music I've cried to:
-Elliott Smith- some song
-Dashboard Confessional- Again I Go Unnoticed
-Fiona Apple- at one time or another every track on When The Pawn and Never is A Promise

i'm emo, and unlike some people I have no problem admitting it.

The people in this tower are sick of the clickityclickityclick of my typing.

You say you understand, but you don't understand. You'll say you'll never let me fall from hopes so high. But never is a promise and you can't afford to lie. You'll never live this life that I live. I'll never live the life that wakes me in the night. You say don't fear your dreams. It's easier than it seems. I don't know what to believe in...you don't know who I am. You say I need appeasing when I start to cry...

Good thing I don't cry.

Uh oh, looks like I'm getting cryptic again

And do you like making out?
Long drives, and brown eyes, and guys
who just don't quite fit in...

jeez, I love Dashboard. Man, I hope I got those lyrics right so Aaron won't come after me again...

I'm updating from the library again. I've been shelf-shifting (moving books around and making shelves look pretty) for about 2 hours, and I've got to say--I want to cry. My shelves look so beautiful, I could weep. Seriously. The Large Book collection, 3 North Tower, was a total disaster, and now...I can hardly speak of it...bindings are straight, all the call numbers are in the right order, the spacing between journals is perfect. It's immaculate. If I die right now, I want my tombstone to say, "Here Lies Mary Jones, the John Galt of Shelf Shifting". Or maybe, for copyright reasons, simply "3N'

I had lunch with Adele today, which was pretty crescent fresh, I have to say. We were coming up with lists of things to do before we graduate. One was: Blow stuff up. Using fireworks. Another: Roll down a hill. In a trash can. Third: Throw stuff off a building. Stuff that shatters or explodes. fake a seizure in a public place. With stage blood capsules. Drive to Wisconsin for the sole purpose of buying a cheese hat. You are beginning to see how much we have yet to accomplish in our short few years left at Northwestern.

I suppose I should get back to work. for all interested in the metal party, jason's place (second floor willard), 10pm. Give me a call, I'll be in my room from 8-10. rock it.

I forced Jason to fill out a survey last night. I hope he doesn't mind if I post some of my favortie answers:

1. Name: Jason Andrzej (Andrew) Konik
22. Scariest thing that has ever happened to you: Getting taken out of school in a stretcher and riding to the hospital in an ambulance cuz they thought i had a heart attack THE DAY BEFORE PROM :).
27. Weirdest food that you like: Food in itself is weird. think about it. you eat it. it goes in you. freaky.
39. One thing you hope you could do before you die: Rule a small central european republic with an iron fist
52. Favorite Magazine: High Times. Ha! No really, I'd say The Economist
59. Biggest Fear: Communists!
77. You're kissing someone and chewing gum: "Minty"
92. Color Socks you're wearing: whiteies!
93. Silliest thing you've ever said: I think this rap thing can't get any bigger, can it?
103. Eaten an entire box of cookies? many times. i did yesterday.
118. Country: Deutschland Deutschland über alles!
135. Celsius or Fahrenheit? Celsius. so i'm eurotrash. sue me.

See you tonight, Jason. Goth for the survey.

Chicagoemokid: wow you hate lettuce
Chicagoemokid: a woman after my own heart
AlexiaIscariot: its sooo bad, jason
AlexiaIscariot: why does it have a purpose?
AlexiaIscariot: it has no calories
AlexiaIscariot: no nutrients
Chicagoemokid: ruffage. makes you...uh...use the facility
AlexiaIscariot: it is empty
Chicagoemokid: but i like your views, and i wish to subscribe to your newsletter
Chicagoemokid: i dislike seafood and lettuce too
AlexiaIscariot: your attempts to avoid crudeness are failing, jason
AlexiaIscariot: seafood is terrible. thank heavens i'm not an eskimo or something
Chicagoemokid: yea. i'm central european goddamit. we have no access to the sea. so we butcher cows and shit

Yes, yes she does.

Again, why the onion is the only source of worldly wisdom:

Aquarius: (Jan. 20—Feb. 18)
A person can only hide behind one's virginity for so long. Even if, as in your case, it is a particularly harsh and forbidding virginity.

Mary's mom rules. A lot. (almost as much as Mary). When she read about my bad days, she sent me some adorable stuff in the mail (jewelery, chocolate, a kit to make rubber band bracelets) to cheer me up. Thank you so much, Mrs. Jones! It absolutely made my day!

It's hard to find, but peace of mind
won't come from a girl friend
who lies all the time

Time before this became obvious, your eyes were never clear, you did not eat enough--Strangly afraid of the rain

Tick Tick tick.

And things run and move ever so fast. Econ was not the best.

Why is it that everyone's most memorable episode of "Saved By the Bell" was the episode where Jesse got addicted to caffine pills? It wasn't even the best one. It didn't even rival the interest level produced by the episode where Ms. Bliss had to sacrifice her convertible because the class bought potato stock on margin. Or the one where there was the dance off at the Max and Lisa's partner ditched her when he hurt her ankle, but she went on to a miraculous win with "the Turtle" move she and Screech rehearsed? Why the Caffeine Pills?

I'm definitly shaking.

Listen to the echo. Listen to the static. Static--to stand still. Static--crinkling slivers of sound. Static blue electric lights. Are you drunk enough to drive me home?

I don't want to be a car crash, baby. I'll keep my mouth shut.

A quick note before bed, then the horrible failing of my macro midterm:

The snow tonight looked like little pieces of glass. They scraped like them too. Asbestos and glass flakes. Winter is fantastic.

Hollow. You can hear the echo. Shhhhh.... Ribcage. Thats always been a fascinating word

Say you love me now! Give me some sugar on the hard rock radio.

There's something wrong.

I'm tired and can't go to bed. I still dream about people who don't belong to me anymore. I don't like dreaming anymore. I don't sleep to dream, and when I'm working, I dream to sleep.

To disappear. To run away. To once again be successful.

I won the Vice Presidency of the College Republicans tonight on the platform of non-chalance and cooler than thou posturing, which I do feel bad about. I could have put in some kind of an effort, at least to respect the people I was running against, all of whom would have done a much better job than I will.

I am quietly happy, and quietly sad. Emotions for me are a lot like blood vessels. Arteries and veins running in simultanous unity, harmony, and inversely directional.

I want to freeze. I never wanted change. to grow up.

You're not the boy that you said you are, You come from outerspace, You drive a rental car. Thanks but no thanks all the same. Planets, we know, do come and go when meltable aliens run towards the snow. Its hard to find, and true peace of mind won't come from a boyfriend who lies all the time.

Insert dissonant chord here.

Texas is a town.

And yet I am totally indifferent. And then not. Arteries. Veins. Malaria is incubated in the blood. What is incubated in your blood?

Drive

nickdefenestrate: david is seriously the most emo person i've ever met in a non-internet context
my name is adele: adele: 1,000 david: 0
nickdefenestrate: yay poll-taking!
nickdefenestrate: add to that list:
nickdefenestrate: "has, at some time in his life, prefixed and suffixed a word (or phrase) with the letter X"
nickdefenestrate: "has quoted the ataris on his web site"
nickdefenestrate: "runs a blog"
nickdefenestrate: "sparsely updates said blog with cryptic posts that run completely contrary to his normal personality"
nickdefenestrate: :D
nickdefenestrate: ~fin~
my name is adele: hahha
my name is adele: good calls.
nickdefenestrate: word
nickdefenestrate: XwordX

I bought a sweet denim jacket today at Ragstock. (By sweet, I mean a perfect balance between rad and totally shitty.)

It's snowing. I was standing on Belmont, waiting to cross the street, and I thought to myself, "it's not so cold. I can deal with this." As if on cue, a fierce wind swept down, smaking my face with snowflakes that felt like needles, and sending a convulsive chill throughout my entire body. *shudder*

On the way back to Evanston on the el, I heard someone listening to The Strokes on their headphones. I jumped up and chatted with the guy, who incidentally had seen the strokes live with Guided by Voices in January. cool. I also told him my name was Caroline when he asked. Must remember: don't talk to strangers.

I registered for spring quarter today, which I guess implies that I am not running away. (Unless I decide to go stalk Matt Skiba. That's still a possibility.)

poll: Is David Wong emo?
IM me at "my name is adele" with your response.
here are the facts so that you can make an informed vote:
-David has cried at three shows- a No Motiv show and two Ataris shows
-All of David's pants are Dickies, he just has a bunch of different colors
-He buys t-shirts in size youth large
-He loves Dashboard Confessional
-He insists that he's not emo

before I give my soul to macro, I just wanted to make a quick post to aid those of you who want to procrastinate.

Jason has proposed the use of the word "goth" as an additional interjection to be used along side such exclamations as "rock" or "wicked" or "rad" or "sweet". I am fully in agreement with this decesion. Gothy things make me so happy. They are oh-so-dark, and all of that. We (Jason and I) are also having a metal date night on Thursday, which will rock me like a hurricane. Hurray for Ministry and KMFDM! As one of my old friends used to say, mmmmmm...gothalicious.

So, I've decided that once again men suck. Want to know why? Becuase my friend Bonnie, the sweetest prettiest kindest girl ever, was at a party with her guy friends, when one of them turned to her, a little drunk, and said: You know something, baby? You have gorgeous hair, you're pretty, your clothes are awesome, and your personality is totally the best. If you were like 75 pounds lighter, I'd totally date you. What the heck? I mean, honestly. This preoccupation with looks--I HATE it. Men are so much more look obsessed than women--it's a matter of the girl in question being cute or thin enough for you; her personality and mind are a second consideration. As a gender, you make me so angry I want to give you up and run back to high school, where men existed only in books, and bizarre not-yet-descended boys lived in the corners of St. Mark's and church pews, making no attempt to crawl their way into the light of reality. *sigh*

Rant over.

Insomniac company makes my life that much more bearable. Mark gets major points for his ability to talk to me until 330 and help me get some sleep. Thanks

This is rad. Put your name on a list, get something neat in the mail, add to it, mail it to someone else.

My high school has a web page too, but it's lame.

Peace. The comment changing is not that big a deal.

There's no good reason for a weblog war to errupt, but I'd be willing to participate in one if it would bring russlog back. (gotta procrastinate any way possible).

I'm going to take responsability for the source code changing. I am sorry, and it was wrong, but I wasn't thinking at the time.

Adele, I am sorry. I will not touch your posts again, and I never should have interfered in the first place. You have every right to be upset, and I should have asked. Tonight would be a perfect opportunity for water-in-the-face-and-smashing-glasses move.

I'm changing the source code back. Again, I am very sorry and ashamed I violated the CM level of trust.

MY SOURCE CODE WAS EDITED BY SOMEONE ELSE ON THIS BLOG. Not cool. If you need me to change something, ask, but don't censor me. More importantly, do not put words in my mouth.

That was really disrespectful, and I am not happy.

For the record, the correct term is "prickteaser" - 1) one who knowingly exploits the fact that she is sexually alluring, 2) a seductive woman who uses her sex appeal to exploit men - not "cockteaser" - 1) one who sexually teases men, 2) one who excites a male without carrying on to actual sexual relations, 3) one who withholds sexual favours from a man after having encouraged expectation of them.
~ Anne House

Songs I have cried to:
1. Smashing Pumpkins, Mayonaise
2. Coldplay, Yellow
3. Korn, Falling Away from Me

Which of these is not like the others? I am not a very emo girl, despite all of my wishes.

Ok kids, there's a serious problem that's driving me crazy and I'm addressing it right now.

Mysteriously I got a song in my download folder labeled "Birdcage." I have no idea who sent it to me, but its beautiful and amazing, and I'm desperate to know who sings it. The style and vocalizations are like pete yorn, but its not in pete yorn's musicforthemorningafter, and it wasn't in audiogalaxy under pete yorn. Its sort of acoustic-y, Pearl Jamesque, and I am being driven mad by the fact that no one admits to sending it to me, and no one can tell me who wrote the song. The wallflowers "birdcage" is a totally different song, as is June of '44's "birdcage", so don't tell me to look there.

The song begins as such:
Now the sun is coming out
Better than the rain
Finally washed away the clouds
Leave me hear and make me
I'll be fine
As long as I have you
On the right

Or something to that affect. Now, this file was sent to me on January 28. If you sent it to me, or if you know who sings it, for the love of heaven tell me.

Oh Anne, this is for you:
Sagittarius: (Nov. 22—Dec. 21)
You will spend the next few days in the company of people who firmly believe that you hate figure skating because of your lack of ability at it.

Fuck you, nickd (and anyone else who dares to pass judgement on me).
And to think I've defended your bony ass (to my own detriment).

I didn't ask any of you what you thought and I don't give two fucks or a damn for your opinions. Fuck you and your AIM gossip rings.

Is it any fucking wonder one might choose to vote oneself off the CM "island"?

-Anne House

Baby, lay your head on my lap one more time.
tell me you belong to me.
baby, say that it's all gonna be alright.
I believe that it isn't.

The convention was entertaining in a lame way. Better than Evanston, I suppose. A lot of weird food. Everyone else will blog about it. The highlight of the weekend for me had nothing to do with me, except that it made me fall on the floor with over-dramatized laughter.

It was a fun and tiring weekend. Travel disorients me. ...speeding across space in a capsule... where did I come from? how did I get here? One could get used to it, maybe. I rarely travel, so I don't know.

Guitar then bed. If nothing goes wrong, tomorrow will be Monday.

I guess I feel the obligation to be the one to blog about this weekend, but honestly, it was one of those things where you just had to be there. But I'll give it a shot. Sure shot, sure to make the body rock.

After a late night of laundry with Mark, I get up and get in a car with Jon. Based on past Gio experiences with Jon, I felt that I was in for 4 hours of pain and suffering, but I was pleasently suprised. The rest of the car: Anne, the two Matts, Katie, and Lindsey, were all very funny and charming, and we all got along really well. Matt A. and I alternated music choices so neither one got a monopoly, so it was cool. We stopped by Lindsey's home town of BolingBrook, where her dad was the mayor. Ate at Wendy's. Got her phone fixed. Got some money from her dad. Went on to Springfield. In other transportation news, Tom (and Mark and Adele and Tony) apparently had some fun with a poster and a girl on the cell phone. Ask the others. It was, according to them, hysterical.

We get to Springfield and we get to our rooms and go to dinner. Dinner was mediocre. OK chicken. Niceish sauce. Terrible salad. Great dessert. Then Anne and I made paper cranes and confetti during the Republican-candidate-for-Attorney-General talked. Anne played some table piano, deeply bothering Tom and Mark.

Because they cut the entry fees, we had no money for a DJ. The bar was a pay bar. As were all the drinks. The conversation was boring. None of the boys outside of NU's finest were very cute. It was, if I may say, a classic example of being all dressed up with nowhere to go, since both Anne and I were in club gear. Naturally, as mormons, we don't have very many opportunities to dress clubbish, so we were rather disappointed at the lack of occasion. The pool closed at 9, so we couldn't swim. Our night basically devolved into random roaming of the Hilton's many floors, looking for parties or something to destroy, neither of which made their prescence known, if they indeed existed as viable options. We stole some placards. I think there was some bed bouncing involved. I do recall watching HBO--there was this forensics special on. There was some story about a man who stole the corpse of his lover Elena...ask me about it sometime. It was way freaky.

The next day, we wandered about. Since everything in Springfield is closed Sundays, we went to a terribly overpriced "Southwestern" cafe called Cafe Brio. I found a hubcab on the ground. It was lovely. More wandering. Aimless sitting on chairs. I made a lot of crane noises. Then, we drove back home. Stopped at steak n' shake. weird people.

This was one of the best weekends of my life. That is all

My favorite shirt has a tear in it. Gosh dangit. I did it will picking up this huge pile of holocaust books. How's that for irony?

Adele and Mark make me jealous. I want to be a rockstar. All the passion, none of the talent.

I still have 3 minutes to kill until I get off. What else?

I think that the fact that I'm a 20-year-old Mormon with no husband is very sad and shameful in the eyes of my family. At the very least I should have a missionary boyfriend or something. Anne knows what I'm talking about, don't you girl? Man, I'm such a failure.

Mark is late. We're supposed to be rehearsing for our soon to be famous band. Today, I've kind of been playing along with the tape he made of a song he wrote. I think it sounds really awesome. However, I haven't written lyrics yet and this presents a bit of a problem. Oh well. peace.

I'm updating from work, which I am technically not supposed to do because I do not have a break today, but I do not feel like working right now. If Jon catches me, I'm in big trouble, but seeing as there is no one in this tower except for some really hot goth boy in drag who just asked me if I was in a sorority because he was supposed to sing to or something like that. He complimented my Seurat dress. Lovely.

What is it about me, that the more weight I loose, the more grotesque and fat I feel? Is this common for all diet people or just me, I ruminate. Take for example, the pair of blue pants I'm wearing now. 3 weeks ago I could just barely fit into them, and I felt all thin and pretty. Today, they're much looser, and I am horrified in how I look in them.There must be something wrong with me. Back to work.

Attention Kids!
Mary is looking for the 5 BEST Type-O Negative Songs and the 5 BEST Cradle of Filth songs. If you have a comprehensive list that can help me be a better, more legitimatly gothier person, I'd love to hear your input.

My soul is a tomb. Like my life is a tomb.
Darkness rocks

Excerpts from "The Melancholy Oyster Boy," by Tim Burton

Not knowing what to call him
They just called him Sam
or, sometimes,
"That thing that looks like a clam."

Everyone wondered, but no one could tell
When would young Oyster Boy come out of his shell?

When the Thompson quadruplets espied him one day,
They called him a bivalve and ran quickly away

For the sake of keeping you guys informed of the up-to-the minute Mary doings, I'll make this short:
I skipped the Objectivist meeting to see the Count of Monte Cristo, which was full of eye candy and very pretty boys. Then, Anne and I went to Osco, where we bought food. I flirted shamlessly with some boy named Mike, just because, and then I went back to Hobart and watched male figure skating. Today, I did nothing but work. Then Mark came over and downloaded stuff for me while we listened to Sigur Ros and I worked on a paper mosiac. This is of course not fitting in with the mary-studying plan, but I hadn't seen Mark all week so I figured, why not.

Now, dashboard and bed.
Again I go unnoticed

growl.

Tonight's objectivist club meeting was poorly attended (this is because objectivists are apathetic people). Serious talk deteriorated rather quickly, and (college libertarian pres) Jason and I drifted toward the subject of music. When I asked him if he was an emo kid, he said, "Sometimes, I'm totally emo. I cried the first time I heard Dashboard's Again I Go Unnoticed." I stared at him in disbelief. "Did you read about that on my website?" I asked. "No," he said. At that moment, we had a special emo bonding moment. We both cried listening to Chris. Yay for emo sensitivity.

I am now FCC certified to be a DJ at WNUR. word.

I keep saying that I'm going to stop blogging, but today I felt that my day was so productive and wholesome that I wanted my mom to read about it. I woke up early, read art history, went to class, had lunch w/ David at norris, went to class again, played the guitar, went running, did my FCC training, and hit Burger King with a bunch of Rand devotees. The only problem with this account is that my mother thinks I'm a chronic liar! fun!

And hey tom, maybe Adele and I are inconsistent with posting so we don't have to revert to "melodrama" or "petty gossiping in the source code". I guess this is just another example of your and Tony's superiority.

Peace out, lover.

Hey - this is Anne House...or yellow house, I suppose. Blogger still doesn't recognize me, so I'm using Mary's account for awhile. Thanks Mary. The following began as Message #20 to dave...but ended up something radically different. Probably because I started writing it right after I got off the phone with a rather disheartened Mary...after spending my morning spiraling into a disheartened malaise of my own.

whatever. here it is:

"From: a-house@northwestern.edu
To: d-choate1@northwestern.edu
Subject: 20. wow. 20.

that's how old I'll be after my next birthday. My two best friends from high school are 17 and 18...and they've said that once I turn 20, I'll be too old for them to be friends with. but it's not like I can control time, dave!

If I could, I'd go back to when I was three and I first started playing the piano...and I'd make my parents start me in lessons immediately - hardcore lessons - and I'd start the violin at four. And I would have been a prodigy.

And I would go back and keep myself from buying a lot of clothing that I bought but never wore...and a lot of clothing that I bought and did wear but ought not to have. And I wouldn't have worn my headgear to school when I was in fifth grade. And I would have believed my father when he warned me when I was little that if I didn't always wash my face before I went to bed, I'd have acne for the rest of my life. Who knew THAT was the one time he'd be right!?!

But really, now that I've spent a moment pondering, I can't think of anything concrete that I'd change if I had the power. Not because everything or anything is perfect, or how I dreamed it would be...but because there wouldn't be much point in it - I'd still be 'me'. A human being from the same family...with the same religious beliefs, genes, and inherited traits. So, even if I could go back and try to force my life in a certain or different direction, I'd still be the same person, with the same spirit, guided by the same principles and forces. So my existence (NOT my life experience; my existence) would remain essentially unchanged.

Would my existence really be all that different from what it is now had I proved to be a child prodigy, and gone to Juilliard at 12, and toured the world at 18.

Not really.

The only way to alter one's existence is to be born into the world a different 'one'. And no action or effect of mine - even assuming that I can manipulate time - would change that. If I travelled back in time and prevented my mother and father from getting together, and convinced her to marry the man she dated before she dated my father, their life experiences would change dramtically, but not their existences'. And I would not have come into existence at all. And if I do not have an existence, then I do not have an existence to alter. Because 'I' am not.

Even barring the existence of a "God", it is a power greater than the power of man that determines into which Earthly existence each of us is placed. Nature...perhaps an intangible, spiritual collective? But not man. I cannot change what I am, because I am. I did not, of my own power, spontaneously come into being - a greater power intervened - and because I came into being, I cannot change that I did.

I am man, therefore I came into being. Since man cannot prompt his own being, and I came into being, a greater power intervened to prompt my coming into being. Man is not the greater power. As I came into being 'man', I am not the greater power. Thus I cannot change my 'being'.

And, as you also are 'man', you cannot change yours either."

I had a whole bunch of really funny and crazy things to post last night, but Blogger was down. Again, what we get for signing on with a socialist server. But then, around 9pm, I checked my email, and now all I want to do is be depressed and have my pity party. So don't read any farther. This needs to be vented, and I don't expect any of you to understand or care. This is for my own personal health.

There was a 301 course offered by the writing program on Narrative fiction writing. I filled out a form, attached my "Imbroglio" short story as a writing sample, and applied. Last night, I was told I was rejected. Now, this in itself may seem like nothing. But the problem lies in the fact that I couldn't get into a writing class. If I cannot even make it into a simple class, what makes me even qualified to apply for a major?

I have realized that the chances of me being rejected from the Writing Program are very high. This is both horrifying and deeply angering. I have placed so much time and effort into making plans assuming that I would make it in. Now it looks like I won't qualify. This kicks something out of my lungs. This hurts. This is watching my future disintegrate, and knowing there's nothing I can do about it. A 3.34 GPA is simply not high enough to qualify for one of the best writing programs in the country. And my work is not good enough to justify placement with that GPA. That is the harsh reality of my situation.

My writing was always the source of a sick kind of comfort for me. No matter how ugly or awkward or stupid I was; no matter how badly I did at math or how much I didn't fit in, I could always take comfort in the knowledge that I was a better writer than anyone else. That was the only thing that kept me, even to this day, from the total depression of knowing that I don't really belong anywhere, I'm just an amalgam of interests that has no real placement. And now, because I was too stupid to work hard enough to get a 3.8, it looks like I won't be able to use that as an excuse anymore. What am I going to do? Become a comp-lit major? Become ordinary? That makes me feel sick and bitter, just thinking about it. Its like the one thing I used as my identity can no longer be used.

I'm so angry at myself for letting this happen. What was I thinking, honestly? My fiction is not that good. I should have known I would need something more to qualify into the fiction program. I should have known. I'm so dumb. I am so blind. Almost everyone applying for the fiction major has a better GPA. Why was I arogant enough to think my work would naturally be better, be so superior this difference didn't matter?

What am I going to do? I'm taking macro, bio, and french this quarter. You think those things will help my GPA? Not bloody likely.

The idea of not being able to take these fiction writing classes hurts more than anything else. Knowing I will not be able to learn the tools necessary to be a great writer. Knowing I've wasted 2 years I could have spent looking for other majors, looking for something else. Two years I could have spent working harder. And I have no one to blame but myself. This is my fault. I wasn't good enough. My work is simply not good enough.
What am I going to do?

It's a good thing I never cry.

I think I'll keep posting to the site, but write everything in strikethrough. it's the closest I'll ever get to the teenage punk habit of doodling anarchy symbols everywhere. sounds like fun, doesn't it?

happy birthday, mark!

even my melodrama is unspectacular. fade in, fade out.

Now that I'm fairly certain that I'm not dropping out of school, I don't have to worry about money so much. I spent most of the morning fixating on my post-drop-out life of unglamorous poverty. I planned where I would get a job, how I'd find an apartment, how I'd get from apartment to job. I guess I'm not doing that now, but don't think I couldn't. I can and will if conditions necessitate.

I hate being misunderstood. I promise this is the last thing I'll say on the subject: I'm not going to live in fear of disappointing others' expectations of me, in fear of not graduating from college. I'd like to graduate, but not as much as I'd like to have my dignity. If maintaining my dignity necessitates me not graduating from college, then so be it. I am quite seriously not for sale.

things that are rad
-Mary Jones, for buying me ramen and poprocks and coke and lending me her Josie and the Pussycats soundtrack, and caring about me on my bad day.
-Playing guitar with Mark. We are going to rock effing hard. I feel so inspired and motivated to put my effort into this new "band". We are already ace, and we've had one rehearsal. My hopes for this project are high.

AlexiaIscariot: I thought boys liked a challenge?
AlexiaIscariot: I'm so confused
hatesdallas: They like a challenge that they can conquer and they have discovered that they cannot conquer you
hatesdallas: rest assured though, if they had conquered you, they would cast you aside and you would become locker room fodder

My mom is wicked cool. And by wicked cool, I mean totally sweet.

I freaked out yesterday, because I was too busy last week to work out, and I felt overweight and disgusting. So I worked out 1 hour yesterday and 2 hours Monday. Today, I did something like 200 situps and weight lifting and 45 minutes of running. I'm going to be so sore tomorrow.

The weird thing about working out is watching my body change. None of you actually look at my body, so none of you can tell, but my stomach has all of these grooves and pits. My arms flex when I pick up books. These things are nice. I just need to starve this fat off and I'll look like Britney. Video Music Awards Britney, not "Crossroads" Britney.

Every man I meet is either gay or a bear.

Leave the code. I like it this way.

And don't you dare leave this blog. Its unpermissable. Hide things in code, or talk obliquly about how your day has been. But you are too important to leave this. We haven't spent 6 months wasting our time away making this blog the modern art manifesto of freedom it is today only to have you leave.

I'm not going to rip on your mom, because I don't know her, and I don't know what her position is. But I do know that your thoughts and feelings are incredibly important to me. And I don't want them censored. But if they have to be, I'd rather have a censored Adele than no Adele at all. If she's concerned, explain your position rationally. She should realize that what we do here is stream-of-consciousness drama queen entries. None of it is serious. And once she understands that, she will be much less concerned. Love is strange in the way it comes across, sometimes.

I can't do this blog anymore. My mother doesn't want me to live my youth. She doesn't want me to question things, to take time to make decisions and judgements, to develop reasoned principles and goals for myself, like an adult. She doesn't even want me to enjoy my manufactured insanity, where I pretend that I am an alienated existential figure in a drama which, of course, revolves around me. I do all of these things in this blog, and my parents are holding the things I say here, as well as the things you say in all of your blogs, against me.

So I'm outta here. Sorry for fcuking up the code. I'll fix it before I go.

I am a coward. Fear is my operating premise.

This is going to be the last post of any substance I make in a while, because this week is going to beat me like a red-headed stepchild. I've been taking a lot of time off my social scene lately, for a variety of reasons, mostly because space is needed if I want to stay in school with a decent GPA. I'm really worried about the fact that I have nothing lined up for the summer, which makes me kind of depressed, since I should have had all of this done back in November, but being me, I have done nothing. I am, to use a culturally antiquated stereotype, totally retarded.

Things that made me smile involuntarily this weekend:
--Remembering Justin Kumar's 4am phone call
--Taking 4 boys and 2 girls against their will to "Crossroads"
--Passing out a punkrock flier to an 80-year-old fan at the Amazing Transparent Man show
--Pansy Division
--Walking on Billy Corgan's front porch
--Seeing a squirrel on the way to the library and having the phrase "There are thousands of colors in the world!" run through my head
--Listening to "Dujour Around the World" from the Josie and the Pussycats Soundtrack
--Opening mom and dad's valentine's day box
--Getting IMed by Chicagoemokid Justin, who I've not been able to talk to as of yet

Besides these bright spots, its been a pretty tough weekend. I spent most of it walking around like a total vagrant, mostly because I was too cared to actually wear proper clothes. Friday, I'm so tired after watching "Knight's Tale" at Mark's that I get out of bed, put on shoes, put on contacts, grab a bathrobe-looking-sweater-jacket, and stumble into work. I had a pounding headache that followed me all day, so that was definitly not kosher, plus I couldn't really open my eyes. Then I go to work, downtown. So i haven't taken a shower in two days, I'm wearing my dads old scrubs, a sweater jacket, and filthy tennies--seriously, no wonder everyone on the el looked at me like I was homeless. I'm kind of staring off into space, my mouth kind of open, totally spaced out and stoned looking. I get back to NU, then have time to put on a more respectable shirt/pants combination (which doesn't say much), put my dirty hair up in something a bit less white trash, and stumble out to see Britney. It was better than I expected, and the dinner afterwards was great. Russ and I have started talking again, like, without fighting. I forgot how much I love talking to him, especially about subjects he's fascinated in. I like how his hands shape out ideas in the air, and his eyes move back and forth as if he's seeing what he's describing. It makes me happy. So yeah, dinner with Russ and Tony and Anne and Adele and David was really fantastic, despite my exhaustion. Since I couldn't drag anyone downtown with me, I trudge down to the Metro to do Amazing Transparent Man promos. The drummer came out afterwards, kinda scoped me out. I gave him a couple of nice eye-contact moments because he was a rockstar, but in general he was pretty dang ugly, so I didn't get carried away. I almost fell asleep on the el. That was bad.

Saturday, I get up early and go to work for two hours. Then I go downtown to meet this girl named Whidden. I met her through her father, the Harvard Admissions director for Dallas, who I'm pretty good friends with. She, her mother, and her father were 30 minutes late meeting me at Clarke's, then we drive around looking for Billy Corgan residences. This was great fun and all, but I am a busy girl, and I do not have time to wait around and then drive about aimlessly, even if it is for the sake of the Smashing Pumpkins. Then we walk around Belmont, where the Alley was having a $5 sale. There were some adorable micro mini skirts in vinyl, which I am tempted to get for no other reason than to say that yes, I have a vinyl miniskirt. But seeing as I do not have the legs for it, I doubt this will be a possibility. We go to the show, Antiflag, and I ditch Whidden to hang out in the "Members Only" section. In between the 4th and 5th acts, I put my head down on a table, and the next thing I do, this security guard is shaking me, wanting to know if I was ok. I fell asleep, kids. In the middle of a punk rock show. I feel asleep. On a greasy, ash smeared coffee table. On my jacket. Now, that is way punk rock. I was just so tired, and the music has a rhythm, and after a while, that rhythm becomes totally intoxicating, especially if you're not in the pit.

So after Antiflag, I go with Whidden to MacDonalds and wait for her parents. This causes me to be unable to go home with Adele and David, which was annoying, because I rarely have company after shows. It was fun, since all of the punks were there (and I do mean punks in the old school sense of tight plaid or bleach splattered pants, studed jackets, and brightly colored mohawks), but after 45 minutes, listening to a self-obsessed 17-year-old prattle on about her alternative friends and her alternative school was annoying. Her parents arrive at 1115, and they offer me a half hearted ride up north, which I declined out of politeness, and which was not pressed. So I take the el up north, alone. Fun. Some crazy guy started talking to me about his 22 year old girlfriend, but thankfully my experiences with crazy people on the el have been so numerous that I have learned how to handle these situations. Refusing to even listen politely, he quickly got the message. I crashed as soon as I got home.

I get to bed at 1, and get up for church at 8. This may not sound bad to you hardened people, but seeing as I was tired enough to fall asleep in a punk show, and I have my father's delicate sleep constitution, AND I haven't slept in months, this was torture. I phased out through Stake Confrence, which is 1 2-hour meeting instead of 3 1-hour meetings. The entire area (stake) comes to these, instead of the smaller local areas (branches). The polish branch made an appearance, and a Polish member gave the closing prayer, which was very strange to me. Polish is an entirely made up gibberish language, I'm convinced. I come home, talk with my family, read, excercise, read, hang up on Tom Sherman thinking he is Justin Kumar, go out to the Sherm (where Adele had gone home early, so it was like, whats the point?). I haven't been able to sit down with Anne and watch figure skating, I have 2 cents in my account and $1.23 in my wallet. I'm tired of falling asleep in public.

On the bright note, however. Saturday I got my Valentine's Day present from mom and dad. They sent me this box with candy and some new shirts and little soaps and hair stuff and a card that said "Happy Valentine's Day! You're the Best! We love you!" I almost cried (TOTAL EMO!) it was so sweet. And they sent me this giant hershey kiss. The significance of this is as follows: When i was a kid, living in my aunt and uncle's basement, my cousins, JD and Jenny, would walways get the coolest Valentine's Day presents. They got these giant hershey kisses, and in my four year old state, that was the single most wonderful thing I could have fathomed. Mom and Dad couldn't afford stuff like that, so I lived in jealousy. And now I have one! I was so thrilled. They were going to send little bags to the posse like they did at Halloween, but my mom said "you guys have so many weird entanglements, I never know who is angry at who, so I figured I should just abstain."

So this is pretty long. I doubt any of you have actually read all of it. I'm going back to work now.

my voice is being supressed by the man.

CROSSROADS
New York Post

Take a fork - and stick it in her. Running time: 94 minutes. Rated PG-13 (sexual suggestiveness). At the E-Walk, the Lincoln Square, the 64th and Second, others.


THE phenomenon that is Britney Spears enters a new arena with "Crossroads" - a movie so pathetically lame that hopefully even her most ardent young fans will give this stinker a big thumbs down.

At least Mariah Carey's acting debut in "Glitter" was unintentionally hilarious. Though Britney's uncertain stabs at emoting drew a few titters at a preview screening the other night, mostly she's just unbearably stiff, awkward - and remarkably bored for someone making her film debut.

A more apt comparison than Carey would be Britney's role model, Madonna - another hardened blond bombshell who has appeared in an unending series of flops.

"Crossroads" actually opens with Britney singing along with Madonna's "Open Your Heart" - the first of many, many appearances in her underwear.

Indeed, the screenplay attributed to Shonda Rhimes often seems like little more than a litany of excuses for Britney to bare her midriff and shake her booty.

This determination to pander to her fans undercuts what little credibility she might have given Lucy, a Georgia valedictorian and good girl who undertakes a road trip to find the mother who abandoned her as a child - and, it often seems, to discover her inner tramp.

Lucy's companions are two childhood friends, Kit (Zoe Saldana), pregnant trailer trash; and Mimi (Taryn Manning), a somewhat haughty black teenager. For no explicable reason, they allow themselves to be chauffeured in a '73 Buick convertible by aspiring rock star Ben (Anson Mount) - even though the girls believe he did time for killing a man.

Their adventures comprise every girl-power cliché in the book, including a karaoke-bar rendition of "I Love Rock 'N' Roll" - and the first use in many years of the pregnant-woman-falling-down-the-stairs scene, brought in to provide a limp climax for the shapeless narrative.

Britney is the black hole at the center of this tiny universe. Her line readings are so atrocious and her scenes so curiously edited that you get the feeling director Tamra Davis ("Guncrazy") labored many hours in the cutting room to make something (barely) releasable.

Just watch Britney when another character is talking - rather than listening, she looks as if her mind is somewhere else, perhaps thinking about last night's grosses.

She's about as vulnerable and spontaneous as a 16-wheeler - 21 going on 40 - and utterly self-absorbed.

Just about the only response to her character saying "Why don't I do something for me, for once?" is to laugh derisively, as the preview audience did.

Dan Aykroyd soldiers bravely through a couple of scenes as Lucy's dad, but mostly you wonder how they managed to find young actors with skills so modest they didn't act Britney off the screen.

The movie's one clever touch is to cast "Sex and the City" vixen Kim Cattrall as Lucy's mom; she actually looks the part. But their confrontation lasts literally seconds - one suspects because Britney couldn't hold up her end of the scene.

"Crossroads" is so mind-numbingly awful that you hope Britney won't do it one more time, as far as movies are concerned. She's one pop tart who's been left in the toaster too long.

This and this make me smile. Cheer up emo kid! my emo experience level is "depressed."

I haven't slept for the past twenty-six hours. Things are dizzying. Time moves irradically. Sherm and guitar with Mark will be interesting.

INDIE SUX, HARD-LINE SUX, EMO SUX, YOU SUCK!
(by anti-flag)
the indie kids are a bunch of snobs
they complain my timing's all off
i think timing is for stupid fucks!
why do they think i play punk rock!!!
steve albini playing god of indie heaven,
stupid dorks keeping time in seven and eleven!
indie sux, hard-line sux, emo sux, you suck!
I'm not a vegan and i have had sex,
so some hard-line kids tried to kick my ass
if you're not like them they want to clean your clock
they're nothing but a bunch of jocks!
they're anti-choice, they're facist youth,
their songs all song like metal tunes!
indie sux, hard-line sux, emo sux, you suck!
but what about punk rock? what about punk rock? hahahaha
i've been told emo songs are deep,
which translates into really weak!!!!!
all they ever do is cry, did something get caught in their eyes?
i just can't understand it all,
even i don't always bawl..
boohoohoo.. my girlfriend dumped me and i'm really really hurt...
indie sux, hard-line sux, emo sux, you suck!
they sux, you suck, they sux, you suck.....

(too crass? should I relegate it to somewhere less viewed?)

I went to the Against All Authority, Thrice, and Anti-Flag show tonight. It was loud and violent and fun. The crowd was adorable-- predominantly high school aged white suburban punks. I've never seen so many mohawks in one place before. It made me feel like an aging square. Anti-Flag's frontman, Justin Sane, horsely exhorted the crowd to take up his "new way of thinking," to which the skinny white kids pumped their noodle-like arms into the air, with cries of revolution on their cracking pubescent voices. It was supposed to be serious and political, but it was actually just cute.

I have three new activities to occupy my time: interning at the metro, apprenticing at WNUR (on Dan Smith's indie rock show, sunday at 6a.m.) and playing music with Mark. I will elaborate on these things when I actually start doing them. My expectations and excitement are high.

Mary and Mark gave me an awesome weezer poster for valentine's day. Thanks for thinking of me, you two!

Lovely Recent Occurences
-David wrote a beautiful emo song and played it for me on Valentine's day. (It was totally rad, and all of you should be jealous as hell.)
-Mark and I are going to start playing loud music together. (I dream about being in a band every single day, and I am thrilled and nervous at the prospect of finally doing it.)
-I viewed Britney Spears in the challenging role of Lucy, a high school valedictorian who discovers the true value of friendship, finds herself in an unlikely romance with an ex-convict, pens profound poetry about the crossroads between childhood and adulthood, and shakes her ass in hooched out clothes. Crossroads was FLAGRANTLY disgusting, and I adored it.

Not-So-Lovely Recent Occurences
-I was locked in the laundry room of willard with a maintenance worker for about twenty minutes on Thursday. I am not sure how this happened, but I can say unequivocally that it was bad.

Did I mention that in the instance that the words, "Russo Suave" were blogged here, Anne (or yellow as she's now called) upstaged five months of work Mary and I had previously put into this blog? Oh well, welcome to CM, Anne. I hope this helps you procrastinate at your boring, but resume building job.

Wildkat2002: you gonna call me tonight?
AlexiaIscariot: I'm working tonight
Wildkat2002: tomorrow then
AlexiaIscariot: what will we do, JK?
Wildkat2002: i dunno, stuff?
Wildkat2002: things?
Wildkat2002: we could go the library and make out
AlexiaIscariot: sounds wicked cool
AlexiaIscariot: lets see. tomorrow, I'm working from 12-11pm. I could pencil you in for a breakfast
AlexiaIscariot: or you could mack my friends
Wildkat2002: plus, i've always wanted to kiss you
Wildkat2002: just to say, "I kissed mary"
Wildkat2002: and to see if you were any good at it
AlexiaIscariot: I'm not
AlexiaIscariot: but thats nice to say
Wildkat2002: you're not? why not? do you gnaw too much?
AlexiaIscariot: I haven't had a lot of experience, there, justin
Wildkat2002: mary, i could take you on as my project, and teach you how to do it right
Wildkat2002: i would be like a class
Wildkat2002: or an internship

Justin wins major points for the straightforward approach, which I appreciate. I am not a gameplayer. Because of this, I actually gave the idea intense thought. However, I have to say that my kisses are generally pretty expensive, and I doubt that Justin Kumar could afford them

You have purchased 2 ticket(s) for:

Venue: Congress Theatre
Location: CHICAGO, IL
Date & Time: Saturday, May 11, 2002 8:00PM
Your Tickets: SECTION G.A.,
# of Tickets: 2
Total Paid: 67.40
Delivery Method: Mail

BELLE & SEBASTIAN
NO CAMERA/AUDIO/VIDEO
CONGRESS THEATRE/CHICAGO
2135 N MILWAUKEE
SAT MAY 11 2002 8:00 PM

I just remembered. If you're going to download "flower" out of perverse feelings of lonliness, download the Pansy Division's version. Yeah, thats right

AlexiaIscariot: so what's going on tonight, baby?
buttercupbunnie: for me?
buttercupbunnie: im sleeping
buttercupbunnie: i think
buttercupbunnie: and i dont want to see my friends come back from their dates
buttercupbunnie: and happiness
buttercupbunnie: and romance
AlexiaIscariot: stupid happiness
buttercupbunnie: and disgusting things that im never gonna get
----
End of V-Day story. Spent with Mark, watching Knight's Tale, which is totally sweet in a lame way. I need to go to bed, so I can work tomorrow. harder, faster.

Why is it that despite repreated attempts to the contrary, blog still keeps screwing up anne's name? yellow house? what the heck?

But whatever. Anne, welcome.

Unless we're all getting together tonight to watch something stupid and happy and un-Valentine's Day related, I'm going to go to bed around 930 tonight. Alone. Like that demotivator poster: so very, very alone. I'll be offline, so you might have to call me. Yes, I can use a telephone.

And since we have a continuous supply of new readers, which seems to grow daily (to my horror), my AIM name is AlexiaIscariot. Let me know if you're stalking me, so I can keep an eye out for you.

Mary: I remember the exact quote as, "I'd have to be really into you or really drunk to let you kiss me. Either way, you should just go for it."

Although I would love to make my blog-debut with an hilarious anecdote or a mind-boggling bit of philosophic reflection, I am afraid there are more serious issues - one of which I am forced to address today (today, as I am sure many of you are painfully aware, being Valentine's Day - or conversely - Satan's Day. Whichever you prefer. I prefer the latter.) - at hand. Friends, I come before you today because one of our nearest and dearest associates, Mr. Russell Bradley Riggins III, is lookin' for love (i.e. a partner in fratty-goodness --> i.e. a saucy wench with whom to partake in bi-weekly forays in the name of brotherhood into mind-numbing drunkenness and superficiality) proverbially (and rather Riggins-ly) in all the wrong places.

In order to relieve the aforementioned RBR III from the great burden of the whole of his female friends at Northwestern University being either 1) Mormon, 2) goth, 3) emo, 4) punk, 5) interesting, or 6) a wicked-bad combination of several of these most despicable states of being (thus rendering said females entirely unsuitable for integration into the Wonderful World of Pike --> hereafter referred to as "wicked-bad cool guys who drink lots of alcohol & assault produce in the name of their revered leader Lord Tokes-a-lot), I have taken it upon myself to aid a friend in need.

In layman's terms: perk up, Riggins! I've found the perfect woman for you.

Her name is Alice Marinelli and (quite ironically) she is one of my best friends in the world. Alice is 21 and lives in balmy Northeastern Italy, in a pleasant valley at the foot of the Alps. At 4'10" and boasting clear, bronzed skin, wavy, black locks, and a trim, waifish figure, this petite pixie is a natural beauty. Furthermore, she is NOT: Mormon, goth, emo, punk, or...well...I oughtn't to be too harsh here...any wicked-bad combination of several of these most despicable states of being.

It's her defining characteristic, however, that sets her apart from the rest of the field (teeming, of course, with wide-eyed, hope-filled ZBT's frantically contesting for the affections of the Pike-ish Apollo in question) as the perfect partner in fratty-good-fun. To state it mildly ("mildly" denoting a description of Osama bin Laden as "mildly" antagonistic toward the United States), Alice is rather fond of the Drink.

Anything...any amount...with anyone...anywhere...any way.

[ASIDE: Oh my lucky stars!! Have we stumbled upon the perfect sorority sister!?!?!]

And as she is only 4'10", she tends to get schnockered pretty quickly, thus making this little pixie a must-bring to any ethanol-saturated soiree at which the phrase most commonly utterred by attendees is, "dude...I'm so...like...wasted...hehehehe", and the majority of social interaction takes place within the confines of an area 5 feet in diameter, at the center of which stands a shiny, metal container popularly referred to as a 'keg'.

Now I know what you're thinking, Russell. You're thinking, "well...I don't know. After all, this isn't about ME, this is about US - the brotherhood - PIKE! [Insert moment of silent reverence.] I mean, she sounds cool enough for Delta Chi or Phi-Delt...but we're takin' Pi Kappa Epsilon here - PI KAPPA frickin' EPSILON!! This ain't no joke - my ultimate coolness is at stake!!! I'm going to need some proof."

Well Russo Suave, of it's proof you want, it's proof you'll get!

Why just this morning Ms. Marinelli relayed to me via the Internet a most amusing tale of raucous debauchery. It appears, young squire, that you are not the only person who spent last Friday night drinking your liver into oblivion in the never-ending quest to end an evening passed-out in a snow bank and covered in fetid, festering pools of your own esophageal emissions.

No.

Ms. Marinelli spent the evening consuming vast amounts of alcohol in pursuit of the very same noble end you hold as your creed. After being expelled from a Discotheque for attempting in rapid succession to dance provocatively on a table, on a bar stool, and eventually on the bar itself, she and her associates (who conveniently "lost" upon their arrival the men who escorted them to the Disco) allowed themselves to be escorted home by a group of shady drunks they met outside the club.

I also recall a rather rowdy "Pasta-Party" (i.e. "Dine-on-Wine" night - again the product of Italian ingenuity) that occurred last August, at which Ms. Marinelli single-throatedly consumed three bottles of wine, eventually becoming so intoxicated that, when her mother called her cell-phone unannounced, little Alice professed her desire and intention "Sex mit Marco zu haben" and hung up. After discarding the bothersome phone, she proceeded to jump into the lap (and consequently into the mouth, around the tongue and down the throat) of a most smarmy and unwashed French lad. Upon the evening's conclusion (an evening of zany hijinks Ms. Marinelli swears to this day not to remember a snatch of) her professor had to retrieve her from the party and escort her back to her room (at a local nunnery, no less).

I coud go on. But as I'm already tiring of writing this (and as I was assigned upon my arrival at work this morning a back-breaking load of inconsequential bunk...of which I have completed - [drum roll] - nothing), I assume, dear reader, that you tired of reading it long ago.

In defense of my long-windedness: I was only trying to help a friend in his hour of need. ;-)

And to that friend (who once said himself that I "really lay the sarcasm out on the table" - a statement I choose to view both as a compliment and as a challenge) I say: take heart, Russ! If things don't work out with this one, there are always more Mormon fish near the keg...I hear Julia's still available.

Oh, and I finally changed our time so its actually central, not pacific time zones. peace.

Anne's late addition to the CM blog has to do with the fact that blogger keeps ignoring her password. This is being looked into.

Remember to keep this in mind: "I wouldn't be kissing you if I didn't like you"

Man, today's Valentine's day, one of the lamest days of the entire year. I am mostly indifferent to this holiday, but the thing that annoys me about it is the fact that women, at least the one's I live with, get waaaaaay too into it. The girls in my dorm seem to wait for it all year. It has been discussed at length for some time, which confuses me. Why exactly? Are those cheap little hard teddy bears you get from unimaginitive cheap little boys validation that yes, you mean something as an individual? It's worth investigating.

My most memorable Valentine's Day was freshman year. I recieved/gave the following Valentine's:
--Broken mirrors splattered with blood (yes, I know, but it was so very goth at the time!)
--Cracked china doll heads (don't ask me what that was supposed to be about)
--Barb wire hearts (with the words: Love is suicide taped inside)
--Spider poison ring (the darkness! the horror!)

Wasn't that terribly dark and alternative of me and my friends? Jeez, goth kids can be such tools.

It's 4. And I retract my previous statement about a lack of drama.

When I'm 70, remind me that when I was 19, I promised myself that I'd dye my hair green and walk around wearing t-shirts that say, "Fight Ageism." Because at that point, who cares? I'll have already written most of my story, I'll have already proven myself, or failed to prove myself. Never simply fade away, never sell out. That's what I say.

Happy Valentine's day, I guess.

Valentine's day last year was spectacular. Although this year, in contrast to last, I have a valentine of sorts, I doubt that there will be the same kind of exhillirating drama. And I probably won't have the opportunity to deliver the same kind of stunningly vitriolic oration. Unless, of course, someone manages to anger me. (Note: The stuff that went down that day is, for the most part, a distant memory, and no bad feelings remain, if you care about that kind of thing.)

I wanted to make a special Valentine's Day post by quoting some of Liz Phair's "Flower," but I read over the lyrics and realized the entire song is too objectionable for anything but the source. Don't read too much into it, it's just a catchy song. Sick, but catchy

And as the summer's ending
The cool air will push your hard heart away
You were so condescending
And this is all that's left
Scraping paper to document--Photobooth, Death Cab for Cutie

For the love of heaven, download this song. Please. It will save your soul.

Fact: Amy Barr Rules!

Cancer: (June 22—July 22)
Dating isn't always easy, but you've got to either dust yourself off and get back in the saddle or stop dating horses.

Libra: (Sept. 23—Oct. 23)
You aren't the first person to fall in love with someone, only to realize he's not the person you thought he was. However, due to the recent, sudden maturation of the entire human race, you're the last.

And Ladies and Gentlemen, proof again that the onion rocks our world:
Capricorn: (Dec. 22—Jan. 19)
You will be told that "your appeal to reason and personal responsibility is a light that will never go out" by weirdos who've mistaken you for Ayn Rand.

From my sister Margaret:

today has been such a bad day. it's one of those days where everything goes wrong in and out of class and to top it off you wear navy blue socks to school. i should have known they were too dark to be green. but the lighting in my room is so weird! anyways, though i will tell her, make sure to convey to mom my apologies, i never mean to conceal everything, i just don't know how to talk. even to my family. because i was born a mute and have remained relatively silent so it's not second nature to open up and talk to people like it is for you. i think they're main problem is that i don't talk to them like you did. well sorry mom, i'm not mary. i don't shine like the aurora borefrickinalis. so yeah. i have learned from my mistakes, obviously i have erred, and will try to avoid this problem in the near future so i can keep my pretty head on my shoulders. well, my neck, but you know how expressions are. hope you had fun being dolphin frickin friendly.

This was written before hawaii, but I'm cleaning out my box today

I'd rather not be left out of the fun
-mary: sharp, unpretentiously self-assured
-tony: genuine and open to new ideas
-tom: honest and uncompromising
-anne: entertaining obsessions
-mark: intense, gets over-excited about new ideas
-nickd: original, principled
-russ: uses charm to get himself out of trouble
-mike: sweet, disciplined

Letter to Creative Writing List Serve


> Yeah, I can do whenever. I hope Mary shows so she can explain her billboard
> a bit more.
>
> Tony

Tony, tony, tony--what does that MEAN? I recall no billboard....

Ok, kids, I just checked my email for the first time in forever today. I was like, dude, what the heck? I missed talking about writing. why do I suck as a human being? I've been listening to tons of depressing music as a result: Death Cab for Cutie, DNTL, the Rachels. Stuff that makes you cry. Emo stuff, like Saves the Day. What I like about emo is its the only music form where crying is encouraged, and even, dare I say, a right of passage. You don't see me sitting around crying about how Britney Spears really understands my pain in the haunting Dido-penned ballad "I'm not a girl, not yet a woman". I could not justify sitting alone in a car, shoulders shaking, hanging my head in my hands to the mesmerizing beat of limp bizkit's "Break Stuff." Althought I do sometimes wish I could break stuff, because I like breaking things, and I like stuff, so breaking stuff would be super cool. Especially if I could get a red baseball cap to give myself indie street cred. Only wear it backwards. Yeah. In the words of David Choate, "Dudes, I'm like Nelly Furtado. And that's saying a lot." Don't cut my wings, yo, becaue I'm meant to soar. Or whatever.

You know what I hate? hangnails. I hate the way they catch on your sweater, and if you try and rip them out, its like, ouch. stupid extra pieces of nail. I cannot understand why fingernails, which I suppose are primitive claws, hve not been eradicated by evolution. Humanity needs no claws. To paraphrase liar liar, we are scared of the claw. Yeah, y'all jim carrey fans feel my shoutout, yo.

But seriously, yeah, we need to get together, because Sheila will be leaving and that will be sad and we will all be lashing ourselves with mental whips for forgetting to do something with her before she goes. Also, we need to get together. I say we do something once a month, like the first sunday of every month hit kaffein, or maybe every other week, Sunday's, around 1 or so. Lets all soar like Nelly Furtado above the banality and apathy that surround us in an ethereal soup of bad puns and lagoon protests.
Love you.
Mary

Tom made a good point. Here's what I like about you guys.

Tony: Loyalty, spazmatic outbursts
Russ: Intensity, sense of humor
Tom: Anger, complexity, ghetto fabulous chauvinism
Adele: Kindness, unique ability to break sterotypes
Mark: Intelligence, Artistic brilliance
Anne: Practicality, obsessions, total compatibility.
Mike: Joy, cultural refinement

Every man I meet is either gay or a bear!

post. then homework. then coffee with mark. then bed.

So yeah. I realized when I was talking to Anne and Adele tonight that because I realize that all of our mom's check this website, I've been self-censoring more and more because I'm worried my parents might think I'm weird. That is unacceptable. Everyone knows my writing style is whatever comes off the top of my head, so if anyone over 30 sees anything that weirds them out, just put it in perspective. So, enough of this self-censoring nonesense. Back to the posts. Plus, I always have source code for anything really scary.

Mark asked me the other day what made my day a good one, and I didn't really have an answer other than "walking". There is something profoundly satisfying for me when I'm just strolling, listening to music. Alexis' mom, whom I've never met, once saw me walk down the other side of the street. She asked Alexis, "who is that girl? She has the most fascinating walk I have ever seen." The interesting thing is, I didn't always used to walk this way. Before freshman year, I walked like a regular person. Freshman year, due to a variety of sources, I started shuffling. I rolled my shoulders forward, kind of hunched. Neck bowed. Toes turned in. Sophomore year, I run off to Swiss Semester, and when I came back, I walked differently. I didn't even notice a percipitice change at first. Then Laura, kind soul that she was, pulled me aside and sneered: "You strut now, you know." And she was right. Spine straight. Feet forward. Head up. Shoulders back. Plus, I had developed the habit of staring people down when I walked passed them. To this day, I still walk like that. It looks slightly awkward, I imagine, because I'm so fully conscious of all my movements that it doesn't look intuitive or natural. I imagine I walk a lot like a machine. Jeremy, Vicki's ex, tells me that I look like I want to kill somebody every time I pass him. Maybe he's just too weak.

I went over to Mike's tonight, where he and Mark made a whole bunch of German and Austrian food which I can't name properly. It was all amazingly good though. Lauren and Toby came by, and it was generally a posse affair. Everyone was there, even Russ, who is making a valient, and slowly successful, effort to reintegrate himself into the posse. I fear, however, that the group as a whole is a little too vitriolic on the subject of the Greek system. It bothers me in a way, because I hate slapping labels on people. I enjoy putting on categorizations and stereotypes for the sole intent of breaking them. I enjoy watching other people put on labels and twist them around. But any kind of relentless attack on the choices of others is rather annoying. I genuinly like people to be themselves. However, I don't think we've gotten to the stage of "relentless attacking" insofar as the Pike thing is concerned. But, like I said, this all comes out of my mind without any kind of regulation. I have no idea what I'm saying.

My parents are convinced that I'm failing out of school. And I'm having all kinds of debauchery. But whatever. I've got to study.

She's getting kicked out of school cause she's failing
I'm kind of nervous cause I think her friends all hate me
She's the one, she'll always be there
She took my hand and I made it I swear
Cause I fell in love with the girl at the rock show
she said "what?" and I told her that I didn't know
She's so cool, gonna sneak in through her window
Everything's better when she's around.
Can't wait 'til her parents go out of town
I fell in love with the girl at the rock show

Anne is going to be joining Mary and I in this space. That'll be nice.

Things are kind of slow. I want things to be beautiful and intense, but they're not. They're just slow. Today was unremarkable. Mary and Anne and David were fun. I finished my Mossoff interview. You can view it here.

There's more. If you're meant to read it, you know where it is.

I am not crazy.

"Who really cares about the relationship of integrals and derivatives, all I'm caring about is the hole in my sock. Stupid hole. " --Russ's brother

Random Turn-On's, things (besides the ones adele listed)
-Eyeliner
-Sweaters
-Metal necklaces
-Business suits
-Sunglasses


I went over to Adele's with Anne to work on EFC stuff after Gios and Tom's gun debate. Elliot was in town, so it was the entire old posse together at dinner, which was nice in a nostaligic way. But dinner, then going over to adele's--It was a ton of fun, a lot like freshman year. Before things got complicated. And its been so long since I hung out with a bunch of women that it was very refreshing. Boys suck!

random turn-ons
-skateboards
-black or silver nail polish
-guitars
-plastic emo glasses

"In any season Riggins offers you the facilities to enjoy a myriad of recreational opportunities. Riggins is also the host to many annual events that are fun for the whole family. We think you’ll be impressed!"

Oh my gosh. How much I love double entendre.

Songs I wish were written about me:
5) Blink 182-The Rock Show
4) Semisonic-Fascinating New Thing
3) Three Colours Red-Beautiful Day
2) Coldplay-Yellow
1) Smashing Pumpkins-Stand Inside Your Love

Runner Ups: NIN-Closer; Juno--When I was In

Songs I wish I could have written:
5) The Hives--Hate to Say I Told You So
4) Tura Satana-Dry
3) Blink 182-Dammit
2) Ozma-Battlescars
1) Everclear-You Make Me Feel Like a Whore

Runners Up: Nick Cave: Are You the One That I've Been Waiting For?, Garbage-Silence is Golden

These are not my favorite songs, keep in mind. But if you listen to the lyrics and the guitars, they just are

Nick blocked me for my refusal to be a member of the aristocracy of pull.

Friendship is a romance.

Come sail your ships around me
And burn your bridges down
We'll make a little history, baby
Everytime you come around--Nick Cave

addendum to the list of random pet peeves
-people who do not know how to properly order food at diners (if you order a hot roast beef, it's going to have gravy on it, jerk)

hi mom =P

At least two (three if you count Tony, who's in South Beloit for the weekend) of the nine weblogs I read regularly are down, and this makes me sad. Aaron and Russ, here is my plea: don't take your weblogs down, you are a source of endless inspiration (and by inspiration I mean procrastination) to me. Please come back?

It's 4a.m. and I really don't know how it got to be this late. This seems to happen to me a lot. I should try to normalize my sleeping patterns, but I probably won't.

I know that this doesn't even have a hint of originality about it, but I wonder how many other people are blogging right now, and I wonder what they're writing about. I think weblogs are an awesome and strange medium of communication. Why do we all have the impulse to babble about our daily banalities? Why do I enjoy doing this so much? And why do I enjoy reading what my friends blog about so much?

There has been a recent rash of random people coming up to me and telling me that they read my weblog. I think that it's flattering, especially because most of them have commented that it's entertaining. Perhaps I should use this devoted readership as the jumping off point for the cult I've always wanted to start. I am not properly exploiting the vouyeristic procrastination tendencies of my peers.

Anyone who visits me at the Sherm tomorrow gets a free..... water, and the possibility of watching "the final showdown" between Pearl and I. It'll be intense.

There are some things love won't allow
I held her hand, but I don't hold it now
I don't know why and I don't know how
But she's nobody's baby now
--Nick Cave

From: Cecilia N
Date: Thursday, February 07, 2002 6:00 PM
To: Ade1e
Subject: Bunions - that's a funny word!

Hi Adele,
I found something on-line that I have ordered for you. Bunion Splints! You'll love 'em. Watch for them in your mailbox soon.
XXXOOOMMM,
Mommy


addendum to the list of things that are objectively good
-the vaporizer (Clearly, it's the finest invention known to mankind. You put in water and salt and it gives you steam. When I was sick, I could just space out next to that thing for hours! man, I love vaporizers!)

So, I haven't posted in a while, and allowed adele to outstrip me on the posting front, which never happens. This is unacceptable. I feel that since its been 2+ days, I should do a long post and then get started on work, since I have a limited amount of time this weekend.

It has come to my attention that I have done nothing this quarter except tread water. I spend entirely too much time out having coffee and talking and hanging out in plex listening to music. And while I agree all of these things are wonderful and an integral part of being a college student, I have to start being more moderate. You know, maybe not go out every single night. I've always had one of those personalities that doesn't really like to be limited; if I'm interested in something, I tend to attack it and pick it apart and be fascianated with it, letting the object in question totally occupy my thoughts. This usually applies to concepts: epoques of history, authors, music groups, a particular group. I guess to the unexperienced viewer these passions look kind of like obsession, and in a lot of ways they are, but obsession implies that I'm irrational and I have no discernment. As far as people go, I've gone through each one of the "posse," studying them with scrutiny until I've figured them out. I've only known Mark for really, what, 2 months? So he's still being explored. And the more I learn about him the more I find, so its a vicious cycle of constant discovery that has been distracting me way to long from school work.

After the econ disaster and the mediocre bio test, plus the fact that I have no internships lined up, I'm becoming unhappy with myself. I do not fail. I am not mediocre. The very idea that I am sinking into the level of totally lethargy and apathy I see on this campus is frightening. I went to more lectures and talks and museums fall quarter of freshman year than I have throughout the entirity of this year. And its not like my grades are suffering because I'm living life and going out and seeing things and experiencing new culture and whatever. My school life is suffering because I sit around and talk in coffee shops and on IM and over weblogs. My parents are no doubt horrified I'll become the next ryan lauck or something. And the thing is, it's nobody's fault but mine. I just need to try and learn about moderation. Uck. Moderation. even the word sounds bland and uninteresting.

But I suppose, after that digression, I should give you a synopsis of my week. Friday I did a ton of metro work. Took Mark to see X-Seed, a very mediocre metal band that was nevertheless pleasent. I like the repetitive screaming and the wall of similar guitar cords. The way it rocks you back and forth. I like looking at the metal fans in their Slipknot shirts and their dyed-black hair, the hoochie girls who try way too hard to look scary, but really look scared. The 17 year old boys with huge saucer eyes. Rock shows are some of the best people watching opportunites ever. I was angry that their wasn't a moshpit. But there will probably be one at the Anti-flag show next week. Good thing. Before that, we went to this cute little diner and talked about stuff for a while. As usual, very nice. We go back, hang out with Adele for a while (and give her two little emo pins so she can be even more darling than she already is), and take Anne north to nick's. Mousetrap and pizza ensued. The whole night was just really pleasent. Mark and I got hyper on the el and pretended we were spies, so we used rolled-up posters as earphones and eyeglasses and megaphones. It was really cool just to act silly and dorky again. I've been pretty serious recently.

We get up at the crack of dawn (re:10am) to have lunch with nick's parents. I liked them a lot more than I thought I would. We squeeze into their new car and drive to Old Orchard (and I do mean squeeze) to eat at the cheescake factory. His parents were really very charming. I loved his dad--just like nick. A bit vitriolic, but all the same, he was very funny. His mother has a very understated sarcasm which I found lovely. And they were really cool with everyone's religious quirks, which rarely happens. Most people freak out when I say I'm Mormon, or freak out around atheists. Nick's parents were just like *shurg*. It kind of reminded me of my parents, except my parents are a bit more, I don't know, like me.

Russ, I'm getting the feeling you want to leave the social net. It's just a guess. Call me crazy. I think when history asks: who were the greatest bridge burners of all time? The answer will be:
3) The Japanese
2) The Goths/The Vandals (Germanic tribes, not bands)
1) Russell Riggins
Russ dear, I'm only going to say this once. If you don't want to be friends with us, cool. If you want to hang out once a month, cool. But burning bridges in a series of elaborate gestures of what seems to be disdain is not only bad business, it's unprofessional. And usually, some kind of explanation is expected on occasions of this nature.

But enough! I'm happy and I feel lovely and excited and whatever. As soon as I get this school thing figured out, I'll be the happiest I've ever been. Now, time for work. For a bit, anyway.

Tonight I watched Doug and Kate do the pamchenko. pretty wicked.

Also! Major drama on the weblog front from the anti-emotional superhero, Russ Riggins.

things that are objectively good, in no particular order
-warm weather
-black coffee
-Tony Natale (the most underrated of all my friends).
-emo (The clothing is adorable, and very cheap. The music is rockin', and doesn't take itself too seriously. Also, it tells you that it's ok to cry. I cried the first time I heard Dashboard's "Again I Go Unnoticed." Yes! I cried while listening to emo! I'm sorry to ruin my image as a totally hardcore badass.)
-weblogs
-Lars Fredericksen (he's cool, and by cool I mean totally sweet!)
-The Sherman Restaurant

random pet peeves
-the word "chick" to refer to women
-people who I have met who subsequently pretend to not know who I am on the street
-people who block sidewalks
-new volkswagen bugs

Tri-Chi, the hardcore sorority, is the single greatest idea ever conceived. Sign me up.

The Hives are my new band of choice. I <3 skinny weird white men with guitars.

I interview Adam Mossoff tomorrow. It should be interesting.

Oh so many ideas swimming through my mind, but I'm too apathetic, tired, lazy to deal with them.

56.

That just goes to show that native brilliance will only take you so far.

Disabato.

The tone of the post you wrote a 'reply' to, (it was the one where I introduced the Tri-Chi plans), was supposed to be funny and random and whimsical. As much as I don't want to acknowledge the existance of Mr. Riggins, he may have a point, if an inarticulate and convoluted one, that we take things a little too seriously. You surely don't think that post was a real attack, do you? You'll know when I attack you.

Secondly, do not try and throw that Francisco D'anconia sex speech at me like I'm a dewy eyed philosophy frosh. My goodness. I can't believe you're giving that speech to me, the girl who waited 20 years to finally date someone because her standards were so high. For real, yo, don't go making me out to be a hedonistic subjectivist brat. I said wish for a hookup, not have one. I meant you get to the point where you're either so lonely or sexually frustrated that your id is screaming: anyone! please, anyone! Obviously, we are creatures of reason and ego. We ignore the id, or we control it. But to say that you never wish for sexual relief is rather absurd. Musing is not the same as acting. Rand never said we couldn't have animalistic desire for base things; she only said that those of us on higher planes learn how to bridle them.

Oh, and speaking of. I'm doing the X-Seed show Friday. They are metal. If you would like to go, there may be a moshpit, and that would, as you all know, totally rule

mark anthony victor rawstron roberts.

That has an aristocractic ring to it I find enticing. After work I am exhausted, so of course, I stop by Mark's for 5 minutes and stay an hour and a half. I must sounds like a sponge with no sense of discernment, because everytime he plays something for me, I love it. It touches me on some level. I resist showing my enthusiasm for what Mark plays, both his own songs and other people's, because I superficially fall into the girl role of being oh-so-supportive. But it's not like that. Some of these pieces, like the composition he's drafted from a song he wrote at 16, were just devestating. The Barber string quartet songs. Even that lame german hip hop. I loved it all.

I think why I enjoy going over to Mark's so often is the way we talk. When I'm alone with most people and there's a lull in the conversation, it's uncomfortable or weird; people rush to fill it. I usually assume the role of rushing-to-the-void, which I do because of social mores. But with mark, we can just sit in silence and say nothing at all. He doesn't try and get me to leave when I get quiet, he never throws me out so he can go to bed, he never fills the space with something insignificant. It just settles over us, and its a very comfortable, lovely moment. It used to bother me about being alone with him, in the very beginning. Now I think I like the silence as much as I like the words.

I want to sleep a long time. Goodnight.

I am so tired my shoulders are trembling. Hurray!

Busy working to make money to pay for my electroshock therapy. Library is coolness.

Crash and burned. And I knew that stuff, too. I knew it.

On a better note, the new Britney movie is coming out friday, and I'm forcing Adele, Mark, and Anne to come with me. Tony, Nick, and Tom--if you boys have nothing else to do, come along. You will love it. Oh yes. You will.

I'm going running before I kill someone. Probably you.

I've got a macro midterm tomorrow, so I'll make this fast. For me

My empire has fallen, kids, and it is amazing to see the horizon. I feel totally in control of who I am again, and I have, for the time being, managed to once again banish the demons to neurological fissures. I like being in control. I like power. Like the ninja, I am on the search for ULTIMATE POWER. I am in my element, and I once again feel independant, like I don't need anyone at all.

Why does it rock so hard to be me? I don't know. Jeez, if I were you, I'd kill myself.

My recent music downloads all reflect a lovely change in mood. I download less pop, more metal and rap. Tura Satana, mostly. If you only listen to one metal band in your life, let Tura Satana be the one.

These are currents in my life that rapidly change. I like flowing with them.

Maybe this is a panic high. I feel like I will crash and burn in macro tomorrow. But either way, it feels good now.

I only spent one hour with Mark today. I am very proud of myself. Mark is slowly becoming my only source of distraction, and he's very good at it. However, since he is busy working on myriad recording processes, he may forget about me for a while, so I can get some homework done. I've been spending a lot of time in his room, which has a very Spartan quality. At least compared to my room. I think I might just attack it one day with tape and paper and charcoal and make a corner of it my own.

Nick says he doesn't ever wish for a random hookup, some kind of mindless sexual energy release. I find this a very shocking statement. I get so frustrated that if I don't get in the moshpit (or a suitable equivalent) at least once a month, people get hurt. If this is a true statement, Nick, kudos to your monastic sense of higher virtue; I don't think I'm there yet.

I was figuring that because I'm so hardocre, I should start my own sorority: XXX (we'll call it Tri-Chi for simplicity). (Get it? Hardcore like awesome, hardcore like porn. GET IT? You guys are lame). All the pledges could be made to sport X-head haircuts (hear me Adele? Lets have a "Decline" shoutout, yo). I'm sure nothing will come of it.

Bed!!

This is an update for Tom Sherman, whose website is quite nice, but I cannot view because my computer is crazy and errors out everytime I try to visit it. I am giving him a brief respite from his bordeom.

I agree wholeheartedly with Nick that winter should be abolished. The cold sucks the life out of me. I feel stiff and inert and I simply do not want to leave the dorm. Also, I hate wearing coats, especially today, when I'm wearing this adorable emo argyle vest.

Bullet Points:

I studied and drank coffee at the sherm with David. It was neat-o.
On Friday, I am going to interview Adam Mossoff, an NU law professor, for my magazine writing class. He is a passionate objectivist, and I'm sure he'll give me lots of controversial quotes.
I might be interning at the Metro, which will be rock music if it comes through.
I've been playing the first ten seconds of Alk3's Enjoy Your Day on my guitar over and over and over. it's a cheesy piece of music. It sounds like something Lifehouse would write. It's fun though, and I feel like I'm making progress in playing the guitar.
I wrote something last night that I think is very cool. It's just a little scene. If I still like it later today, I'll post it.

bye, Tom. Hope this helps.

Why does Macro own my soul? Is there a demand curve for souls? I think of these things...

ok, maybe i should do something less random and cyrptic, but i don't feel like it tonight. Sometimes, when something is going on, its a little too weird or intense to actually share. And the things that have been happening to me ever since my final outburst on Sunday, I can't really verbalize what I'm feeling. But at the same time, I'm very peaceful, and I'm happier than usual. We live in a beautiful world.

Re Tom: I'm very proud of my life, in fact. I've had a wonderful life. However, the fear I have is that the most amazing parts of my life are already over, and the rest of my life, like my experiences at college, will slip into mediocrity.

I just really wanted to take more time to put bad lyrics in the source code.

my day in haiku format

took an art midterm
"that painting is new to me"
shoulda known that one
--

listened to the strokes
"I ain't wastin' no more time"
says casablancas
--

I dyed nickd's hair
my hands are wildcat purple
but nick's hair is not
--

I read for English
their eyes were watching god is
quite a stellar book
--

if I were to say
"giordano's was just great"
I'd be speaking truth
--

this format is fun
real content is avoided
and so is your work
--

love to all.

Anne is feeling better. That is one of the contributing factors in today being a resplendant day. That, and my hair has undergone 3 bleach treatments.

David is emo. And he has a blog.

the empire falls.

RE: Adele
Thank you

Re Russ:

"If you want me to actually show some emotion on the topic, and profess how much I love all of you - you're not going to get it. That's not what I do, and, in general, that's not what men do." The chauvenism is greatly appreciated. Come on man, for real. Do not pull one of these I-am-a-better-person-then-you-because-I-can-control-my-emotions deals with me. I agree however, that some people show love and some people speak of love. But either way, you're actions have shown nothing but indifference and annoyance, and these actions are what I'm infering from.

I'm not going to start defending Friday night in any manner, because it just wouldn't be prudent. I'm going to keep Anne out of this - it's a 'respect' issue. No, because this is about Anne, who was in tears last night. And Anne belongs to me, and when you hurt her, you hurt me. I respect her too much to allow her to be hurt again. I'm not asking you to defend friday night; I'm asking you to keep Anne in this, and show her respect by apologizing to her. I'm glad you had a good time, I was hoping you would. But to pretend Anne has nothing to do with this is wrong. She has everything to do with this. Do you think I could possibly be this angry if Anne wasn't involved? I rarely get worked up over personal insults to this degree.


You knew very well that the goth look makes me incredibly uncomfortable. I'm sorry, I'm republican, and to me personally, I think it is unprofessional and disrespectful. But who cares??? I never made a big deal about it. I was quite accepting, and I never wanted to cause strife. If you're not that secure about it, then maybe that should mean something to you - personally. It's really no one else's business.
Ok, yeah, I know my parents are linked to this site, so they may read this, but BULLSHIT, Russ. For real. The clothes thing is not even going to be mentioned in this forum. That is not the issue. At all. And not make a big deal about it? No, you just ridicule me and cut me down and give back handed comments whenever possible. Do you know how unbelievably secure I'd have to be to keep wearing this stuff after all the animosity I get? Accepting? So accepting you told me you wouldn't take me to a Pike party if I dressed like me? What the hell. Really. And I don't even dress goth, maybe once since the quarter started. I can't even believe this is an issue. I don't care what you think about me; Russ. I know for a fact that you don't think of me at all, so why would it matter? The clothes issue is totally insignificant to my rage here. I'm angry about Anne, and I'm angry about the way I have not been respected. What I put on my body makes no difference to me, and what you think about what I wear means even less.


All this said, I recognize how hard making that post was for you, and I recognize you're need for space. I'm sorry if I've contributed in anyway to this sense of "screwed-up-ness" you've been feeling. But I thought Anne deserved more than what you gave her. And I just figured, wrongly it turns out, that I deserved a bit more than what you've been giving me. I remember the mess a little anger can make.

here.

RE: Mark and Tony

I dislike the implication in your weblogs that this is simply a personal attack. Not only does that downplay the importance of what I'm feeling, it also makes me out, in whatever way, to be petty and irrational about this situation. I may be many things, gentleman, and I may have many faults, but pettiness is not one of them. I can recognize that Russ' end, which is not to want me (us) around anymore, does not justify his means.

Re: Tom

Hey, listen, maybe if you had treated Anne like a human being and even pretended to be interested in her mind while you were around her, you might not be as bitter as you are today. Ever think she may be icy for a reason?

Re Tom:

The fraternity thing has nothing to do with the "Russ Riggins" problem, as aforementioned below. I encouraged him to join Pike because I thought it would be good for him to spend time with people that were a little less serious. I don't care about the frat thing, really, because I don't really care about labels, when it comes down to it. I play with them, and have fun, but I realize they don't define anyone. But when someone disinvites half of a group to a party because they're too scary looking, and when someone abandons a girl at a party for any reason, and when someone tells you that you're not worth their time because you're too intense, I consider that rude, and yeah, I consider that a problem.

Are we letting our own personal rebuff from Anne color our picture of this issue, tom?

While I agree with adele, I also notice that as a group, we tend to ignore and carefully not bring up topics by an unspoken consensus. Take for example, the Russ Riggins problem. Nobody has managed to mention the fact that he is ashamed of us, and treats us terribly because of it. Nobdy has mentioned the fact that he has hurt Anne's pride and self esteem. No one has mentioned the fact that he doesn't treat women, any women, Mormon or otherwise, with proper respect anymore.

Well, I'm mentioning it. Because I am annoyed and hurt. Because my friend is annoyed and hurt. Because I am a woman, I have self-esteem and confidence, and I demand respect and consideration. For myself and others. And yeah, this may be too intense, and this maybe emotional, but I will not have my justifiable anger pigeonholed as something moody and insignificant. I will not have this indignation written off as jealousy or spite. I am neither.

I mention these things not to insult russ or to make him ashamed, but rather to admit what I've been feeling for sometime, on behalf of the group and behalf of myself. I will not be made to feel insignificant. I am not someone to be ashamed of, even if I dress like a goth.

Now, all of you can run off and say "Did you see what Mary wrote on her weblog?", because after all, thats what we do. I have now mentioned the unmentionable. In a public forum. How scandelous.

I have decided that as a group, my friends are far too dependent on weblogs as a source of social contact. Among the inner posse, it is common to hear such comments as, "oh my god, did you see nickd's title tag?" or "we should all post about this tonight." If someone makes an obnoxious post, we all get mad about it. If someone makes an emotional post, we all make inferences about it. We gossip within and about our blogs. We are nerds, but it's ok.

You know what I miss? CiCi's pizza. they were the best pizza chain in dallas. they were buffet style, so it was all you could eat. And the best part was this dessert pizza that was like cinnamon and powdered sugar. Then it had to go out of business because of lack of proper sanitation.

Jeez, I loved that place

I would like to take a break in my study session to respond to tom:
The strokes are indeed ace. And even if they drop off the pop culture radar, I will still love them. Also, see my list of things that annoy me, #10

And Ian Robinson, the MTV2 guy, is the coolest. I adore him. He interviews slipknot and his eyes light up in front of their masked death metal power like a kid at an arcade. And he rips on bands he doesn't like. And he makes the devils horns when he says "M-T-V [pause] 2"

Tonight was a good night, mostly, and I have a lot of good stories. But I think that the best part of my whole day has just finished. After leaving BK, I go back with Mark to here his mindnumbing new composition. What was supposed to be a 15 minute listening session became a 2 hour conversational juggernaut. The subjects were all so meaningful to me and most of the stories Mark told were hysterical. All in all, I had a wonderful time. But seeing as its 3 am, I should head to bed.

2/11/04: If you ever happen to come across this by a mischance of googledom, let me take the chance to apologize. I am sorry. There was absolutely no reason in the world for how I treated you. Gladly, you didn't seem to care much, but still, it was/is one of the lowest things I have ever done. I know that my apology is nothing but a complete fuckin joke to you at this point, so apologizing does nothing more than calm my own conscience a bit. But it might give you a small satisfaction to know that I am deeply, deeply embarrassed by my behavior. And this is a sucky apology, but for all the hole-digging I've done, it's likely the best I can do.
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Nickd's b-day set tonight was pretty tight. I'm really impressed by how quickly he has figured out how to lay down the beats. For me, the highlight was Cibo Matto's "moonchild." The movies being shown in the background were a very nice touch, although parts of Fantasia simply shouldn't be set to electronic music. Tony, Mary and I were caught on film trying to "breakdance." All in all, a good evening. Way to go, Nick.

Something nice happened to me when I got home. MAYBE I'll let you all know about it some other time. Dude, I'm still wondering, do you read this? Yes, you. Stop being all humble and shit, I'm talking to you.

goodnight.

this could be my life.

Mary, your ability to aid me in my quest for unconstructive procrastination is unparalleled, and I thank you.

Tizi Melloul was voted one of the best Moroccan restaurants in Chicago. Now, I've never eaten Moroccan food, which is part of the appeal in going there. In fact, there are a whole lot of restaurants I'd like to go to but never do: Indian, Ethiopian, Cuban, Japanese, Iranian, Korean, Spainish, Thai, Turkish, and Vietnamese. I feel like now that I'm in college it should be my job to go out to crazy ethnic restaurants in a vain effort to prove myself a cultured individual. As soon as I check out prices and work up the nerve, I should be embarking on a culinary tour-de-force. Anyone with me?

And to everyone concerned, and many of you are, pay attention:
Mark is one of the most brilliant people I know. As an artist and as an intellectual, I am constantly in awe of him. He has a sweet nature and a wonderful personality, and I feel honored to be his friend. That said, Mark and I are not dating. So stop asking. It is possible in this world for men and women to honor and cherish the other without romantic feelings getting involved. Mark and I are two such people. Now that I have said this in a public forum, we can all go and talk about something else. Like nick's set tonight, or how cool Dave Choate's drunken emails are.

I need to look up internships and summer programs today. I so do not want to do that.

Is there some way that I can add the suffix "Esquire" to my name? Russ wants to be Russell III, but I think something like "Esquire" would be better. You know how in Bill and Ted, each of them had to be refered to by these elaborate names in formal address? You had Bill S. Preston, Esquire and Ted 'Theodore' Logan. How cool is that? Unfortunatly, Mary isn't short for anything, so Mary 'Mary' Jones would be repetitive. However, Mr. Riggins could employ this syntaxical trick, becoming Russ "Russell" Riggins III, but I think that the alliterated R would present a problem. As for me, by adopting Esquire, I would become Mary E. Jones, Esquire, which has a nice aristoratic intonation of which I am particularly fond. Either way, much to think about.

Now, before I start my day I wanted to post a list I made in econ. The original list was 40 items long, so this one has been streamlined for efficency:
Things That Annoy Me
1) When someone turns my music down in the car
2) Bands who's fanbase are largly made up of hemp wearing, white baseball cap sporting teenagers
3) People who insist Britney Spears is a wonderful role model for female sexual empowerment
4) Narssasistic conversationalists
5) The French
6) Moral relativism
7) The sound of balloons squeaking
8) Anything on the Disney Channel
9) When the plastic things on the end of my shoelace split. Now what am I supposed to do?
10) Indie rock kids who think they get street cred by saying they hate the strokes and claiming, falsly, that "Kid A" is better than "The Bends"
11) Saved By the Bell, the junior high years
12) Establishments that don't give free refills. Like its going to break your back
13) People who walk very slowly in pairs, taking up just enough of the sidewalk so you can't get around them
14) People who refer to movies as "film" or "cinema", as if that someway makes them better than me and all the rest of the Hollwood-loving public
15) People who want something and ask for it by half hints and implications, rather than coming right out and asking

Off to work. Adele, hopes this is a good 5 minute distraction.

Today was happy again. Some quality slacking took place. My one class was cancelled. Allison, my fun cousin from south florida, had lunch with me. She's in town for model UN. Sometime, you should ask nickd to tell you his story about being the delegate from Afghanistan for model UN when he was in high school. (It involves an overturned podium and slaying the infidels). I spent nine hours at the Sherman Restaurant today because it's just that cool.

Moonstruck was pretty wicked. I always have a good time with Mary and Mark.

What is this midterms concept of which Mary speaks? I should look into it.

http://pubweb.nwu.edu/~adm641/

Mark and adele just left, and since you all have midterms, I'm sure you won't be reading this anyway, so I'll keep it short. I forced the two of them to watch Moonstruck, my favorite movie ever. They seemed to enjoy it, which was good, because all friendship initiations on my part would have been totally cut off had I found that one of my immediate friends did not appreciate that movie.

I'm an artistic genius.
Yeah? Than how come you've got butter on your tie?

Interesting note: whenever mark leaves my room, there are dozens of strange mp3's that appear all over my hardrive. Why is that?