”
Computer: “YOU CRAZY BITCH! I will crash on yo’ ass so fast you won’t know what hit you OR your cartoonish, sophomoric rendering!”
Rachael: “This rendering is looking awesome. I am a badass.”
Computer: “...”
Rachael: “Maybe just a bit more shadow...”
Computer: *bipzewwww…*
Rachael: “Fuck! NO!! God no! You piece of shit! FUCK!!! ...
Computer: ...
Rachael: “... This must be karmic retribution for picking all of the raspberries out of the fruit salad Cindy made this afternoon.”
Computer: “GOOD GOD YOU’RE DUMB!”
Big news: after a quarter of waiting and fretting, my day has come. I can finally sigh, wipe the perspiration from my forehead and neglect my schoolwork with an ounce of validation. I got my first co-op.
Come March 31 I will be an official employee of Whirlpool’s platform studio.
I was offered my co-op later in the quarter than some. The pressure grew even more unbearable with every student that found a job; I was beginning to doubt my talent and my ability. The apprehension caused many people to jump at the first job they were offered. Luckily enough, I was offered two of the best co-ops at the same time: Whirlpool and New Balance. Not only did I score an awesome co-op, but I managed to land two of the best available to sophomores. The humility gained during the past couple of months melted away in an instant. I am, once again, the unbearably arrogant yet awesome person you all knew and loved previously, now complete with my first design job.
The decision between Whirlpool and New Balance was a tough one, even though I would love to do appliances and have no interest in shoes; Whirlpool pays for housing in Benton Harbor, Michigan, whereas I would be left to my own devices when working for New Balance in Boston, New Balance, however, is located in Boston as opposed to Benton Harbor, Michigan. Some could say that New Balance holds more prestige than Whirlpool, but Whirlpool offers the type of design work I’m looking for. The scales were even until I remembered that Whirlpool throws a free Kitchen Aid stand mixer into the deal. To Whirlpool I go. I am thrilled, and currently feeling like quite the badass.
An appliance-designing badass, that is.
More later when I’m not quite as tired.
Come March 31 I will be an official employee of Whirlpool’s platform studio.
I was offered my co-op later in the quarter than some. The pressure grew even more unbearable with every student that found a job; I was beginning to doubt my talent and my ability. The apprehension caused many people to jump at the first job they were offered. Luckily enough, I was offered two of the best co-ops at the same time: Whirlpool and New Balance. Not only did I score an awesome co-op, but I managed to land two of the best available to sophomores. The humility gained during the past couple of months melted away in an instant. I am, once again, the unbearably arrogant yet awesome person you all knew and loved previously, now complete with my first design job.
The decision between Whirlpool and New Balance was a tough one, even though I would love to do appliances and have no interest in shoes; Whirlpool pays for housing in Benton Harbor, Michigan, whereas I would be left to my own devices when working for New Balance in Boston, New Balance, however, is located in Boston as opposed to Benton Harbor, Michigan. Some could say that New Balance holds more prestige than Whirlpool, but Whirlpool offers the type of design work I’m looking for. The scales were even until I remembered that Whirlpool throws a free Kitchen Aid stand mixer into the deal. To Whirlpool I go. I am thrilled, and currently feeling like quite the badass.
An appliance-designing badass, that is.
More later when I’m not quite as tired.
Friday, March 07, 2008
"I hope I didn't bring up a sensitive subject when I mentioned Barb earlier today."
"What?" My father asked me, somewhat confused. The girlfriend of Cindy's 20 year old son, Austin, had delivered a baby the previous Sunday. Family relations are messy at this point, and by messy I mean that they put episodes of Jerry Springer to shame. All the same, a baby had been delivered, Cindy had become a grandmother -I suppose we can suspend that statement until the paternity tests have been taken care of- I felt it appropriate to inquire after the health of the parents and child.
"Today, when I mentioned Barb's delivery. She looked downright pissed, to be honest."
"Oh the baby! No, not at all. She is absolutely twitterpated with that child, through and through. Absolutely beautiful baby girl."
"Have you seen the baby?"
"No!" He barked. "I don't trust them."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Nothing like a baby to make blubbering idiots out of otherwise sane people," he explained.
"What?" My father asked me, somewhat confused. The girlfriend of Cindy's 20 year old son, Austin, had delivered a baby the previous Sunday. Family relations are messy at this point, and by messy I mean that they put episodes of Jerry Springer to shame. All the same, a baby had been delivered, Cindy had become a grandmother -I suppose we can suspend that statement until the paternity tests have been taken care of- I felt it appropriate to inquire after the health of the parents and child.
"Today, when I mentioned Barb's delivery. She looked downright pissed, to be honest."
"Oh the baby! No, not at all. She is absolutely twitterpated with that child, through and through. Absolutely beautiful baby girl."
"Have you seen the baby?"
"No!" He barked. "I don't trust them."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Nothing like a baby to make blubbering idiots out of otherwise sane people," he explained.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
So, it seems, whether we are ready or need more time, whether we are eager for change or reluctant to get off the couch and face what is happening, life marches on. The monotonous landscape of February instills in me a deep, powerful listlessness that I have found difficult to overcome. Despite the overwhelming amount of schoolwork I have yet to get a handle of, I have never slept so much in my life, nor have I felt as tired. Normally I would panic at the thought of my being behind in school, and yet...I don’t care... and would rather nap than think about it.
A dangerous mentality, to say the least.
Bryan and I, as I’m sure my nonexistent readers were able to gather from my latest post, are breaking up. This Sunday I will drive him to the airport and send him off to Salt Lake to interview with several architecture firms. I have never been one to wear my emotions on my sleeve; I survive such experiences by slowly dealing with my sentiments when I have the time to be alone and address them exclusively. I have no choice but to concentrate on school, a co-op and finding a place to live- well, attempt to concentrate, that is; as mentioned earlier, I’ve had trouble focusing as of late- and it must seem to those around me that I am unaffected by this break up. Regardless of how things appear, I am completely, entirely, and desolately broken-hearted, and will be for some time.
It helps that the reasons for our split are mostly technical, I suppose. There is no lack of love or trust; there is no betrayal, no inability to compromise or lack of desire. There is a young woman and a man eighteen years her senior who need different things. Bryan and I have always been best friends as well as lovers, and I predict that after we have had time to mend our wounds we will continue to be good friends. I will always love him- the things I love about him haven’t changed, after all- and I hope that he finds happiness, fulfillment, and contentment. I know he will.
As for myself, I hope that I am able to find a co-op, an apartment, and a way to fix my currently dysfunctional computer. DAAP’s ID program is highly regarded because of the co-op program, which allows students to spend a year and a half in different cities working in the field. Thank GOD for the program, because the actual classes can be something of a joke from time to time. The co-op experience is invaluable and thrilling; the jobs pay well and some are located in wonderful places: New York, San Francisco, Chicago, Seattle, London, and so on and so forth. The trick, of course, is finding a job, which I have yet to do. I have submitted my portfolio, which is badass in every sense of the word, and I am waiting to hear back from employers. The wait is absolutely tortuous, and is resulting in my becoming a more humble person by the day. Not the worst thing in the world, I suppose.
My computer is functioning normally, with the exception of one very important modeling program that refuses to run. The problem, my papa speculates, is Windows (as always! I can’t believe I had to taint my perfect mac with that shitty OS). I am thus uninstalling and reinstalling windows today. Fuck you, winXP, fuck you.
*obnoxiously thrusts two middle fingers up at computer screen*
Later on today I’m attending the 20th century modern art exhibition with a couple of studio mates, after which we will return to one of their apartments to drink and make hot wings. Tomorrow I have to go check out renting a room in an apartment close to campus. I would have two male architecture students as roommates, which is not ideal, but you really can’t beat $209+utilities and a two second walk to DAAP.
Life marches on, as I said before, and I’m just going to have to trail behind and try to catch up. I hope warm weather will invigorate and inspire me. I guess I’ll just cross my fingers and wait and see.
A dangerous mentality, to say the least.
Bryan and I, as I’m sure my nonexistent readers were able to gather from my latest post, are breaking up. This Sunday I will drive him to the airport and send him off to Salt Lake to interview with several architecture firms. I have never been one to wear my emotions on my sleeve; I survive such experiences by slowly dealing with my sentiments when I have the time to be alone and address them exclusively. I have no choice but to concentrate on school, a co-op and finding a place to live- well, attempt to concentrate, that is; as mentioned earlier, I’ve had trouble focusing as of late- and it must seem to those around me that I am unaffected by this break up. Regardless of how things appear, I am completely, entirely, and desolately broken-hearted, and will be for some time.
It helps that the reasons for our split are mostly technical, I suppose. There is no lack of love or trust; there is no betrayal, no inability to compromise or lack of desire. There is a young woman and a man eighteen years her senior who need different things. Bryan and I have always been best friends as well as lovers, and I predict that after we have had time to mend our wounds we will continue to be good friends. I will always love him- the things I love about him haven’t changed, after all- and I hope that he finds happiness, fulfillment, and contentment. I know he will.
As for myself, I hope that I am able to find a co-op, an apartment, and a way to fix my currently dysfunctional computer. DAAP’s ID program is highly regarded because of the co-op program, which allows students to spend a year and a half in different cities working in the field. Thank GOD for the program, because the actual classes can be something of a joke from time to time. The co-op experience is invaluable and thrilling; the jobs pay well and some are located in wonderful places: New York, San Francisco, Chicago, Seattle, London, and so on and so forth. The trick, of course, is finding a job, which I have yet to do. I have submitted my portfolio, which is badass in every sense of the word, and I am waiting to hear back from employers. The wait is absolutely tortuous, and is resulting in my becoming a more humble person by the day. Not the worst thing in the world, I suppose.
My computer is functioning normally, with the exception of one very important modeling program that refuses to run. The problem, my papa speculates, is Windows (as always! I can’t believe I had to taint my perfect mac with that shitty OS). I am thus uninstalling and reinstalling windows today. Fuck you, winXP, fuck you.
*obnoxiously thrusts two middle fingers up at computer screen*
Later on today I’m attending the 20th century modern art exhibition with a couple of studio mates, after which we will return to one of their apartments to drink and make hot wings. Tomorrow I have to go check out renting a room in an apartment close to campus. I would have two male architecture students as roommates, which is not ideal, but you really can’t beat $209+utilities and a two second walk to DAAP.
Life marches on, as I said before, and I’m just going to have to trail behind and try to catch up. I hope warm weather will invigorate and inspire me. I guess I’ll just cross my fingers and wait and see.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Saturday, February 02, 2008
It feels like sacrilege to call you darling. I feel very differently from the way I felt last night, but that sentiment remains the same. I forget you completely between these spurts of regret and longing, when we’re sitting side by side on the couch, miles away from one another, watching the thing that was once our love whine and die. I hate myself for allowing these past months to taint my porcelain-delicate memories of you and what we’ve shared for the past three years.
The only thing, the only thing I want in this world is you, not as you are now- cold, hard, resentful- but as you were before, as we were before, when we ran to the world bravely, unafraid, so deeply, fervently, madly in love that my body aches to think about it.
Like clockwork I wake at eight in the morning, dry mouthed but not hung over. I sit on a stranger’s couch, a copy of a copy of a copy, a reiteration so distant that I have begun to fade and lose all distinction; once a possessor of an object so impassioned, so lucid that it vividly cuts into my mind like a scalpel into unblemished skin, now a reason for passersby to snicker with shrewd assumption: a stained shirt, smeared eye liner, half a bottle of rum.
Here, on a small couch in a vaguely familiar apartment, is where I grieve for you. I am alone; I will always be alone when I allow myself to feel this way. I am sorry I cannot do this in front of you. I mourn for you the way a mother mourns a son, a sister a brother, a fan a hero. We can never go back, I’m afraid, to the luscious delirium of yesteryears, the intoxicated fantasy of new love that we managed to suspend for three years. We can never love each other again without the stinging memory of this January’s cruelty and the things we have done. Already our love begins to slip out of focus and become a mirage-like haze down the road. The girls chat up their scandal at hand while I, deaf to their prattle, long for the original other. Masochistically my mind will float to you in the years to come; a soft breeze will blow on my face some sunny afternoon, and I will remember singing loudly to David Bowie while on our way down to North Carolina in a rented car, Bavarian bagels at servattii in the chill of early morning, moon pies brought home to me after a bad day, notes left on a studio desk, a man who cared, a man who loved, a man with the capacity to comfort, protect, hurt and torture me,
a man gone far, far and forever away.
The only thing, the only thing I want in this world is you, not as you are now- cold, hard, resentful- but as you were before, as we were before, when we ran to the world bravely, unafraid, so deeply, fervently, madly in love that my body aches to think about it.
Like clockwork I wake at eight in the morning, dry mouthed but not hung over. I sit on a stranger’s couch, a copy of a copy of a copy, a reiteration so distant that I have begun to fade and lose all distinction; once a possessor of an object so impassioned, so lucid that it vividly cuts into my mind like a scalpel into unblemished skin, now a reason for passersby to snicker with shrewd assumption: a stained shirt, smeared eye liner, half a bottle of rum.
Here, on a small couch in a vaguely familiar apartment, is where I grieve for you. I am alone; I will always be alone when I allow myself to feel this way. I am sorry I cannot do this in front of you. I mourn for you the way a mother mourns a son, a sister a brother, a fan a hero. We can never go back, I’m afraid, to the luscious delirium of yesteryears, the intoxicated fantasy of new love that we managed to suspend for three years. We can never love each other again without the stinging memory of this January’s cruelty and the things we have done. Already our love begins to slip out of focus and become a mirage-like haze down the road. The girls chat up their scandal at hand while I, deaf to their prattle, long for the original other. Masochistically my mind will float to you in the years to come; a soft breeze will blow on my face some sunny afternoon, and I will remember singing loudly to David Bowie while on our way down to North Carolina in a rented car, Bavarian bagels at servattii in the chill of early morning, moon pies brought home to me after a bad day, notes left on a studio desk, a man who cared, a man who loved, a man with the capacity to comfort, protect, hurt and torture me,
a man gone far, far and forever away.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
It's 7:16 in the morning, and I am sitting on the dusty, dirty floor of DAAP's third floor, waiting to be taught how to weld. Vanessa said they were meeting for an orientation this morning at 7, but as time creeps closer to 7:30 I grow progressively more convinced that I misheard her. Underneath the door of the shop, however, a light creeps out and dances on the finish of the concrete floor; either a light is always left on in the shop, regardless of whether or not it is open, or my comrades will emerge from the room in several moments as master welders, leaving me to return for orientation yet another time.
*sigh*
Well, I suppose I should explain how I found myself at this particular moment. The last time you heard from me was in mid August, during a particularly amusing fight with Bryan. This morning I'm bundled up in a coat, scarf, and moderately practical shoes. Two months have passed, I've been to Paris and back, started school and am half way done with the quarter. My, how time flies.
Paris was spectacular and unlike anything I have ever seen. Like many others I know, I've been bitten by the illusion that I will learn French, snag a fabulous Parisian job, and be living in the Marais in a matter of years. Will this happen? Perhaps not. I will, however, certainly return to the city of light many times in the next couple of years. The city and the way of life is beautiful. I have many pictures to post.
School has also been going well. I spend 60 hours in the studio a week, but I've done well in most of my work. I have yet to find motivation for some classes- drawing, for instance- but I've felt inspired in most other areas. I've developed a solid routine that involves taking the bus, packing a lunch, working my ass off during the week so that I can spend time with Bryan on the weekends; basically I'm finally doing all the stuff I should have been doing last year.
I look up from my laptop to find the shopkeeper, Jim, rushing towards me with profuse apologies and mutterings about sleeping in, a sick cat, and some distorted comment about "that damn dishwasher repair man". He unlocks the door of the shop, waves me in, and asks me to throw my bag in a corner and grab a welding mask. A glance at a torn piece of loose lief taped to the office door informs me that I'm a day early for the orientation. I keep this bit of information to myself in hopes that I can get certified today and sleep in tomorrow. Jim is bustling about the office, clearly still half-asleep, ironically droning on about the importance of alertness and awareness while welding.
Within half and hour I am savvy to the processes of the spot-welder, plasma cutter, and welding machine. A mark is punched on my shop ID to indicate my ability. Tootsie Rolls are thrust in my hand with further apologies for the tardiness. Another comment about "that degenerate" the repairman can be heard among his ramblings. I saunter off towards the cafe for a bagel and coffee.
I am, once again, where I so often find myself to be: in studio. I have drawing to do and a bit of research to conduct. I look out the window and see students walking towards their first classes of the day, and I think of the friends I haven't seen in ages and the normal college diversions I don't have time for. I allow myself to look up for a moment more before grabbing a sheet of 11x17 copy paper and beginning to draw.
*sigh*
Well, I suppose I should explain how I found myself at this particular moment. The last time you heard from me was in mid August, during a particularly amusing fight with Bryan. This morning I'm bundled up in a coat, scarf, and moderately practical shoes. Two months have passed, I've been to Paris and back, started school and am half way done with the quarter. My, how time flies.
Paris was spectacular and unlike anything I have ever seen. Like many others I know, I've been bitten by the illusion that I will learn French, snag a fabulous Parisian job, and be living in the Marais in a matter of years. Will this happen? Perhaps not. I will, however, certainly return to the city of light many times in the next couple of years. The city and the way of life is beautiful. I have many pictures to post.
School has also been going well. I spend 60 hours in the studio a week, but I've done well in most of my work. I have yet to find motivation for some classes- drawing, for instance- but I've felt inspired in most other areas. I've developed a solid routine that involves taking the bus, packing a lunch, working my ass off during the week so that I can spend time with Bryan on the weekends; basically I'm finally doing all the stuff I should have been doing last year.
I look up from my laptop to find the shopkeeper, Jim, rushing towards me with profuse apologies and mutterings about sleeping in, a sick cat, and some distorted comment about "that damn dishwasher repair man". He unlocks the door of the shop, waves me in, and asks me to throw my bag in a corner and grab a welding mask. A glance at a torn piece of loose lief taped to the office door informs me that I'm a day early for the orientation. I keep this bit of information to myself in hopes that I can get certified today and sleep in tomorrow. Jim is bustling about the office, clearly still half-asleep, ironically droning on about the importance of alertness and awareness while welding.
Within half and hour I am savvy to the processes of the spot-welder, plasma cutter, and welding machine. A mark is punched on my shop ID to indicate my ability. Tootsie Rolls are thrust in my hand with further apologies for the tardiness. Another comment about "that degenerate" the repairman can be heard among his ramblings. I saunter off towards the cafe for a bagel and coffee.
I am, once again, where I so often find myself to be: in studio. I have drawing to do and a bit of research to conduct. I look out the window and see students walking towards their first classes of the day, and I think of the friends I haven't seen in ages and the normal college diversions I don't have time for. I allow myself to look up for a moment more before grabbing a sheet of 11x17 copy paper and beginning to draw.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Oh, I could kill him! I could absolutely kill him! Twenty five minutes ago I was tired, worn out by an exhausting double at work and quite ready for bed, but now my blood is surging and I am anything but tired. The nerve! I ask you! I don't think I should let it pass lightly, to be honest with you; just as with dogs and children, boyfriends will continue bad behavior if left unchecked. But I ask you! Am I a fucking dog owner? A mother? I think not! Gngngngngnkigkjfsdjksgkj!!!
Argh. Anyways. Things are as they usually are. I've been working a lot lately in preparation for school and for a trip to Paris, the thought of which would be much more enjoyable were I not traveling by the good grace of the aforementioned jackass. My birthday was last Sunday, which was absolutely perfect- the aforementioned jackass was not a jackass at all last weekend, but rather a perfect gentleman, regardless of his current jackass status- and yesterday I ordered an expensive, delightfully unnecessary digital SLR camera. I've made good money all this week at work, too, though I think it might finally be time for me to serve at a fine dining establishment. Everything is fine, with the exception of the boy.
Honestly! It would be too fucking simple if he were logical, wouldn't it? Too ideal, too easy. Real relationships aren't ideal, but rather so stuffed with bullshit at times that the only real solution to the problem is a particularly large bottle of liquor.
The aforementioned jackass just texted me, saying that he acted like a jackass and to please call him. I called him. Why the fuck did I call him? God, I have no spine. I do, however, have a large bottle of liquor. I am a spineless drinker.
At least I drink good liquor.
Argh. Anyways. Things are as they usually are. I've been working a lot lately in preparation for school and for a trip to Paris, the thought of which would be much more enjoyable were I not traveling by the good grace of the aforementioned jackass. My birthday was last Sunday, which was absolutely perfect- the aforementioned jackass was not a jackass at all last weekend, but rather a perfect gentleman, regardless of his current jackass status- and yesterday I ordered an expensive, delightfully unnecessary digital SLR camera. I've made good money all this week at work, too, though I think it might finally be time for me to serve at a fine dining establishment. Everything is fine, with the exception of the boy.
Honestly! It would be too fucking simple if he were logical, wouldn't it? Too ideal, too easy. Real relationships aren't ideal, but rather so stuffed with bullshit at times that the only real solution to the problem is a particularly large bottle of liquor.
The aforementioned jackass just texted me, saying that he acted like a jackass and to please call him. I called him. Why the fuck did I call him? God, I have no spine. I do, however, have a large bottle of liquor. I am a spineless drinker.
At least I drink good liquor.
Monday, July 30, 2007
"But till I am thirty, I know that my youth will triumph over everything- every disillusionment, every disgust with life. I've asked myself many times whether there is in the world any despair that would overcome this frantic and perhaps unseemly thirst for life in me, and I've come to the conclusion that there isn't, that is till I am thirty, and then I shall lose it of myself, I fancy. Some drivelling consumptive moralists- and poets especially- often call that thirst for life base. It's a feature of the Karamazovs, it's true, that thirst for life regardless of everything; you have it no doubt too, but why is it base? The centripetal force on our planet is still fearfully strong, Alyosha. I have a longing for life, and I go on living in spite of logic. Though I may not believe in the order of the universe, yet I love the sticky little leaves as they open in spring. I love the blue sky, I love some people, whom one loves you know sometimes without knowing why. I love some great deeds done by men, thought I've long ceased perhaps to have faith in them, yet from old habit one's heart prizes them. [...] I want to travel to Europe, Alyosha, I shall set of from here. And yet I know that I am only going to a graveyard, but it's a most precious graveyard, that's what it is! Precious are the dead that lie there, every stone over them speaks of such burning life in the past, of such passionate faith in their work, their truth, their struggle and their science, that I know I shall fall on the ground and kiss those stones and weep over them; though I'm convinced in my heart that it's long been nothing but a graveyard. And I shall not weep from despair, but simply because I shall be happy in my tears, I shall steep my soul in emotion. I love the sticky leaves in spring, the blue sky- that's all it is. It's not a matter of intellect or logic, it's loving with one's inside, with one's stomach. One loves the first strength of one's youth. Do you understand anything of my tirade, Alyosha?" Ivan laughed suddenly.
"I understand too well, Ivan. One longs to love with one's inside, with one's stomach. You said that so well and I am awfully glad that you have such a longing for life," cried Alyosha. "I think everyone should love life above everything in the world."
"Love life more than the meaning of it?"
"Certainly, love it, regardless of logic as you say, it must be regardless of logic, and it's only then one will understand the meaning of it. I have thought so a long time. Half your work is done, Ivan, you love life, now you've only to try to do the second half and you are saved."
-Fyodor Dostoyevsky, "The Brothers Karamazov"
"I understand too well, Ivan. One longs to love with one's inside, with one's stomach. You said that so well and I am awfully glad that you have such a longing for life," cried Alyosha. "I think everyone should love life above everything in the world."
"Love life more than the meaning of it?"
"Certainly, love it, regardless of logic as you say, it must be regardless of logic, and it's only then one will understand the meaning of it. I have thought so a long time. Half your work is done, Ivan, you love life, now you've only to try to do the second half and you are saved."
-Fyodor Dostoyevsky, "The Brothers Karamazov"
Friday, June 01, 2007
Today I completed and turned in my last studio project. Though my last exam is not until Wednesday, I experienced the true pain and horror of design finals last week. Two days ago I turned in my design drawing process book, yesterday I turned in my space studio work, and today I turned in a portfolio of the work completed this year. The portfolio is a pdf created in InDesign, and it turned out quite lovely. Considering, however, that my technological incompetence turns the posting of pictures into a complex debacle- even with blogger’s super user-friendly setup- an attempt to post a pdf would result in the spontaneous combustion of my head. We don’t want that. Rather, I plan to bombard you with massive amounts of pictures.
This school year has been like nothing I’ve ever experienced: a dream-like blur of stress and expectation that consumed me so wholly, so completely, that I only now feel as if I’ve returned to the world I knew before. Perhaps I’m being a bit dramatic; foundations studies, though challenging weed-out classes, are nothing, nothing, compared to program work. My life, however, has changed because of it. Not only have the components of my life shifted, but I have stumbled upon a sense of specified purpose that I am moving towards at break-neck speed. This time next year I will be returning from a co-op in a design firm. The summer I start on Wednesday will be my last; after this year the breaks between quarters will be two weeks long at most. Come September I will begin my industrial design classes, and in the blink of an eye I will be facing graduation.
I’ve been dreading summer. I’m worried that I’ll have nothing to do. I’m also worried that I will burn out of the restaurant industry much sooner than I am allowed to. Waiting tables is my bread and butter for the next 4 years, yet I’m already sick of it. I absolutely loathe it.
I have fun travel plans for this summer, however. Rob will be marrying his delightful fiance Jasmin on July 7th, and I will be traveling to Salt Lake to attend the wedding, and in September Bryan and I will spend 5 days in Paris. Until then I will be working, sleeping in, dressing up, going out, and saying goodbye to the summers of my youth. This is, after all, the last one.
This school year has been like nothing I’ve ever experienced: a dream-like blur of stress and expectation that consumed me so wholly, so completely, that I only now feel as if I’ve returned to the world I knew before. Perhaps I’m being a bit dramatic; foundations studies, though challenging weed-out classes, are nothing, nothing, compared to program work. My life, however, has changed because of it. Not only have the components of my life shifted, but I have stumbled upon a sense of specified purpose that I am moving towards at break-neck speed. This time next year I will be returning from a co-op in a design firm. The summer I start on Wednesday will be my last; after this year the breaks between quarters will be two weeks long at most. Come September I will begin my industrial design classes, and in the blink of an eye I will be facing graduation.
I’ve been dreading summer. I’m worried that I’ll have nothing to do. I’m also worried that I will burn out of the restaurant industry much sooner than I am allowed to. Waiting tables is my bread and butter for the next 4 years, yet I’m already sick of it. I absolutely loathe it.
I have fun travel plans for this summer, however. Rob will be marrying his delightful fiance Jasmin on July 7th, and I will be traveling to Salt Lake to attend the wedding, and in September Bryan and I will spend 5 days in Paris. Until then I will be working, sleeping in, dressing up, going out, and saying goodbye to the summers of my youth. This is, after all, the last one.
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