delicious!

Recent Entries

You are viewing the most recent 25 entries.

26th January 2004

9:30pm: Is there anyone who would be so kind as to help me with one or two technical tasks that I do not know how to do?

1. attach special antenna to stereo or television
2. back up contents of my laptop onto a disk
9:30pm: Is there anyone who would be so kind as to help me with one or two technical tasks that I do not know how to do?

1. attach special antenna to stereo or television
2. back up contents of my laptop onto a disk

25th January 2004

6:30pm: ***
I've spent this afternoon buying textbooks at the school store and then comparison shopping online for the same titles. I bought them all to begin with because I wanted to know the ISBN numbers without copying them all down, and I did find lower prices for many of them. The fact that I spent several hours doing this research, and the fact that being around for the postman to deliver my packages and returning some to the store does amount to a considerable expenditure of time does not bother me. There's a certain pleasure in finding the lower price, and I'm willing to pay for that small delight with a small amount of time.

Earlier this afternoon I felt what I first labeled as "mania," but upon further reflection I've decided I was being too harshly diagnostic--"elation" seems more accurate. It sort of fell on me and made everything buzz and tear for a few cold minutes. Things felt right. Now things feel cold and dark, but I think that's because it is so cold and dark here.

***

17th January 2004

11:25pm: This was entry was not written by me, but by an insecure jerk who stole my computer and credit card.
***
Hello.

I don't want to go back to school yet because I like being around my family. I haven't gone away anywhere all break but I'm not bored at all. I'm afraid of going back to my apartment because what if something has gone wrong? What if I've been robbed? I do not trust my housemate and I didn't clean out the refrigerator before I left because I was sick with the flu.

I watched The Pianist with my family tonight. Is there anyone else who has seen it who found the shot of his hands playing the piano near the end very strange? The two hands look very different.

I went shopping in Boston with my Auntie Lynne today and here is what I bought:

does this sort of thing interest ANYONE? or is it just yucky? here is the thing--I will include this list, although I worry that it is of no interest, and if you do hapen to find it interesting for any reason, and like the idea of such things appearing here, then leave a comment in support of the, er, journalling of consumption. If anything, it should be better than reading about someone who's suffering from tuberculosis. So here's what I bought:

I was going to tell you where I got them and how much I paid, but decided it would be tacky. Everything except for one item was at least 50% off, and the non-discounted item was a beaded chain for my glasses. I feel like a sucker when I buy something that's not on sale, but I recently found out that my glasses are eyeglasses, or reading glasses. An optometrist told me that I could wear them all the time but especially should for reading but my new optometrist said to only wear them for reading and now that I've been wearing them just when reading, my eyes have been feeling better. but I'm always looking for my goddamn glasses, so I bought a beaded chain so I can be an old lady who wears them around her wrinkly tortoise neck like jewelry.


Here are the other things:

-two long-sleeved shirts, black and the color of tomato soup

-a very colorful calendar with paintings of a cute elephant on it that I bought for my mom but she bought a calendar today too so I'm bringing it to school

-skirt and jeans from the Levis store. Levi Strauss & Co., if anything, makes me feel like a corporate whore. Why are Levis so sexy? What is it about the small red tab or the ponies on the label? Do I have some sort of cowboy-complex? How does a company turn its product into a sort of platonic version of itself? This is embarrassing. The store was having a fabulous sale, though, and I don't know why anyone buys other jeans that are more expensive than levis. Maybe part of it is that I don't care for the word "jeans" and like how "Levis" can take its place? And if I forget to capitalize the L, I pronounce it wrong---the Levis people would love me.

-Cashmere sweater that is celery-colored and very soft. I felt very grown-up buying it because it cost 69.99, and I've never bought such an expensive sweater. But it was marked down from 169.99, and it's very soft, so it didn't seem sinful. I wanted to say that it didn't seem extravagant, but a cashmere sweater, in the first place, is extravagant, even if it is fabulously discounted. They comb those fibers from the bellies of goats!

So, if you have enjoyed this shopping journal or want to tell me what a consumptive beast you think I am, remember to leave a comment.

Arg. I want hugs. Maybe if I put on the cashmere sweater I will be able to adequately hug myself? Or maybe I should just take a shower and go to bed?

6th January 2004

1:50am: ***
I've finished my second knitting project: a scarf made from rainbow acrylic yarn in the stockinette stitch. It's for my mother, who feels itchy around wool, and I found the yarn in my house. Its edges have curled into themselves, so hopefully blocking it will straighten things out. My next project will be with a wool yarn, which I much prefer. Straight from the sheep lady, in fact! Fresh wool has a distinctive smell which I find very comforting--it's like fresh air plus something sharper--gasoline? kerosine?--but does not smell toxic. It doesn't smell like farm animals, either. It also reminds me of bread baking, and is rough, and will leave your fingers dry because it absorbs moisture and oils. Not that I have oily fingers.

I'm eating part of a EXTRA STRONG DARK chocolate bar, and the wrapper informs me that it has a 77% cocoa content, as opposed to the 100% cocoa content of baking chocolate and 33% of milk chocolate. A short letter is printed on the label:

"This chocolate bar, with it's 77% cocoa content, is one of the strongest chocolates made for eating. Especially for the dedicated chocolate enthusiast, is thas been crafted to deliver intense cocoa flavor while keeping bitterness and acidity in check. This artful blend of Belgian and French chocolates is made from African and South American cocoa beans.

P.S. I hope you enjoy the love poem printed inside this label"

HOW WEIRD IS THAT POSTSCRIPT?!

And then, AND THEN! I peek inside the label and find an excerpt from an Algernon Charles Swinburne poem, "A Match." Only two stanzas are shown, and the one I prefer goes like this:

"If you were queen of pleasure,
And I were king of pain,
We'd hunt down love together,
Pluck out his flying-feather,
And teach his feet a measure,
And find his mouth a rein;
If you were queen of pleasure,
And I were king of pain."

Isn't that odd? Maybe they expect that people who buy extra strong dark chocolate will have an appreciation for decadent poetry? Or maybe the world has got my number. What do YOU think?

***

2nd January 2004

1:19am: ***

All the advertisments on television implied that if I were loved I'd be wearing diamonds, but I didn't even have rhinestones. Then my mother and I reorganized her jewelry box and sorted out all the earrings she doesn't wear--the dangly kinds, and two pairs of diamond studs. She doesn't wear the diamonds because they screw in and it's a hassle to take them out every night. But what's so bad about sleeping in diamonds? I will report back tomorrow. So far, it's just fine.

For the first time since age seven, I had a New Year's Eve that was relaxing and exciting and pleasant. Carl and I took on Boston, walking for miles on the esplanade along the river and wondering why no one else thought to watch for the fireworks there. He saw a rat and I was jealous, don't know why. We saw the edges of the fireworks framing the hugest building on the skyscape and suddenly knew why the esplanade was deserted. It was a lot of fun. I wore my pajama bottoms under my skirt because it was cold; luckily, they matched my scarf and gloves.

Carl gave me a lovely and thoughtful present: a My Bloody Valentine album, Loveless, and a book called A General Theory of Love. You should see the book's cover--there are two pretty red chairs, one standing straight and the other tilted towards it, balancing on two legs--it looks like chairs in love. I wholeheartedly support the anthropomorphization inanimate objects, so I found it very cute.

On our way home, after taking the T (and for free!) from Boston to Braintree (North Quincy really, because Braintree's a pain), we came to an accident on the highway. The authorities hadn't arrived yet, so we stopped and Carl got out to help the people in the car. As an EMT, he is obligated to stop and help out at accidents I think, and if he'd just kept driving I would have been obligated to report his inaction to the emergency rescue squads. Luckily, it didn't come to that. The driver of the car said he'd been drinking a lot and the passenger appeared to be in bad shape. Eventually the police cars came and surrounded us, blocking off all the traffic, and firefighters pulled the people out and started working on the passenger right there on the highway. Carl said that it's usually a bad sign when that happens. There were all crowded around him, right there on the ground in the middle of the road. The police let us leave, even though all the traffic behind us would be blocked for who knows who long. So we left. I don't know what happened to the people in the accident. Carl will be summoned to testify at the trial, which may or may not be for manslaughter. The government shoud confiscate the vehicles of anyone who is convicted of driving while intoxicated or under the influence. It's so goddamn socially acceptabe to drink and drive, is the problem. We put people in jail all the time for possessing or dealing drugs, and treat drunk driving like more of a vice than a crime.

So that added some ambiguous emotion and excitement to the evening. It was upsetting, and the fact that the driver had been drinking made me angry. But the fact that Carl was there to help out was positive, especially since he got there before the police and way before the rescue squad. I think that the police should be EMT-certified too, not just the ambulance and firefighter people, but I guess they're not.

I'm tired. I spent too many words on the car accident and it overshadows the other parts of the entry on the page. In all, it was a fine evening. I'm going to bed now, with diamonds on.

***

30th December 2003

10:50pm: ***
Several weeks ago, during some part of study week or exams (assigned only papers this semester, I didn't observe the study/exam dichotomy) I decided to go see Lost In Translation; but that evening I fell ill with influenza (as did David Bowie) so I wasn't able to see the movie. My father came up to Ithaca to drive me home, and my mom made lemon chicken soup for me while I finished my final papers. I got better, and on my first day out in the world again, I went to a record store and bought the Lost In Translation soundtrack. Then I listened to it a lot and felt dirty for not having seen the movie itself. Even worse, it looked as though its theater run had finished. But it wasn't! So I went to see it tonight with my parents, my brother Jeff, and Carl. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and was relieved not to have been disappointed.

Home is nice. When I'm home I mostly hang out with my family. I've left messages on a few answering machines of high school friends but haven't seen them. One of my friends, Luned, called me back and left a message and I think I'll get in touch with her. The others? maybe they didn't get the messages. I don't want to be a pest. Would it be giving up, to leave it at that? Maybe leave a few more messages and forget about it? Would it be failing, to give up? Did the failing and giving up already happen, two, three, four years ago? If I call and someone answers, what will I say? "Do you want to hang out sometime?" But then they'll ask what I want to do and whatever I think--take a walk, eat something, sit and talk, play a game--won't be exciting enough. I've seen Carl, but he's different--more like family. We can sit quietly without feeling awkward.

Tomorrow is New Year's Eve and, as always, I hope for this year's celebration to be better than the last. But this year I'm excited to be more relaxed about it. For the first time, I've been invited to several festivities. I'm not necessarily planning to attend any, though, which makes me feel free. I think it's time to go to bed now.

***

23rd December 2003

10:41pm: ***
I always think that a break from schoolwork will make me feel delightfully free, but unproductive is more like it. When will I get over the awful feeling of if-only-I-were-there, there being anywhere but here, because awfully exciting things must be happening there that I'm missing while I'm here, or awfully awful things must be happening there that I could be preventing if I weren't here? I wonder if part of it has to do with living in Little Compton, which is no one's there but mine. Rich people in the summertime like to come here, but ask anyone else and you'd think it would break their goddamn skulls to even think about the possibility of fun in the hinterland.

I finished my first knitting project today--a scarf made from wool I bought at the farmer's market--and ate some red grapes with crackers and cheese from the yarn-lady's sheep. That was the culinary high point of the day, the low point being an unfortunate moment in the afternoon when I unwrapped one of two chocolate bars I'd purchased for my nana and ate half of it. It was milk chocolate witth pecan praline, not a flavor I'd select for myself, and I found it too sweet to really enjoy but not bad enough to resist. Dark chocolate is more to my liking, especially orange-flavored dark chocolate. I might swear off half-assed indulgences for the new year.

I kept thinking about going into Providence today but never actually did, because by the time I found out that people I knew would be around I was already headed with my family to my aunt's house for a dinner I wouldn't eat anyway because it was fish and capers and if you gave me ten dollars I wouldn't eat ten capers and if you gave me a hundred dollars I'd eat them but would forever afterwards wonder whether or not it was worth it. I've realized that, as much as I consider Providence my home, I've never lived closer than forty minutes away (except on the morning when I drove to the SATs, when I suddenly lived just twenty-five minutes away) and I don't know many people who live there right now. If I were adrift in Providence for the night, in fact, I would probably end up sleeping in the shopping mall skyway or something. Of course I do not need anyone else's company to have a good time in Providence, but popping out into the world to do some reading in a cafe or window shop or whatever feels a lot less serendipitous than it does in Ithaca--the driving forty minutes each way adds some pressure to the idea of a pleasant afternoon or evening out.

It feels like all I do around here is ask my mom to give me hugs. It's pathetic. Maybe they'll give me a teddy bear for Christmas. Today I decided to watch the oprah show and it was all about super-talented and accomplished kids and my mom burst out laughing because I had been moping about how unproductive, unpopular, and unexciting I was. Then we watched the beginning of dr. phil and some lady looked very upset about weighing 133 pounds and I felt bad because I didn't think that was such an upsetting number. I don't weigh 133 pounds and I guess if I did all of a sudden I'd be concerned, but it didn't seem talk-show-worthy. But maybe the lady was really short, in which case it would be more significant. Who knows--I didn't watch the whole show.

Usually we have turkey for Christmas but this year I requested roast beast. I later rescinded my request when I read a newspaper article about beef prices being high this year, but my mom said we could still have the beast. This makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, because it means we are not going through tough times. To tell the truth, we've never gone through terribly tight times, but I've always worried about it and tried to be conscientious about spending. Or, I'm cheap. I go around flipping off lightswitches in empty rooms and compare unit prices at the supermarket and save my change like a little old lady but I do tip well and try to give people nice presents. That newspaper article suggesting roasting a ham instead and I'm glad we're not resorting to a lousy pig, although a big Christmas ham would look festive on the holiday table.

Thinking about that beast has brought me into a much better mood. Also, I won 600 dollars today from a scholarship contest I entered last spring. And I got an A in my essay class! This is not such a bad day after all. And I'm in good health, and have no homework to do. Grand. How phony, Holden Caulfield would say. And it's true---there is a whole lot to be happy about. But at the end of the day I still want more hugs--what am I doing wrong?

***

16th December 2003

7:00pm: ***
I was having a mediocre day and then went and knowingly made it worse. Like scratching a mosquito bite until it bleeds, but not as satisfying and not as fun. I could have just been frustrated with the rest of the world but now I can be frustrated with myself too. And write my final papers. And beat influenza. And take antibiotics to beat the biotics.

***

11th December 2003

7:09pm: ***

I feel sick. I am sick. A hundred years ago I'd probably die from this tomorrow, if acetaminophen weren't keeping my fever down to a respectable 102.8.

If I weren't justifiably ill, if I didn't have an unfilled prescription (all out, sorry) and a carbon copy verifying my visit to health services, I think I'd feel worse.

...............................................
...............................................

How about that, those two paragraphs have an equal number of syllables, and on the first go without even thinking about it.

***

10th December 2003

12:48pm: ***

I've been doing research for a paper I'm writing about AIDS Patient Zero, which led me to the film "Zero Patience," which is fantastic, both as a movie-musical and as the new central object of my paper. The previews, which came after the film (a good placement, I think) were for a German movie called something like "I am my own woman" about an old German transvestite and "The Antonio Banderas Collection." At first I scrunched my nose, but let me tell you, I want "The Antonio Banderas Collection." In the mid-eighties, before he came to Hollywood, Banderas was totally Almodovar's bitch. I've already seen Law of Desire, but Matador and Labyrinth of Passion? I haven't seen those, and I'd see Law of Desire again, and obviously I should don a fabulous outfit and have myself an Almodovar/Banderas festival tonight. I bet I can even score the films from cornell's library for free (that is, if they splurged on The Antonio Banderas Collection). Also, obviously, I am a gay man living in a woman's body.

***

8th December 2003

12:36pm: ***
"Man fishing in Galveston Bay finds torso in suitcase" says CNN, sounding like a long-lost Soul Coughing lyric.

In an hour and a quarter I'll be attending a pizza party for the walk-in writing service staff. I am the kind of person who looks forward to this sort of thing. It is, I like to imagine, a vestige of the classroom Christmas parties where we would eat jello stars and gingerbread cake. When I go home my nana and I are going to try to make a yule log, une buche de noel, for my aunt's holiday party. The yule log is like a huge jelly roll but with chocolate or cream filling and it is frosted to resemble a log and is spotted with marzipan mushrooms. I've never made one before, and neither has she. The yule log might end up being campy. We're aiming high with this one. I want it to be spectacular, but I imagine it will be "charming."

Yesterday Matt Vernon suggested that Cornell's libraries and study centers should install, in the place of those little cafes that have been sprouting up all over campus recently, little discos. That might have been the highlight of my day.

There's some sort of band playing festive music on the arts quad and it's kind of nice. I really enjoy the material trappings of Christmas--trees, advent calendars, lights. I dislike most Christmas music, but I do care for some of it, especially when no one's singing. Most people of the world have some sort of holiday around this time of year because if we had nothing to look forward to then maybe we'd all kill ourselves. Christmas makes me anxious, but I still like something about it. Once my mom and I went on a trip with school to a shrine around the holidays and it was very pretty in a Good Old Plastic Jesus way. They were selling "hot toddies," which sound like fun even though I don't know what they are, and all sorts of religious trappings. We bought a book about the lives of the saints and a camel for our nativity set because the old one had passed away. My mom won the nativity set in a raffle when she was in grade school and she has been known to claim, at times, that it is the only thing she has won. Except for bowling lessons, also in a grade-school raffle. My mom always wins when we go bowling.

The person sitting across from me has abandoned his or her things: aquafina water, notebook, cell phone, Fundamentals of Corporate Finance. I wonder if he or she will really walk away from all of that someday. He or she has returned! It's a he, and he looks like a prick.

I hope that Matthew comes to the pizza party. What if everyone I like is too hip to come to the pizza party? Now, just half a hour until the pizza party. And I have work to do! I should be doing work, not counting down to a pizza party. Watch it get cancelled.

"...shortly before he spotted a plastic bag that contained a head," authorities said.


 


 




































































    

    

7th December 2003

2:12pm: ***

Yesterday I woke up, went back to sleep, woke up, and made a batch of Anarchist Cookies. Why are they anarchist, you ask? Because they're free! What I was supposed to do--what the recipe's instructions told me to do--was to make a big batch and tell people to quit their jobs and when they say "you gotta work" I ask them why and then when they say "you gotta eat" I hand them an anarchist cookie. But I didn't even have enough oatmeal to make the small batch, so I made 2/3 of the small batch and then did some fancy baking science and math to try to make up for the fact that I accidentally included all, or 3/3, of the water, and it all ended up just fine, but I didn't end up with very many cookies so I ate them all myself. Actually, there are a few left still, but I am planning to eat them all myself. What a pig! The whole story, I think, is rather capitalist.

Eventually I ended up at Joe, Britney, and Becca's house, where people were eating cheese and baked goods. In turned into some sort of time warp. There were a whole bunch of people there and it occurred to us that maybe it was sort of a "party," and Joe observed that the alcohol-to-merriment ratio was impressive--there was very little alcohol and much merriment. I met Megan, who introduced Matt Vernon to artichokes before he introduced them to me, and Catherine, who I supposedly resemble and whose quite charming British accent is, someone told me, quite affected. They were all nice people. I think I was there from about six until two, which is ridiculous. That's eight hours. That's a whole fucking work-day.

And then, I think, I successfully deflected an attemped "booty call." The hesitation signified by "I think" stems from a lack of familiarity with the whole procedure, and perhaps the motives were indeed wholly wholesome, in which case I might be not only a capitalist pig but also a presumptuous, arrogant bitch.

"Presumptuous" was the word Craig used to describe the idea of his coming over and hanging out and "crashing" at my place, as in "I don't know if it would be presumptuous to do that." After getting some clarification on the term "crashing," which, for all I knew, might have been used to denote intoxicating himself into oblivion and retching on my living room floor (although he used it as a synonym for "sleeping") I agreed that that would, indeed, be quite presumptuous. That might be the definition of presumptuous, in fact. I was just heading to bed, and tired; he was awake, and depressed. I didn't feel much like company. But, feeling a civic duty to help stave off a "Plunges Plunges" headline in the Daily Sun, I said he could come over for a bit.

So I put some pajamas on and started knitting. Craig came over and talked about feeling like there was nothing he wanted to do in the world and I knit, told him that was a dismal attitude, asked if he'd ever considered the field of advertising *capitalist pig tries to help* because wouldn't that be kind of fun? but he said he couldn't do that and said I certainly could *capitalist pig dreams of selling her soul*. He talked about how he wasn't sure he wanted to go to grad school after all and I said I was thinking about an mfa and kept on knitting, was making good progress, and told him, first of all, to quit smoking. Because that's fun, isnt it, something to give life some purpose, and he seemed surprised that I could tell he smoked because he doesn't all that much--though who the hell does, in their own estimation? Knitting, I've decided, is an excellent accompaniment to conversation. It keeps me focused and relaxed and increases overall productivity. And the conversation wasn't bad, and then Craig asked if I was "just going to keep knitting." Well, yes, I said. I'm making good progress. So Craig left to hang out somewhere else because, presumably, he wasn't making such good progress.

And that was the end of what I have decided to call "the attempted booty call." I was rather impressed with myself for managing to uphold my status as a caring, friendly capitalist pig without feeling guilty for failing to satisfy my (presumably) dissatisfied (and, himself, presumptuous) visitor. The knitting, I think, was key. "Another row closer to spinsterhood," as I filled each needle with stitches.

Something interesting about not-being-a-part-of-a-romantic-commitment (which seems more accurate and less lonely of a term than "single," which would seem to require nomadic stays in the tundra to really be true) is that I find myself just as, if not more, concerned with fidelity as I used to be. I am cultivating a better sense of self-respect. It feels sort of backwards, that this would be such an enlightenment--the idea of being faithful to oneself, not cheating on one's sense of what is good and sound. It is good. And, if I ever find myself within a romantic commitment again, if I decide to veer off the expressway to spinsterhood for a spell, I imagine it might make more sense, and I might find myself thinking less in terms of "being a good girlfriend" and more in terms of respecting myself, remaining faithful to what i find good and sound, which would presumably encompass the lovely qualities of said "good girlfriend" but in, you know, a healthier way. Maybe I should read a self-help instead of accidentally writing my own.

I had planned to include the word "slutwhore" somewhere in here but it just isn't finding its way into the narrative; maybe that's a good thing in and of itself. Or is the fact that such term floats around my consciousness just a sign that I remain mired within the persistent domain of the virgin/whore dichotomy? Does the fact that I am not technically a virgin and not, in my own estimation, a slutwhore, matter? But doesn't pretty much everyone think that, even the people who seem be slutwhoring it up? Maybe I'm just a goddam judgmental capitalist pig.

***

29th November 2003

11:37pm: ***
For Thanksgiving, my family sits down to a meal without green vegetables. Biscuits and gravy make their only appearance of the year and sweet potatoes, usually baked in their own dry skins, swim in butter and sugar. Most interesting, I think, are the two sweet dishes that we consume during the main course, corn pudding and jello mold. Corn pudding, also known as creamed corn, is a mild custard, wobbly and sweet. The jello mold is either orange or lime flavored and always stained with maraschino cherries, assembled from the sort of recipe that might involve marshmallows but just as easily might not; the general effect, if you are curious = jello + cream + walnuts + cherries + pineapple. "Jello Mold" and, as some are wont to call it, "Jello Salad" are both disgusting terms; I still take some every year.

As for the rest of the holiday, I've been sleeping well here. The smell of my house in the winter and holidays makes me feel a little low and comforted at the same time.
***

25th November 2003

6:32pm: ***

Last time I saw you
We had just split in two.
You were looking at me.
I was looking at you.
You had a way so familiar,
But I could not recognize,
Cause you had blood on your face;
I had blood in my eyes.
But I could swear by your expression
That the pain down in your soul
Was the same as the one down in mine.
That's the pain,
Cuts a straight line
Down through the heart;
We called it love.

I looked up some of the words to Origin of Love from Hedwig and the Angry Inch and there are some of them. I don't usually go for lyrics that much, but I got a kick out of these. I've always liked that song, mostly because I love how Aristophanes explains love's origins in the symposium and the song is about that story. I've never been much of a fan of stories, but I'm absolutely mad about that one. The more I think about it, the more those lyrics make me feel uncomfortable, especially the parts about making love, which I originally pasted but then cut. "I got a kick out of these" isn't really true either. I've been rereading Catcher In The Rye and that's more something that Holden Caulfield would say. I guess I'd say that they spoke to me.

I think that most films are best viewed alone or in the company of strangers--at least, that's how I like to watch movies. There's an intimacy there, sitting in the dark and opening yourself to the sights and sounds of someone else's vision of the world. When Susan Sontag was living in Europe, she went through a long period of going to the movies two or three times a day. The theaters were showing lots of old films in addition to new releases, presumably because videocassette technology hadn't come out yet. There's something intimidating about going to the movies more than once every day for a period of months, amassing an arsenal of cinematic experience. I think I could get a real kick out of it.

Professor Raskolnikov reprimanded me for referring to Judith Butler by first name during my presentation today. I felt like a stupid cunt. If I'd referred to Descartes as Rene, I wouldn't have felt like such a sexist jerk. At least she didn't know that, while reading "How Can I Deny That These Hands and This Body Are Mine," I was referring to Butler in my mind as "Judy." Good old Judy Butler.

Mediocre days hurt.

***

24th November 2003

9:22pm: Hostess with the Mostest
***
Who shot Andy Warhol? Valerie Solanas, author of the book Amanda gave me this afternoon. The other day she found herself eating a moldy muffin--I felt sick after having vodka for dinner on Saturday so she told me stories to induce vomit, a sort of narrative ipecac syrup--and now I implore the muffin angels to look more kindly on her in the future because she is good and deserves things that are not moldy.

Thursday evening I walked home, carried my eyeglasses in my hand, and told myself to stow them in my bag instead (I don't usually carry them barehanded). Then I fell down and now there's a scratch that I do not see always but sometimes, and that's enough really. There's such a shock in almost-falling that meeting the ground can seem like relief sometimes (but the glasses wouldn't tell you that).

Emmanuel and I threw the feast, or Emmanuel threw the feast and I made desserts, or the feast threw me. It went well enough I guess. The pie crusts included artificial flavors because wegmans didn't carry any untainted graham crackers, and it made me wonder what the artifical flavor is...is it that famous "graham" flavor that is fake? I made brownies, apple crisp, and a few kinds of pie. Cakes are more delicious and beautiful but pies are easier and who the hell cares anyway? The world is full of terrible baked goods, so anything halfway decent can please a crowd--thank you Sara Lee, Mrs. Smith, and Little Debbie. If I had more love to give, I might have made a carrot cake.

Oh Mister Sandman! sends few dreams to me, maybe only half a dozen each year. On Friday night or Saturday morning I had myself a merry little nightmare, complete with explosions, spiral staircases, mushroom clouds, and a rutabaga. In retrospect, I like to imagine that this nightmare might have coincided with real-life upsetting events, as if my underwater deep space dreaming mind could flirt with omniscience. I have read that a whole dream can spin itself within the space of a few seconds--what seems to have lasted for hours enters and exits in one moment.

The most interesting moment within the nightmare involved observing something about to happen, imagining an absurd, awful, beautiful perversion of it, deciding to keep looking just in case, and watching that same fantasy play itself out, feeling horrified. An airplane flies into a building: what a goddamn american dream. And, as if I'd been raped, a whispering chorus announced "she wanted it, wanted it, wanted it."

***

21st November 2003

4:12am: it's just a bunch of phonies. I expected, when rereading Catcher in the Rye, to look back upon my fascination with Holden Caulfield with a sense of knowing nostalgia--ah, how silly I was, or something like that. but fuck the phonies, every last goddamn one. I do NOT feel like baking pies tomorrow.

18th November 2003

11:37am: I love, while walking home, after plodding through the Parson’s Tale—“it is necessary to understonde whennes that synnes spryngen, and how they encreessen, and whiche they been”—which even, supposedly, most Chaucer classes skip because of its length and gloom, for four hours in the spicy light of neon bled through a window from dusk until the dark of eight o’clock in November, after hiking an extra few blocks for broccoli grown organically, as everything used to be, and smashing against the fact that the wall and its blue bricks all dressed up like wet tempera paint were missing what they used to have (perhaps what we all used to have, or all someday might used to have had) scrawled right across its cold hard heart, the milky graffito I love her so much, and decide, nearly, to hop into the grand sedan idling by the curb with its diesel purr—Lord you have bought me a Mercedes-Benz!—empty, carrying nothing but Germany and the nineteen-seventies, a load heavy enough I suppose, so much.

16th November 2003

9:49pm: ***
The knitting has begun! I've made about an inch of progress today, and am excited to have found such a productive mechanism for procrastination. Becca from my essay class is teaching me; she wrote an essay about knitting and I asked her if she could teach me. Asking someone to teach you how to knit is pretty much asking her to be your friend, because you supposedly never forget whoever teaches you. I'm usually too shy to ask someone to be friends like that, so this is kind of special.

The other day people were talking about game: who got it, who has it, who lacks it. It was decided that I got game but don't really use it. To got game, obviously, is ideal, and to not really use it, I like to imagine, is indicative of some higher calling. Art or something? Reminds me of that old song "This little light of mine / I'm going to let it shine / Hide it under a bushel? NO! / I'm going to let it shine / Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine" Everyone loves screaming NO!, but I always liked imagining the cozy hidden space underneath the bushel too.

Today also contained the creation of an experimental new apple crisp that is not crispy at all, but still good. I've discovered my apple crisp dichotomy of preference: warm with ice cream or cold by itself.

***

15th November 2003

2:02pm: ***
I've been feeling very unproductive lately and not terribly melancholy, which I suppose is a good enough balance. I've been thinking about MFA programs, considering the possibility of it. Part of me would like to stay at Cornell for an extra three years, because my Telluride scholarship could theoretically cover five years. I don't know if I could last that long in Ithaca, though, and am not sure what I would study. And I couldn't get an MFA here because supposedly they don't let cornell students into the program. Maybe I could get a master's in something? I'm slowly coming to terms, I think, with the concept that I do not picture myself enoying a career in scholarship. It would be writing papers, I remind myself---good papers, long papers, papers that are called articles and papers that are called books, papers that appear in journals and hide in libraries that the Olin family has built in universities all over the country. And I don't like writing papers.

I've also been thinking about cats. Telluride allows cats, but my mom doesn't think it would be a good idea. A cat is expensive and a responsibility. Should I get a kitty? What do YOU think? I like the idea of having a feline friend with whom I could share the next decade or so of my life. A sort of companion. We would have adventures, even though maybe all of them would be indoors. I'd have to decide whether or not to let him go outside. In Ithaca there are lots of cars, and in a large house people might let him out accidentally, though I could make sure everyone knew to keep him inside if he were an indoor cat. I could take him for walks on a little leash, although maybe that would be silly. Maybe he would catch fleas outside. And then, God forbid, I'd catch fleas too. Inside would be best, I think. Please leave a comment if you have cat advice for me. Maybe they allow dogs.

I'm very much looking forward to the feast, which is next weekend. Even though I don't see him often at all, Emmanuel is a good friend. And Thanksgiving, my very favorite holiday, approaches us. I miss Providence. I've never lived there, and my home is about half an hour away, but I went to high school there and was born there. I care for the city itself, but really love the name. People ask where I'm from and Providence comes out as the answer.

***
1:37pm: ***
Becca from my essay class has promised to teach me how to knit, and I'm very excited. Visisted the yarn shop more than once and surveyed the wares but decided that I'd feel better about my unborn scarf if its yarn came from the farmer's market instead. Last time was unable to decide on a color--none seemed quite right--but found success this time. Much deliberation, first concerning width and weight and then, of course, color. Now that it's sitting on my bed all bundled in itself like challah bread, I wonder how I didn't notice it first and choose it immediately. It's very satisfying, this feeling that, at least in the world of yarn, I have made a perfect decision. It smells a little like sheep, and I like that I bought it from the woman who feeds the lambs and sells them in the spring for Easter dinners.

I love everything about lambs and sheep. I love they way they look, their yarn, their meat. If I had a farm of sheep maybe I wouldn't eat lamb anymore. I've only ever had lamb at other people's houses, and at the Telluride House, where I will be living next year, both times I visited for dinner. My parents have never cooked lamb at home, and I haven't cooked any meat away from home, even though I like it well enough. But I do like the taste of lamb, and also the taste of mint jelly with it, even though that's sort of old-fashioned and gross. This makes me wonder whether I'd like to have a sheep farm. I wouldn't eat my sheep, but might still eat lamb at other people's houses.
***

10th November 2003

10:58pm: ***
So here's the deal: I seldom drink coffee, but today (a couple hours ago) I had a tiny cup of espresso and boy am I rocking now! Here, then, is my daily report.

1. We should all vote. I've been feeling embarrassed for, after registering to vote, forgetting to cast my ballot. I wanted to support the bicycle-riding hippycore green party mayoral candidate and the annoyingly moderate democrat won, but what if I, and several thousand of my friends, had remembered to vote? Just because I have little trust in the government and hated everyone who ran for class president in high school doesn't mean I have an excuse to throw away my vote. Supposedly the Europeans make fun of us because we're supposed to be a shining star of democracy and our voter turnout rates are much lower than theirs.

2. If you go to Tompkins County Planned Parenthood, which is right downtown, you can get an std and hiv screening for free. The health department foots the bill if you do not choose to use insurance. Also, you can get two years' worth of oral contraceptives for free if you prove your residency and employment and such. I think that's sexy. It makes me feel as though New York loves its residents and wants to help them be healthy. So defend yourself against the v.d. or, as the french say, les coups de pied de Venus, and let the health department treat you to a screening.

3. For the first time at Cornell thus far, I'm making some friends on my own. It's good, and reminds me that I'm not so misanthropic after all.

***

5th November 2003

8:44pm: ***
I’ve come here so that I might grasp for my mind a measure of the balance that leaches from these steps that grow as they swing round the staircase which floats as though it hopes to kiss the brass filigree that creeps across the wall when no one sees it and, when someone is looking, lies as still as that cobra whose belly wound about the branches which, before they fed this banister, hung in a tree whose boughs held onto children who held onto those boughs for dear life and, years later, hold onto this wood as if for the very first time. I’m sliding up this banister as if I didn’t, while strolling up the walk, just imagine what wounds might be wrought by the iron stakes keeping watch and ponder whether anyone eyes these arrows from above—when the sun dips westward and November weighs deeply on shoulders whose bones lean closer, although they are weary and heavy already, to rusted points—as if that balcony were closer to heaven.
***

3rd November 2003

5:32pm: ***
I'm missing my favorite pants. They are sort of green and I don't know where they could be. If for some reason you have seen them, please bring them back to me. They are striped on the inside and have a snap instead of a button. There's really no logical place for them to be other than here and it's upsetting me.

I meant to bring headphones and a cd player back from home but forgot.
***

27th October 2003

11:36pm: ***

Today began when I went to bed early and a friend called me around 3 am. There's something wonderful about being woken up by a non-emergency telephone call--you get to experience the pleasance of falling asleep all over again.

Then I had a disoriented morning that involved confusion surrounding daylight savings time and then I had breakfast with the Katzes Mrs. and Adam, Erin, Amanda, and Ken McClane, who I hadn't met before but who is really neat.

I was the only one who fully appreciated the sheep yogurt.

Then I rain through the boneyard in the rain and arrived late to my appointment. The analyst said, among other things, "There goes the moral high ground." I thought it was pretty funny.

Then adam katz invited me to get an apartment together and I declined but we decided it would make a good sitcom. He said that no one would know which one of us was gay but I think everyone would know it was him.

Then I had tuna for dinner and lost the can's top inside itself and ended up getting it all over myself. Now I smell like a happy cat's maw.

Then I found out that I've been accepted to the Telluride House for next year! That means free room and board, which makes me the happiest hobo in all the land.

Now I'm rocking out to some collective soul circa 1993 which I picked up today for a dollar.
Powered by LiveJournal.com