Anne: "Hello, Jones? - where are you?"
Jones: "At Howard. Some girls from your dorm are here, too - one moment..."
Tiffany: "Anne?! - We lost Tina."

Dear Mary,

The Writing Committee has asked me to tell you that your manuscript
did not admit you into Naeem Murr's fiction course, but please
understand that the competition was pretty strong. Do let me know if
I can be of help in steering you toward other course selections for
spring quarter.

Best,
Mary Kinzie

Mary: Anne - could you be the worst student ever?!

Tonatale: Fucking Disgustion Mary
Tonatale: absolutly disgusting
AlexiaIscariot: what?
Tonatale: You

what's practical, what's logical - what the hell, who cares

- - - listening to BritneySpears in lieu of doing my German homework or reading about the political development of Spain - - -

The German homework I will eventually do. The Spain readings, however, I will not. Spain is a jackoff country. They have many lovely beaches to the South, many angry bulls to the North, and here & there many oranges ripening for export. They speak (dignified) Spanish in Spain. Lots of jackoff college students choose to study abroad in Spain, because they know that if they "study" abroad there, they will not have to do anything at all for a semester or a whole year, but will still get to put "study abroad" on their transcripts & resumes, and pretend like they have actually accomplished something in doing so. All of the Spanish men I have met had yet to discover the joy that is regular bathing, but were excellent cooks. This one time, Spain tried to invade England, but there was storm, and the Spanish Armada got all busted up, and the attempt failed. And the Spaniards were sad.

What else is there to know?

baby, don't you wanna dance up on me - i'm a slave for the EU

Don't let this happen to your band.

Laying in provisions for rainy day, not Doomsday
By Greg Toppo, USA TODAY

WEST FRIENDSHIP, Md. — Like most moms, Debra Burt shops the sales, stocking up on frozen foods, canned goods and meat at the supermarket.

Unlike most moms, she also has half a ton of wheat in her basement.

Following her instincts and the teachings of her church, Burt has stockpiled nearly a year's supply of Golden 86 hard white wheat — 1,000 pounds in all — to grind into flour, giving her a measure of security in an insecure world.

"It's kind of been a way of life since I was little," says Burt, a mother of four and one of 5.3 million U.S. members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, better known as Mormons.

As terrorism alerts get hotter and the nation girds for war with Iraq, most Americans are getting their first taste of survivalism, courtesy of the federal government. The White House Web site notes that bad guys may already be out to get us, and government-sponsored billboards and TV ads will soon urge us all to "Be Ready." Homeland Security chief Tom Ridge says Americans should keep a three-day supply of food, water and medical supplies on hand.

Some may simply buy a case of Power Bars, a few extra jugs of drinking water and a bigger jar of Advil. But serious survivalists like Burt and many other Mormons are already keeping a year's worth of supplies on hand.

Ready? These guys wrote the book.

"It's not necessarily about big, national emergencies," says Orson Scott Card, a popular science-fiction novelist and a Mormon. "You're supposed to have enough so that, if everything went wrong in your life, your family could get by for a while."

Part of a pioneering past that stretches back 130 years to when the Mormons migrated west to Utah, the push for preparedness is just common sense, says church spokesman Dale Bills. "It's not Doomsday, it's rainy day," he says.

Burt, who lives in a rural area 28 miles north of Washington, D.C., keeps most of her supplies in a root cellar off her basement. The cool room is stocked with pasta, flour, sugar, oil, powdered milk, bottled cherries and, for now, several cases of Ragu Rich & Meaty spaghetti sauce, on sale at Sam's Club.

A public school teacher who's in charge of emergency preparedness at her local church, Burt has always kept portable "72-hour kits" of food, clothing and emergency supplies, but "we're now in bins and backpacks."

Many Mormons don't actually strive to keep a year's worth of supplies on hand, but for those who do, the church helps them calculate what they need. Web site Providentliving.org, suggests, for instance, that a family of four with a toddler and a teenage boy needs about 750 pounds of wheat, for starters. Ground into flour, that would equal 150 five-pound bags.

Among other suggestions: 225 pounds of beans, 175 pounds of oats, 250 pounds of sugar and 30 pounds of salt.

The church also asks that members live simply, casting off unused possessions, staying out of debt and not getting too attached to a job or dreams of promotion.

"It's an attitude of expecting surprises," says Card, who notes that church history is rife with episodes of locals rising up and kicking out the Mormons. "We have the notion that, at a moment's notice, sometimes you'll just have to pick up, leave your house and go live somewhere else."

The church's preparedness principles were driven home during the Great Depression: Many Mormons say family preparations during the late 1930s taught them as much about self-sufficiency as any church doctrine.

Wanda Franklin, a friend of Burt's in Columbia, Md., keeps an entire ton of wheat on hand for the six adults in her suburban household — it keeps for decades if properly stored. "We bought a lot of wheat in the '70s, and I still have some" from then, she says.

While Mormons have been preparing for generations, most Americans didn't give it a thought until 1997, with Y2K fears of mass computer failures and loss of the vital services they control.

"On the plus side, I think people realized that our society exists on a complicated web of services, which can be interrupted without notice," says Robin Hanus, a Phoenix Web page designer who maintains a Web site offering preparedness information. "On the minus side, I think many people felt ridiculed for taking preparations for an event that didn't show."

When most computers hummed past Y2K, many consumers returned their costly generators and dried foods. But others found that Y2K preparations actually helped months later when a real disaster hit: recession.

"It's like a cushion," says a Durham, N.C., preparedness entrepreneur who goes by the name Captain Dave for anonymity's sake — he has a day job as a pharmaceutical executive. Dave received e-mails from customers who said they didn't need the food on Jan. 1, 2000, but found it came in handy later — when a family breadwinner lost his job or was hospitalized.

In addition to MREs, military-style ready-to-eat meals that can be eaten hot or cold, Captain Dave's Web site sells a prepackaged version of a year's supply of food for four people. Delivered on a wooden palette, it's 5 feet high and weighs about 1,500 pounds. A mix of dried food and items such as fruit cocktail, applesauce and canned vegetables, it sells for $3,084. He is currently advertising a "special pre-invasion" sale that knocks off shipping costs, bringing the price down to $2,449.95. But "to get these savings," the site says, "you must buy before the first bomb drops on Iraq!"

Captain Dave, who also sells gas masks, radiation meters, water barrels and chemical suits, says about half of last week's 500 or so customers were from the New York and Washington, D.C., areas.

Dave Watson, of the Peninsula Emergency Preparedness Committee in Pierce County, Wash., says the committee has been banging the preparedness drum for 15 years, but threats of war and terrorism make its job easy. "People started realizing they're on their own," he says. "You don't have to do the hard sell anymore."

Stephen Portela, manager of food sales for Walton Feed in Montpelier, Idaho, says large bulk purchases of basic foods such as grains have been "mushrooming" in the past few weeks, following a trend that began on Sept. 11, 2001.

"That afternoon, the phones started to ring," he says. "They haven't stopped yet."

Appearing last week in Cincinnati, Homeland Security Secretary Tom Ridge urged Americans to prepare for possible chemical, biological and nuclear attacks, saying citizens should assemble disaster kits with three days' worth of food, water and medicine. "We can be afraid, or we can be ready," he said.

Most survivalists say three days' worth of supplies is the bare minimum a family should have on hand. Philip L. Hoag, author of No Such Thing as Doomsday, a 1996 preparedness guide, recommends at least a week's worth.

"How long is it going to take guys in biosuits making food deliveries to your neighborhood?" he says.

The Federal Emergency Management Agency recommends a 21-day supply of food and a gallon of water a person a day for drinking, cooking and washing.

Preparedness experts are divided on FEMA's recommendation to have precut sheet plastic and duct tape for windows. A few call it helpful, others not. "If you duct-tape yourself into a room, where are you getting your fresh air from?" asks Suzanne Settle of the Ohio-based NorthStar Preparedness Network.

But if the worst happens, Card says, Mormons will look out for one another — and their neighbors. He lives in Greensboro, N.C., and is stocking up on canned tuna, not raw wheat. Card expects he'll be tapped by local church officials to offer what he can.

"We organize real fast and real well. That's probably the single biggest strength of our people."

Tom, you notice my hair? That's strange--I've never seen your eyes look at anything above my breasts.

These are my choices?! Contribute to the garrulous onslaught of inane babble that is the "two-word modifier" debate, or copy & paste my Spring quarter class schedule into the box. *choices*

How about a new grammar challenge you three: translate the following sentence into English. *note - the sentence contains SIX verbs, which I have italicized for your convenience*

"Rum hätte von den Hunden geschlürft werden müssen, wenn sie durstig gewesen wären."

And, because its so very important:

POLI_SCI 390-0
Special Topics: Business, Government & Public Policy
B17, Fisk Hall 3:30PM-4:50PM
MonWed Wrone,Brandice C

POLI_SCI 348-0 Globalization
153, Kresge Centennial Hall 2:00PM-3:20PM
TueThu Hanson,Brian T
POLI_SCI 348-0 Globalization Discussion
218, University Hall 4:00PM-4:50PM Thu

SESP 210-0 Intro to Statistics & Research Methods
Room: TBA, Building: TBA 2:00PM - 3:20PM
MonWed Mandara,Jelani

POLI_SCI 395-0 Independent Study:
Structure & Policy of the European Union
Wherever and whenever I please,
so long as it's okay with Dreyer,Michael

Finally, this kept me in laughs all day long. Which is saying something, as today was a day fraught with rapage...2 hours of sleep, 3.5 hours at work (no one should have to be at work at 7am in the morning), 10 minute breakfast/lunch, skip Western European Politics to work on --> 1 German business report (pitching a company to a potential business partner), 1 German business presentation (European Currency Union - :-D), German 391 (further mangle web-project), German 380 - presentation (goes well, complimented by professor...unglaublich!!). Add worst cramps ever = pretty damn bad day. But the rapage went smoothly, so I'm in a pretty damn good mood right now.

but...*what* For the life of me, I am incapable of holding of a grudge. If I'm ever angry at anyone for more than two days, it's quite serious, and the person probably ought to consider leaving the area. Anyways, anything that enjoys cherry-flavored lollipops can't be pure evil?

May a digital camera someday be wielded against Mr.Disabato in similar fashion. ;-D

Two-Word Modifiers: A Punctuation Conundrum

According to The AP Style Guide (the standard for journalists), a two-word modifier is hyphenated. ex.: "a government-sponsored coalition," or "a two-word noun." However, the exception to this rule is when the modifier is a two-word noun. To determine this, one must refer to Webster. Two-word nouns have their own entries in the dictionary. You do not hypenate two-word nouns when they are used as modifiers, because they function essentially as one word, weather used as a noun or an adjective. ex.: "legal age requirement," or "hate crime suit."

Tom, I don't have time for this: quick run-down
1) I posted the article because although you linked to it a few months ago the onion doesn't have it archived and so I had to spend an hour googling it to find it on some obscure site, so I posted it for posterity. Not all of my posts have something to do with you, you conceited egomaniac
2) You like the flat girls, Tom. You are a booty man. Nothing will get around this
3) *rolls eyes* The grammatical rule that -ly words are adverbs holds true most of the time, but there are exceptions. Like the one I posted. I'm going to give you a copy of my Norton grammar book for Christmas. Go ahead an be right about my spelling, or my propensity for replacing their with there, but don't give me all of this hassle over an adjective-adjective, adverb-adjective hypenated combination when either way, my alternate is acceptable

But hey, Anne, I was wondering... the "wrong type of guy?" Wouldn't any type of guy be just about right for you at this point, hm?

What a clever statement, Tom...

particularly in light of my having rejected your advances on several occasions over the past three and a half weeks. huh. Looks like there is a "wrong type of guy" - you.

Someone must know someone who looks enough like me for me to borrow their ID and pass as 2.5 months older than I really am. Whadya think, Jones - could I pass as Camille? Damn this country and its Puritan drinking laws. I just wanna go see Adele rock!

AlexiaIscariot: http://dancinggirls.tripod.com/stars.html
AlexiaIscariot: the one with the red hair was a friend of mine from high school
MormonIceQueen: ummm
MormonIceQueen: perhaps someone ought to let them know
MormonIceQueen: that they don't have the breasts to pull the pasties look off
AlexiaIscariot: um, agreed
MormonIceQueen: i mean
AlexiaIscariot: and they look like walking pears
MormonIceQueen: they have nice butts
MormonIceQueen: but -
MormonIceQueen: yeah
MormonIceQueen: the little wiry asian thing
MormonIceQueen: has more boob than the white girl
MormonIceQueen: i didn't know that was possible
MormonIceQueen: does tom sherman know of this site
AlexiaIscariot: he does
AlexiaIscariot: he said they were too flat
MormonIceQueen: whoa! there are asian chicks too flat for tom?
AlexiaIscariot: believe it or not
MormonIceQueen: hey jones!
MormonIceQueen: i know how the CM can beat tom in the blogwars
MormonIceQueen: you, me adele - 3 g-strings, 6 pasties, 1 bed
MormonIceQueen: or not.
MormonIceQueen: at least we all have breasts...
AlexiaIscariot: it would be sooooo hot
Alexia Iscariot: too hot for this blog
MormonIceQueen: hahaha
MormonIceQueen: and would attract entirely the wrong type of guy
MormonIceQueen: we need freaks, damnit

Hurray for boredom and cheap 10 minute photoshop effects!

This was an old onion article, one of my favorites.

Report: Economically Disadvantaged Men More Skilled At Communicating Attraction To Women
BOSTON-According to a Boston University study released Monday, men from lower-income backgrounds are significantly more skilled at communicating their attraction to women than their middle- and upper-class counterparts.

"Many people would assume that the relative dearth of educational opportunities available to men in lower economic strata would result in inferior communication skills," said Boston University social anthropologist Dr. Mary Schoen, co-author of the study. "To the contrary, our research finds that they are up to four times more adept at conveying their interest in women than men with higher incomes."

Lower-income men, Schoen said, have a variety of phrases at their disposal to clearly and concisely communicate their attraction to members of the opposite sex. Among them are, "Slow down so I can get a look at you," "Mmmm, you are lookin' fiiiine today," and "I wouldn't mind a piece-a dat."

"Cultures in which the written word is not stressed generally tend to develop a greater oral tradition," Schoen said. "Never before, however, has the propensity been placed in a socioeconomic context, specifically with regard to how certain demographic subsets are better able to articulate their desire to get with that hot little mama over there in the red dress."

The study found that 95 percent of men who earn less than $18,000 a year were able to loudly and publicly voice their approval of specific body parts on women. By contrast, a paltry 3 percent of men who earn more than $75,000 a year could do the same.

"Though they scored substantially higher in math and science aptitude, upper-class males were surprisingly inept at simply letting a coworker know her ass looked nice in a skirt," said Dr. Marybeth Clarke, Boston University sociologist and the study's co-author. "It's not that they didn't notice the ass. They simply were unable to convey the sentiment."

Even more remarkable, low-income men are often able to initiate communication with women they do not even know.

"It's one thing to be able to strike up a conversation with a friend or coworker," Clarke said, "but the challenge is that much greater when you're trying to talk to a stranger who's running to catch a train."

The study also found that the communication skills of economically disadvantaged men are virtually unaffected by context, remaining consistently high regardless of the race, class, or mood of the woman being approached.

"Whether the woman was black or white, rich or poor, cheerful or profoundly depressed, these men were consistently able to get across the message that they would enjoy engaging in intercourse with her," Clarke said. "Their requests to 'let me get up on it' or 'give me a little sugar, honey' were unfailingly clear, regardless of who the woman was or her emotional state at the time."

Lower-income men were also seven times more likely to ask women questions. Among the queries noted in the report: "Where you going all dressed up so sexy?," "Where did you get a pair of legs like that?," and "Hey, baby, wanna suck my root?"

Schoen said the idea for the study first came to her during the summer of 1998, when she was gathering data for an interdisciplinary research project on access to healthcare among the nation's poor. While studying admittance procedures at various hospitals in East Los Angeles, the south side of Chicago, and New York's Spanish Harlem, Schoen was impressed by the direct manner in which men in these communities expressed to her their admiration for the shape of her body.

"All I had to do was walk down the street to notice the discrepancy in communication proficiency between rich and poor males," Schoen said. "While well-to-do men would steal furtive glances at my chest, less well-off men would loudly and confidently state their opinion on the matter."

Schoen was not just struck by the directness of the poorer men's remarks, but by the "vast vocabulary" they employed in doing so.

"These men did not simply say, 'I like your breasts,'" Schoen said. "They used a vast array of terms: tits, jugs, knockers, knobs, headlights, titties, ta-tas, cans, hooters, boobs, boobies, bazooms, rack, mounds, maracas, milk cans, milk bags, yabbos, fun bags, slappies, coconuts, jabungos, melons. The full list, which is included in the report, is nine pages long."

Schoen said she and her colleagues are "heartened" by the findings.

"The nation's economically disadvantaged males face many problems. Fortunately, an inability to express themselves to attractive young women in public is not among them," Schoen said. "It is up to all of us to encourage these men to develop their skills even further, that their voice might rise, loud and proud, from car windows and construction sites all across the nation."

But...

I can't go to your show this Saturday...I won't be old enough to get into the big whatever bar until the 7th of May. *alas*

I have redeveloped my taste for peanut-butter cheetos, but they're a strictly German phenomenon - where can I find them in Chicago?

I need some Haribos.

Nickd -- please update your log. Thank you kindly.

One of the girls in my dorm bet me I won't bring a 6-foot artificial Christmas tree back with me Spring quarter & set it up in my room. She bet me SourPatchKids, and is going to lose. I'm bringing back more than just the Christmas tree: there will be garlands and ornaments and Christmas lights which play Christmas songs and blink in time with the music, to complement the multi-function lights & the ginger-bread men already on the walls and around the ceiling. Christmas motif in dorm room makes me happy.

And then about the men's movement... now while I can't exactly argue that about it's "mentally-masturbatory" status (hey, by the way -- you needn't hyphenate that, dear ... just an FYI from an anthro major), I can question the source, and the source is... ta-da! A poetry major! Woo! I thought that shit died with William Wordsworth! All poetry is good for is gettin poonani (ask Ali G). And hey, one more thing: if you want mentally-masturbatory, click here. (Sorry Mark, but hell, she dated ya. :)

Hey Sherman, anybody who feels the need to boost up his masculinity cred with a pat on the back about how "the boys are doing it for themselves" counts as pretty mentally-masturbatory in my book. And yeah that's hyphenated. Because you hyphenate when stringing linked adjectives together, when one adjective is describing another, and since the adjective 'mentally' is describing the adjective 'masturbatory' they are hyphenated. So even if I do use a tortured sort of past predicate adjective form, the hyphen is still in the right place, dangit. So you lose. Point.

And yeah, so I'm a poetry major--equally as gay as an anthro major when it comes to providing the world with anything of value. So yeah, if I'm a bestselling poet, 1,000 people might read my work. I might touch 10 of those people. You, however, will end up doing nothing but studying cultures and writing lame papers on how southern Brazilians roll their r's more than northern Brazilians for some obscure anthro magazine that no one will read, touching no one, and die anonymous if you don't end up caving in and becoming a professional web designer.

And that Ali G CD was the best thing EVER. You are awesome.

A word about Tony Rella:

I had alluded in the "grand post" that Tony R. (to avoid confusion with Tony N.) had with full intent to conceal his identity and mislead me had IMed me under an assumed name Dillo Day of last year. The truth comes out--witness email evidence, dated February 23, 7:14pm:

I did not IM you under Tom's name to find out what you thought of me.
Tom was on Ben Cherry's computer, as Ben and I were roommates at the
time and Tom was always in our room using his computer, and we happened
to be discussing Ayn Rand for whatever reason and I mentioned that I had
won third prize in the ARI essay competition back when I was a sophomore
in high school (This is not a huge deal, since I think 50 or so people
won third prize, but I got some cash and a free copy of Atlas Shrugged
out of the deal.) He said, "I should tell all my objectivist friends."
And I said, "Go ahead." Apparently he was talking to you on IM at the
time and, if memory serves, told you that I won the essay thing and got
into the writing program (without my prompting because I didn't realize
he was talking to you), to which you responded with your comments. When
Tom read them to me I said "Mary Jones? I know her!" And so I took over
and wrote back. I figured you were frustrated and thought that you were
talking to Tom and half-joking, so I didn't take it to heart.

Tony R. has been crowned as 'lovely' and moved up in the ranks due to excellent modesty and ability to find humor in my secret quest to inflict paranoia on...people, though has not equaled Steven R. in the adjectival strata of 'delicious.' But then, few can reach those heights.

Best two lines of Gios:
*
Jason: [overheard] "Am I the only one who refers to maple syrup as 'waffle sauce'? Come on!"
*
Adele: Did anyone see Avril at the Grammy's? She was tuxedo pants, suspenders, and a jacket with "Rude Girl" written on the back. It was a insult to Ska fans everywhere.

Awww......

I had just finished a long post about my weekend and today, and then my goofy computer crashed. Grrrr.

Here's the highlights, 'cause I'm not rewriting the whole darn thing:

Friday: NES played at the co-op. We sounded good in the basement. I adore Chris Sherman, for he started moshing during the rock anthem. Fun people were there. What Now My Love was so cool, it scared me.

Saturday: Work at the Sherman all day.

Sunday: With the inspiration of Jenn Frank in mind, I cut my hair in the morning (it looks fantastic, thanks for asking.) Made noise with Tim in the afternoon. Went to Sleater Kinney that night. They inspired me. I danced a lot. Combat Rock was moving. I have nothing but respect and love for Sleater. It was the last night of months of touring for them, and they put on a fantastically energetic set. I went home so happy that I didn't even mind the cold el ride.

Monday: Work at the CLT is great. I feel respected and productive there. What a curious turn of good luck that I was assigned to my internship there. Giordano's was tonight. Rita made me sad, but the CM was charming. I got loud and overly caffinated. Tom made us cds of the Ali G show. So radical!

Tomorrow: NES at norris at an unknown time. You are not obligated to attend this show. You are, however, obligated to come see us at The Big Horse Lounge this Saturday.

ok, that's all. Not as long as the original, but it sums things up.

DONE!

Two and a half hours...5 pages, double-spaced, 10-point Tahoma...not a brilliantly argued work of comparative politics, but a passable one. When one's goal is a "B", passable = good enough. I pitted Inglehart's postmaterialist theory against Lipset & Rokkan's freezing hypothesis, in accounting for the successful rise and proliferation of the German Green Party in contrast to the relative stagnation of the French Green Party.

My classes are as thrilling as a barrel of slugs.

This a post the likes of which has never seen before. The following topics are going to be addressed, in the order in which they happened:

1. Tom Sherman's explanations as to the results of Round 1
2. Ted Nugent
3. The NES show
4. The Co-op party
5. Dave and Anne
6. Tony Rella and Jenn Frank
7. The after party at The's
8. Saturday Night and "Gods and Generals"
9. Conci and Drew and a poets hang out party
10. Medieval Music lecture.
As usual the post will be very long because there are pictures. The beginning will be very detailed and witty whereas the end will begin to trail off and grow more vague. I have made this post a numbered one (1-10) in order to facilitate the reading and allow each person to skim where they want. And I am posting as I go along, so if you are reading and I'm only at number 3, come back in 15 minutes, etc. And I am expecting, tom, that each numbered unit counts as its own blog entry. If not, you are ridiculous to count this epic, Proustian expanse as equal to one of nicks "my schedule" updates. Oh no. This counts as 10 entries. Now kids, if this is too much, you can scroll down until you see your name, or go to the appropriate section that interests you. Now that the introduction is out of the way *cracks knuckles* we can get down to brass tax.

1. Tom Sherman's results of round 1
Before I begin, lets recount tom's critique of my blogging skills:

Konik was able to land a few good shots, particularly by insulting Jones' taste in music. His opponent seemed to have no answer for these (all too sparse) barbs. Also, Konik showed a will to win unmatched by any of the other BLOGWARS™ participants; his enthusiasm should serve him well in any future competitions of the sort. Ultimately, however, Jones performed solidly and won almost every round. She was unable to knock her opponent out, although she had him reeling by the later rounds. Her early strategy -- notably the suggestion that she would like to be Salman Rushdie's mistress -- were questionable and left the door open for an upset.

First of all, Koniks pathetic attempt to best me by insulting my taste in quotes was too tepid to even bother to reply to. Konik is a debaser, defacer, and eraser--he pretends like he never owned a copy of "The places you have come to fear the most" and even changed his screen name from "Chicagoemokid" because he decided he wasn't emo anymore. Puh-leeze. Changing one's taste in music that drastically over a one year span shows that you are more preoccupied with the image you want to culture--in this case a hybrid Rasta Bob Marley thing crossed with death metal rage--than with the actual music. Once I like a band I like it forever--Vanilla Ice is just as catchy now as he was when I was 9. So when Jason critiques my use of emo song lyrics when he used to listen to those songs I don't even feel I have to answer--its like having to justify something that deep down, in his heart of hearts, Jason himself must love or he isn't human. Actually, I'm not sure where I'm going with this but Tom likes ranting and Jason's a good sport so I figured why not. Anyway, on to the rest.

I also take criticism Tom with your assertion that Konik was the only one who showed any enthusiasm. We're all so sorry that we don't have a 3.9 GPA without trying and we're sorry we're not dicking around with a mentally-masturbatory thesis on 'the men's movement' to have time to update like fiends. As it happens, this war should have been done to accommodate our schedules. But since it hasn't, you have to frickin' put up with whatever response you get to us, tempered or not. The best blogger in peacetime is the best blogger in wartime anyway, so we know I'm gonna win this thing hands down. Why are you wasting your time when my blog skills are so incredibly superior to yours. What, you think that because I don't do my own code I’m in some way a poorer blogger? Please. You and your skills are pathetic.

Ok. That was my insult time. I'm sure I'll come up with more later. On we go.

2. Ted Nugent

Ted Nugent started off by alienating most of the College Republicans by refusing to eat with us because he "doesn't do that sort of thing." What, Pat Buchanan did that sort of thing--you think cause you're a second rate rock star you're too big for us Ted? I think not. You are a skinny white trash loser with a skinny white trash wife. That said, you are also one of the best speakers I've seen ever. You are so good that even Seth Porges was there. Early. and that’s saying something.

Ted comes out and starts swearing. He starts talking about guns and hunting with "naked Africans" and conservation and keeping "pimps, whores, and welfare brats" from leeching off our paychecks. I loved it. The white male audience loved it. We were politically incorrect and we didn't care. Ted told us we should go to war, and for a few precious moments every person in that room wanted to go to war. It was great--conservatism in full force, in the face of all these kids who had been politically corrected and bleached of their opinions.

And then he started in on gays.

You know something is bad if the speaker prefaces with, "Now, some of my best friends are queers" because inside you, the listener, are going, "I know that absolutely none of your best friends are queers." And also "Would your gay friends want you to call them queers?" And also, "Where is this going?" And then Ted says, "When they want you to wear those red ribbons, they want you to be tolerant. Tolerant of butt-f---ing, the thing that is killing the greatest number of gay people. They want you to say, 'its ok. if you want to f--- each other in the a--, its ok. If you want to spread AIDS and kill people because you won't be abstinent, that’s ok." And it was only after maybe 10 minutes of Ted condemning gay men for "butt-f---ing" (this is a family site, so I must use the dashes), I realized, "wait a minute, Ted is condemning sexual promiscuity in the gay community that is one of the largest contributors of AIDS. That's a very interesting position, since AIDS could be severely reduced in America in less than a lifetime if abstinence/sexual restraint was practiced by many gay men, a demographic which have an average of 600 partners in their lifetime. But why doesn't it sound like a cool position?" Because my friends, Ted spent most of his time crudely talking about how disgusting anal sex was and how these men were retarded for sleeping around in perhaps the most offensive language ever, so his point was utterly lost to nearly everyone. He brought some people on stage to argue with him, including a guy named Dylan--Brit Fredrickson's old boy toy. He was pretty dumb and tried to tell Ted, on top of the whole thing about the gay issue (which he also was ignorantly condemning as "you're offensive", rather than smartly condemning through "logic"), that the tribe in Africa that Ted lived with was agricultural and didn't hunt. Hello, genius, Ted lived with them. You read about them in a book. Here's a dollar, buy a clue.

So yeah, everyone was pretty freaked out about Ted and the "queer" thing. But we thought Ted taking down Dylan was funny, and we began to get in the mood and start cheering and clapping again.

And then Ted got on the subject of "nigger."

He told this story about how this one black musician told him when he was 13, "son, if you keep working one day you's gonna grow up to be a nigger." and Ted said that was the proudest moment ever and that nigger used to be a word of solidarity and brotherhood that got corrupted by people who took offense at everything and I started to sink in my chair, because if Ted had known a modicum about history he would have known that "nigger" was always a terrible term and when used by black people it's used in irony, just like when gay men call themselves fags and lesbians call themselves dykes. You can only get away with it if you're in comfortable company where people know you're being ironic--the words are still bad, its just the context that makes them ok in some cases—cases a white, straight man will probably never see. So saying that we should all get rid of our 'hang ups" about 'labels' and profanity is akin to saying, "let’s go back into the caves and forget about this civilization thing."

Ted made a lot of people angry. There was an altercation after the show, during Ted's autograph signing, where some guy tried to yell at him and Ted's body guards had to take control.

Someone even called UP on the guy, and three cop cars showed up. Now I wonder who would have done that...

Apparently, we were given specific instructions not to look at the wife. (pictured below, in the back. The blonde one.)

She came flouncing into the lobby with this tanned animal hide--like the inside of a bear or dear pellet--that was trimmed in hideous scraps of rabbit and raccoon fur. She looked like what I imagined Annie Oakley would have looked like had she joined DZ. She walked like a whore, but her appearance added to the circus that was the Ted Nugent Talk. (we practically sold out Ryan--like 550 people out of 602 seats). We were happy to have her in the show.

3. NES at the Co-op!
Russ was kind enough to swing by Anne's and drop her and me off at the co-op for Adele's NES ant-war show. Tom wouldn't come because the proceeds went to NOWAR, but lets be honest here, Tom-even if we gave the Project Peace vegan geeks $10,000 you think it would make any difference as to whether or not Bush declares war? You say its a matter of principle--well so is friend loyalty. Even if your friend's band plays hippy events, you go to the hippy events. Adhering to one principle can do no wrong; the other can do no right. I'm being sort of mean to Tom, and I really don't know why. He's not even my competitor. Nick is. I should unleash on Nick in a bit.

Tony was supposed to come, but didn't. I bet he was tying up the loose ends at the Ted Nugent thing. Tony, I apologize, but seeing as I had to pick up Anne because I promised her I'd go, I had no choice. Sorry again. As you can all see from this picture, the show was pretty crowded. It was in the south side basement, so there was room for like, 20 people, and only 5 could see.

The idea was a request show, but about 4 songs into it they just gave up asking for requests and played what the band wanted to hear, which was pretty cool I guess, only the ignored our requests for "where is my mind?" and "one of us," perhaps the greatest covers ever by a small indie band with a capitalist guitarist.

I heard some people call Adele hot. And it’s true. She was way hotter than most anyone else at the show. But she's got some competition, now that Brian has cleaned himself up and come to resemble the same Brian I had a mad crush on for like 6 months freshman year.

The set ended in true punkrockstyle as The threw his body onto the drum kit after some screaming about rock n' roll. And this is why I keep coming back to NES gigs again and again.

After NES came some other band with Chris Sherman--the really, really liberal kid who Andrew Mason once said "likes denim a lot." He did an off-tempo, grating version of the Gin Blossom's "Hey Jealousy" that sent the whole crowd spinning back to Junior High. It was rad. There was some shouting about war and the police, and that's when I went upstairs.

4. The Co-op party!
There were a lot of hippies at the co-op, wearing their hippie clothes. There was a flytrap covered in fruit flies. I was later told that the use of pesticides in the house was forbidden. I saw a cooler filled with blue liquid and, in my much too innocent state, imagined it was drink for those of us who did not like beer. I thought wrong. It tasted gross. I was also informed (much later) that the grossness was caused by "everclear" which kids like because they can "get buzzed" off it. Ick. No no no--you get to lose control of your reason, memory, and good sense AND drink something that tastes like paint thinner? wow! Sign me up.

Apparently, this man believes that we shouldn't go to war, and he came out to show the kids some solidarity in their fight against American tyranny. I wish we could just invade Iraq, get in and get out of there so I can stop hearing the crybabies go on about how war is murder. Didn't Nugent say something like "go tell the 12 million dead Jews that war isn't the answer." I can't believe I'm quoting Ted Nugent. But you get what I mean.

Alex and Mike share a passionate embrace for the camera. Love is a beautiful thing.

Adele introduced me to this very cute little thing named Grant, who seemed, despite his vegetarianism, to be quite lovely. He seems sort of shy though, and I'm afraid in all my bombastic smirkiness I scared him off.

There was a smoking room. I went in there to talk to Tim, and I'm afraid my clothes got all smoky. I like Tim. He seems to be rather witty and self-deprecating, which is always appreciated.

In a quick jump to the present, my room is pulsing heat like a sauna. I am so sick of being cold. There were snowflakes in the air this morning that looked like little slivers of glass, but no clouds. Odd.

Many of the things at the party cannot even be expressed in words, so I shall give pictures and captions for a while:

Mike told me to stop it with my "f---ing camera." What he doesn't realize is that, like Melissa Joan Hart in "Can't Hardly Wait" I am all about the memories.

This girl wrote "put out for peace" on her back. No one really knows why, or what this means, but it was generally agreed by all that the phrase was open to interpretation, for both pro-war and no-war factions.

Man and woman alike agreed that somehow, sometime, unbeknownst to all of us, Brian Crotty became hot. And its not like I'm coming on to you, Bri. I'm just saying what everyone else knows, but no one else has the courage to say, dangit!

At some point in the evening, I told Mike he was a good writer, and Mike licked chocolate icing off my neck. Mike is good at licking icing off the neck. I was very happy to have the privilege. Mike's girlfriends are very lucky people. Anne's head was also attacked by Mike. I don't remember why. That part of the night was sort of a blur, after the Peace Cake arrived. There were too many people, some of whom were talking about Mormonism in the really stupid, anti-intellectual way. "Dude, I hear they have like 10 wives." I started to say something, but the people were drunk and dumb, so I didn't bother.

Nick spun at the show. People were dancing. And also, he managed to spin "wild wild west", which he had on vinyl. These things make me very happy.

Dave did this to Adele, but we don't know why. Somehow, she doesn't seem pleased to be a balloonhead.

5. Dave and Anne

I only speak about this because someone has to. I feel that, as with the incident with Tom at Russ', that it is my job to point out the things that all of us were thinking, but none of us wanted to say. And that said, there isn't that much to say. We arrive, Dave and Anne ignore each other. Then we walk past and Dave says "hello Anne" and Anne says "hello Dave" and the next thing we all know they're sitting on the couch and Dave has his arm around her and he's whispering sweet nothings into her ear. Did I get that expression right? I hope so. It would hurt me so much to attempt to be cute and antiquated and charming and be so devastatingly wrong, but I think that's right. Anyway, there was some shoulder kissing and the like observed. But then, they allowed others--Alex, Mike, Keith, me--to sit around them at alternate times, so they weren't too intimate. I tried to get them to kiss for the camera so I could win the blogwars with my scandal and intrigue, but they wouldn't, so Mike and Alex gratuitously offered to do so (see above photo in section 4). The night ended with much less sketch than anticipated, with Dave passing up the chance for NCMO to stay at the co-op and drink. That's my boy. Or I could just be making this up as I go along. That's the problem with being the only sober member of the group at these outings: what I say is generally true, since I have all my faculties but...what if it isn't? Then our world turns on its ear, doesn't it?

6. Tony Rella and Jenn Frank

Ah yes, this was an interesting twist of fate. The two people whom I have most grievously offended in the writing department arrive together! Oh how awkward. If you're unaware of the intrigues I have with these two individuals, allow me to clarify:
Tony: IMed me last year on Dillo Day under Tom's screename and asked me what I thought of Tony Rella. Now, I had only read one piece of Tony's--one about the gay clubbing scene--and I thought it was ok, but parts of it seemed to be a little shocking for shocks sake. And also, I was bitter since I had gotten rejected from the fiction major a few days before. So I told him I thought his work was trite and shocking for shocks sake and he was like, "well thanks Mary, this is Tony" and I was all "you shouldn't be playing IM hide-and-go-seek" and we hadn't talked since. I wanted to apologize since my comments were more harsh than I really felt but I was angry he had used Tom's screename so I just never talked to him again.
Jenn: this has been well-documented in the blog over the last few days, but I believe the origins of this go back to the time when I had her in Epstein's class and I asked her if I could have a copy of this amazing essay she wrote--which is not something I normally do since I usually hate the work of my peers--and she just shook her head and said "no" without explanation. And that set in with me bad and so I started picking on her and then it sort of escalated into this big pseudo-war thing, which I have to admit I enjoy up-keeping because I feel there aren't enough personal vendettas among the fiction/poetry people.

Looking back, I probably should have made myself look better in those two explanations--I end up coming across as rather bratty--but I don't think I need to. If you read this site already you know that I'm a terrible person anyway. Well not terrible, but I certainly have room for improvement. But anyway, back to Jenn and Tony. Since I didn't really mean the things I said about them (or to the intensity that I said my criticisms) I tried to explain about my blog being my source of venting etc. And I ended up sounding like Bridget Jones introducing Mr. Fitzherbert at the Kafka's Motorbike launch. I talked too much and I made little sense and, as Dave Choate so kindly put latter, I sounded completely fake, which wasn't really my intention. Jenn kept hiding her face which made me think I was offending her more. Tony seemed cool, so I think we're down again, which is awesome. But then, I picked on Mike Emmons a bit, and for some reason people find that funny. I think it's because Mike is such a serious, intellectual type in the classroom that most people feel slightly intimidated by him and his pronunciation. I've never seen Mike outside the classroom, but I hear he's a hit with the ladies.

7. The Party at The's
Gosh dangit, I've been doing this for like 2 hours and I have no more pictures left. Will there be no end to this post? Why didn't I do this on Saturday? Anyway, yeah. The wanted to bail and go to his house, and Anne figured why not as the co-op was getting crowded. So we ended up heading out with The, Random guy 1, and "put out for peace" girl. We ran into Dave Kieley on the way. I like Dave. He is smug, but in a cool way. We got to the apartment and I discovered the DM boy who asked me at Ted Nugent if he could interview him for the DM video was sitting in the cove eating cheese popcorn and I thought to myself my gosh this NU life is much too incestuous, since I know everyone. We listened to the new White Stripes (a little harder, but good) and talked about books and music and stuff. By we, I mean Put Out girl, Anne and I. At some point The dimmed the light and put on the Cure to set a mood. I figured he wanted to get it on with Put Out girl, which he denies, so Anne and I headed out after Mike and Dave arrived, which was sad because The put on Ace of Base, so you know the party was really going to be kicked into high gear. On the way home, my high heels hurt me so bad I wanted to die. I should have changed before coming, should have changed before coming.

8. Saturday Night and "Gods and Generals"
Because Mark is a war geek and really wanted to see the "extended battle sequences" of Gods and Generals, we decided to brave the 4 hours and see it. Beforehand we went to Papa Gigios on Davis. On the way I found a new convenience store which I hadn't noticed before. It had the usual--soda and chips--but also sandwiches and an ice-cream stand. It was like White Hen but for funner. Since Anne is the only one I know who shares my love of the convenience store, I propose to her: Anne, you and me, Davis, next weekend. What do you say?

Papa Gigios was good. There were all kinds of dirty kids running about and chasing each other around benches, only to fall down and cry and get back up and start again. There were a few little 10-11 year old boys who thought they were totally hardcore, getting pizza without their parents. Even though I said I wanted Pepsi like 7 times the Italian guy gave me a Mr. Pibb. Some things can't be helped. I kept getting weird looks from the employees--I think it’s because I haven't washed my hair in a while.

"Gods and Generals" was a veritable marathon to get through. The whole thing was like "Gone with the Wind" only there were these out-of-character moments where the 'yess-massah' subordinate black characters would, for 2 minutes only, grow eloquent about the tribulations of slavery before falling back into, well, yess-massah subordination. Then, there was an obscene amount of out-loud prayer by Stonewall Jackson which, although in character, raised the bar of the movie so high as far as tone that it began to feel water-lodged and swollen. Eventually one prayer scene lasted like 10 minutes and the audience started laughing. That is not a good sign. Some of the battle sequences were unduly long, showing a charge from the same angle 4 or 5 times, with different subtitles to let you know the different brigades. Parts were too obscure and assumed a detailed knowledge of Virginia history, some were too dumb and assumed the audience knew nothing and could not contextualize: "you mean Lovelace, the English Civil War poet?" says the schoolmaster husband to his poetry-reciting wife. It was a weird, gutless sort of movie that reminded me of countless Hallmark made for TV movies. That said, I learned a ton about the civil war. Thank heavens for the intermission, though.

9. Conci and Drew and the Poets Party
Mark and I arrive at the Poetry Party at 12 and sadly, there are no poets other than Conci and Drew. We talked a bit about Europe and music and food--sadly both of them hate fast food, an idea I found almost unfathomable--like honestly hating the Beatles or Sorority Life. We went through Conci’s CD collection which was full of gothy rock stuff like Type O and NIN, Tool and Black Sabbath. We ended up listening to the crow soundtrack for a while which was cool. We only ended up staying 2 hours due to the scarcity of poets as well as the real threat of an early morning wakeup call.

10. And finally, The Medieval Music Lecture
Mark and I went to a lecture this morning on fantasia and its role in Medieval/Renaissance music. The first woman talked about the Carolingian court of Charles I and the connection between melancholia and fantasia music, which was really rather fascinating. It was tailored for me, the uninformed audience member in a sea of music professors, all of whom looked much too respectable. Attendance couldn't have been mroe than 12. Really quite sad, since the woman was beautiful, both of face, voice, and mind. Ask Mark about the second woman--something about Kant. I don't know. I think I drifted off into melancholia.

I feel strong. I feel lucky!

Now is my time to be inspired.

My life is sliding backwards, in a good way. I had to go through the phase where I didn't give a shit, and where I didn't take everything seriously, so I could get back to a place where things matter, where I have the judgment to decide what matters.

And things are starting to matter to me. I feel good and important. I'm making plans for the future-- plans that are so exciting to me that I can only speak of them in whispers. The friends I have are important to me. I know a few people who make me feel inspired-- people with ideas and hopes, people with momentum, people who find joy in all the things they do.

And I feel so honest. No need or desire for facades, just the most genuine care I can offer. No self-protective lies. I do care, and I hope you do too.

My life is full right now. I never slow down, but I never feel tired. I want to do everything that I'm doing. Everyday, I wake up and think, "today is going to be a good day." And it almost always is.

I'm bursting.

I DO NOT want to write this Poli-Sci paper. So I'll waste time by making lists of songs. Because - no one likes reading lists of songs.

Last week's soundtrack:
(1) Fiona Apple - I Know
(2) HIM - Close to the Flame
(3) Incubus - I Miss You
(4) Placebo - Without You I'm Nothing
(5) Placebo - I Know
(6) Radiohead - No Surprises (live - alternative lyrics version)
(7) Radiohead - True Love Waits

Not the cheeriest mix, but well-coordinated - kept me awake at work. Next week's will probably include an ample helping of Coldplay.

I feel myself on the verge of another rant...but there's no time for ranting til Wednesday night. Western European Politics & Business German own my soul for the next four days.

On an absolutely spectacular note - for the first time EVER, I have a quarter with Fridays free. *lovely* If I survive the rest of this quarter (doubtful), Spring will be passable.

Bob the Nicholas: hahaha
Bob the Nicholas: and we'll scream about chicken
my name is adele: yes!
my name is adele: we want meat
my name is adele: we want meat
Bob the Nicholas: haha
my name is adele: can we make an ep called "we want meat"?
Bob the Nicholas: good idea
my name is adele: I'll make the album art
Bob the Nicholas: ok
my name is adele: a huge flank steak
Bob the Nicholas: haha
my name is adele: with our faces on it
Bob the Nicholas: no no no
my name is adele: cows with our faces!
Bob the Nicholas: just a picture of a cow being slaughtered
my name is adele: hahhaha
my name is adele: with our faces?
Bob the Nicholas: yes
Bob the Nicholas: of course
my name is adele: sweet.
Bob the Nicholas: wow that will be amazing

the sketchiness of the evening cannot even be charted

underscorebleach: you hittin up nugent?
MormonIceQueen: nugent = no
underscorebleach: why
MormonIceQueen: the nugent thing will be long
MormonIceQueen: and i am tired & full of too much food
underscorebleach: no
underscorebleach: you are full of too much shit
MormonIceQueen: at least i don't fondle my stapler
underscorebleach: you wish you had that stapler, skank

The Department of Political Science has tentatively approved my proposal for an independant study course "Structure and Policy of the European Union", pending my convincing a Professor of Political Science to act as my supervisor. This makes me much happier than it ought to.

Oh, and I feel a sense of obligation to tell everyone (yes, especially the Wesley Crew with their anti-american sentiment) to come to our event this evening. I will be there. So should you. I am the Vice President of College Republicans, so it's my duty to relay the following:


Ted Nugent!
Speaks on: God, Guns & Rock 'N' Roll
Ted Nugent has sold over 30 million albums, and is a New York Times bestselling author, NRA board member, and a national spokesman for D.A.R.E.
Feb. 21st, 7:30pm @ Tech, Ryan Auditorium
FREE

I wrote to Steven today and decided to post excerpts, since I won't have time for a while to do a real post:

I think that's why it frustrates me so much when people don't use the subjunctive in English - we only have a couple of instances where it's actually different from the indicative, and so they seem all the more precious. And all the worse when someone says 'if he was here . . .' I want to grab them by the neck and say: 'you're squandering our linguistic evolution! We've come too far, to recede back into the shadows!'.

The subjunctive, or le subjonctif, was one of those forms that I never really understood well. I believe it corresponds in french to a tense of mood, so it occurs after "que." I'm not really sure. The endings are -ais, ais, ait, ions, iez, aient, which are put onto the future roots--so "parler" in subjoncitf becomes parlerais, etc. I think. I was a terrible, terrible french student. And I believe I have forgotten a good deal of English grammar, since I wasn't all that aware that we had a subjunctive, and we used it in places. If I am a writer, and I represent the force that is protecting language from decay, this does not speak well about the future of western civlization. We have regressed into the dark ages, and it will get much, much worse. My father used to say, and I must agree, that civilization (as far as manners, culture, and sociteal norms goes) reached its peak in the 19th century: from Jane Austen to the late Victorians, there was a period of time where people were expected to be civilized. And while there were atrocities and cruelty done by the hands of the British, it was still an era where manners and society were treated with respect. Tradition was minded, and yet attention was paid to the future. Despite this, every decade man sheds more rules and more societal norms and we get more and more lazy about safe guarding out tradition and I am supposed to support this because it is in the name of progress and social equality. And yet I do not; because I am a republican, I suppose, I am predisposed to believe that tradition matters, and that social equality means social equality before the law, not equality of opportunity as our beloved university and the university of michigan seem to think. but there we are--I'm throwing politics into the mix, and heaven knows with a double edged threat of nuclear attack going on that's the last thing we need.

I'm thinking politics because Ted Nugent is coming tonight, so I'm supposed to be leading the event, as VP for the college republicans and whatnot. The thing is though, someone has been ripping down our posters--so there has been almost no publicity for the event and I'm afraid no one will show up. I find the idea of poster tearing ridiculous because, lets be honest here--its ted nugent. what possible harm against the free world could nugent do? He's so insane, most people are going to assume that he's crazy and his opinions are as well. And even if he does speak lucidly, what's he going to do? Get some innocent vegans to eat meat? Get some anti-gun activists to go shooting? He's not going to convert anyone. Its ted nugent, for crying out loud--he has no power, no political credibility. He's just a loud-mouthed seventies rocker. So I am unsure as to what all of this poster ripping is meant to accomplish other than hatred for our club, which I admit with the Iraq thing may be higher than usual.

Kleinzahler was yesterday--my meeting with him, I mean. I can't help but feel it was slightly anti-climatic. He had read over my packet of poetry, and then when i got there for a workshop, he spent the whole time not talking about my work. I'd like to preface with the statement that I am well aware that I am no prize, but the whole meeting made me sort of uneasy all the same.

He pulls up his chair right up next to mine and he starts looking at me, guessing my ethnicity. "oh, your bone structure. you must have irish blood in you."
Me: "no, welsh"
AK: "interesting. i recently dated a welsh woman. very strong, powerful girl."
Then he asks me where I grew up, what place meant the most to me, what my passions were. He asked me about my inspiration for a few poems, and then had me "read aloud [my] favorite." He kept moving closer and closer each time I would say something, and he never broke eye contact, which I found a bit unnerving. The coup de grace of the entire meeting, though, was him finding a poem "he thought I'd enjoy" then reading this erotic Roethke poem in my ear. While I'm sure even the slightest chance he was in any form coming on to me was no doubt in my head (I'm sure he was just being poetically eccentric), but it was so weird compared to everyone elses' description of their conferences. When I ask him if he had any suggestions about my work he goes, "oh no. You have a much firmer foundation to work with than most. Keep doing what you're doing. Love it. Love the craft" and then he gets up and cups his hands in mine and looks into my eyes and says, "I hope very much to see you at the reading." I was all, "Hold up! I spent an hour of a half hour session talking to you so you could give me no feedback as to the quality of my work? Jerk!" It felt very much like being sexually harassed--like my baby-girl work wasn't important enough to pay attention to but my big-girl breasts were. I don't know. I felt pretty cheap--even if he wasn't hitting on me, I felt I wasn't being taken seriously. And Kleinzhaler, my eyes aren't going to move any time soon: they'll always be up here on my FACE.

WhatRuss: I LOVE wendy's like the gays love boy scouts

Ah, Professor Epstein,
Chris Shannon and I went out to a Greek dance party the other night. (By Greek I mean the olive-skinned, Turkish-hating kind, not the kegstand-Animal House variety.) We were standing around, swilling drinks, trying very much to pretend we were adults, when Chris tells me, "You know Epstein published a story about our class? It's quite scandalous. He mentions Jen, Tim, and Whitney--only no names, naturally."

Naturally.

So I went online and discovered "Goodbye Mr. Chipstein"--perhaps one of the greatest essay titles I've stumbled across in the last few months. Unlike Chris, who seemed to be happy not to be included in the list of Epstein-approved students, I was crushed. Professor Epstein, how terrible that I was not one of those people who made you dance! I so wanted to be.

In actuality, I just wanted an excuse to write to you, as I have been meaning to for some time. I came back after Christmas break to discover that my friend Mark had bought a collection of your stories. He was obsessed with Paul Klee at the time, and you had titled a collection of essays "Taking a Line Out for a Walk," so he snapped the book up and quoted from it daily. So I have spent most of winter quarter being with you, even if I am not being taught by you.

Your course was something. (I use something as a specific unspecific--wielding the vague like Elizabeth Bishop.) It came at a time when I was being crushed by certain teachers in the writing department, who criticized my work without giving me means of improving it. You helped me regain some of my faith in my work, and have a renewed sense of confidence. “Yes,” I would think, “at least he gets it.”

I sat in on many classes where literary work was deconstructed, ripped apart, but somehow, we never actually talked about, well, what the piece was about. Only what it said. There was a certain inattention to language and emphasis on "gesture" and "theme" that drove me to the beginnings of a hatred of literature.

Something about your structure of critique and classroom discussion managed to reverse a lot of the damage that was done. I became interested in language again. I remembered why I was a writer. Maybe you're right--maybe a teacher can't help the mediocre students, maybe he can only deflect the damage. You deflected a lot of the damage that my overwrought diction could have unleashed on the world, and for that you should be commended. More importantly, however, you managed to remind me of my history as a writer—the tradition I was drawing from, those artists to whom I owe allegiance. You were always very good about letting me see writing in perspective. It is not necessary for survival, but is something else--a voice. Your influence on me, it was hard to explain. I was not inspired, necessarily--perhaps stoked? In the non-surfer sort of way, of course. It's hard to regain enthusiasm when lost, but you certainly helped. I wanted to thank you for that.

My, this email turned out much less coordinated and polished than I had hoped. Another individual falls victim to the electronic age. From reading this, it would appear I learned nothing in your class. I shall summarize before I devolve into complete nonsense:

Every Tuesday and Thursday, I left your class with a bit of a dance in my step, and a bit of Henry James in my head.

Thank you.

And as a side note, the fundamentals of prose class wants to take you out to a reunion dinner. Let us know when would be convenient for you, what with your status as a best-selling author now.

Sincerely,
Mary Jones


Dear Ms Jones,
Do know that your writing and many of your amusing comments in class caused me to do a little jig or two in my heart.

What you write about the effect of my teaching on you much moves me. Teaching is one of those activities about which one can never be certain if one is any good or not. And those who are generally certain that they are good almost never are. Helpful to have some confirmation about my abilities in this line from so smart (and critical) a dude as yourself.

I'm glad you like my "Chipstein" title. I'm nuts about the game of titles. I have a book of stories coming out in July with the title Fabulous Small Jews - a title that makes smile every time I think about it - which comes from a Karl Shapiro poem called "Hospital" whose pertinent passage runs: "Kings has lain here and fabulous small Jews/And actresses whose legs were always news."

I'm up for another meeting, though I have to ask to put it off for a bit. My dance card just now is rather full just now, and it includes a fair amount of travel.

Hope your own quarter is going decently.
Best, jE

Friday night plans for you:

2015 Ridge Ave., aka "the co-op"
9:30 p.m.
NES--- live!
followed by (the super radical) What Now My Love.

Beer! People! Fun!

Lame = getting a stomach ache from eating too much low-fat granola w/banana slices & milk. Stomach aches are a lot more satsifying when they're the result of gorging on something indulgent, fatty. Grains + bananas + milk --> bad stomach ache...I hang my head in shame.

The haxor handle of Mary Jones is "Z3r0 Runn3r".

I want to be a Messalina. Joanna of Naples. Isabelle of Bavaria. I want to move quietly through rooms and instill fear and awe and power of limb. I want to have a straight back and animal magnetism.

I never wanted to be one of those people that was artistically obscure and too counter culture for normal people to hang out with. I hope I haven't devolved into that, but I think I am.

I was walking through Plex the other day when this very geeky, very overweight boy in grey tennis shoes looks at me. He gives me the body sweep and his eyes return to the floor. I wondered if he did that because i wasn't his type, or because i have become one of those girls who the ugly/overweight/'unpopular' boys know they aren't allowed to look at. That's an idea that I've been toying with for some time. We talked about 'mate dollars' in Human Sexuality--how some people's distribution of mate dollars (the better your intelligence, resources, beauty, body is, the more valuable you are) is higher or lower than other people's, and that people tend to fall in love with what they can get--i.e. with like. Those with similar dollars. So if love is one big commodity trade, do those out of your league ugly, or do they cease to be attractive? I was going somewhere with this, but I don't remember where.

Cleopatra was very plain. She was seductive by her mental wit and charm, the way she moved her body. Her real love wasn't Marc Antony, but rather Julius Caesar. They had a love of the mind, and he had taken her to Rome with him with the intent on divorcing his wife and marrying her. It was partly that act that really made the republicans fearful he would take control: he was marrying a foreign queen--he was making an empire, Brutus reasoned. In actuality, Caesar wanted his sons with Cleopatra legitimized, yes--but he wanted her legitimized as well. His love for her was so overwhelming that he wanted to make it public, real, and honorable. He wanted to marry her.

That was what destroyed Caesar. That was his undoing.

Messalina was a whore, a courtesan, who also charmed her way into being Empress under Claudius. She was promiscous, cruel, and devious, using sex as a weapon and as an instrument. I enjoyed reading about Messalina--she was the fencer and the violinist in one. She tried to depose Claudius, and was exceuted when the plot failed.

Claudius was never destroyed by Messalina. He destroyed her first. But she died without pain, having lived her life with love and lust and passion. Cleopatra spent a lifetime mourning the loss of her love, finding comfort in the arms of his companion, who was the next best thing to the man himself. Messalina lost no one. She played for herself, and she won.

Madonna/whore complex--i'm still figuring this one out.

YES

Fine. whatEVER. The point is, Anne, that Exit Music is still one of the most raw and beautiful songs on "OK Computer" and if Thom manages to write that well about things that don't affect him personally it only makes him better as a songwriter.

No, not baby anymore. If I need you I'll just use your simple name.

A long post! Beware!

Friday was Valentine's Day, as many of you (single) people know. Valentine's Day, or what Winston Churchill called "V-day" was, as everyone knows, started to separate the wheat from the tares, so to speak. For those in a relationship, it is an excuse for the girls to "get something" monetary and the boys to "get something" else--you know, sort of soft-core, socially approved prostitution. For those not in a relationship, it's a chance for us to really feel it. Thus, as one can tell, I have developed a particularly cruel and cynical view of V-day. And yet, Friday morning, at 9am:

For some reason, I had no words for this. I wasn't expecting it, maybe? Who knows? I still don't. I'm looking at them now, strung and drying from my pipes, and think of how beautiful you are. To make up for my inadequacy, I'll allow Yeats to speak for me:


When You Are Old
When you are old and grey and full of sleep
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Enough! I went to Chipotle, had lunch, talked about art. Had too much fun? Probably. I allowed myself the time to lead into the life I want. So to speak. Went shopping for Converse: had to put them on order. What? This is a shoe shop! OrderSchmorder. Give me my shoes. I shall not wait 3 weeks. And yet wait I must.

Went to some bookshops. Picked up some James Merrill on K's recommendation (frightening, is it not?) and a book by Dorris Dorrie called "Love, Pain, and the Whole Damn Thing" which seemed appropriate. Went to work, etc. And then went to the infamous "party."

Everyone else has been so tasteful about not mentioning the party in question, but that isn't my style. We were all there, we all talked about it, so why not blog about it? Right? Right. I move on. Russ was nice enough to lend us his apartment, as well as pick us all up, which was super sweet of him. For some reason though, he stopped by Dominic's so he could get water in case there was a terrorist attack. Weird. Tony made an appearance, despite his ongoing feud with Tom, and he brought his beer in an Ace hardware bag, a move I found questionable at best. Then, like a thug out of hell, Tom arrived in his thick gangsta coat, swaggering into the room, and yelling at the lack of alcoholic vittles.

We put on "swingers" and zoned out for a bit. The movie was actually quite good--nicely chosen Russ. Then, the following actions occurred:
1. Mary received what was referred to as an "ass-tapping" by Tom. Mary wrestles Tom to the floor and starts hitting him. This creates a pattern for the evening of Tom grabbing and wrestling, and/or hitting Mary at random intervals
2. Tom reveals he and Jen Frank had "a few hookups" a couple of years ago. Mary looks at Jen Frank in a new light.
3. Tom yells intermittently at Tony/Russ/Mark, usually with profanity
4. Tom exercises gastronomic power with extreme belching, which horrifies Mary to the point of absurdity

All of this creates a general sense of unease. It is assumed for a while that Tom is drunk, but Mary and Anne know Tom and we know he isn't. He is just having a Tom moment. Perhaps we, specifically I, condoned his actions by playing along. Perhaps we are just used to dealing with different sorts of people then the boys.

The coup de grace for the evening, however, was Tom climbing on top of Anne in an attempt to sexually harass her. I was glad my camera was there to capture some of it. Afterwards we went out to an awkward dinner at Clarke's where Tom paid for my food, a gesture I accepted due to the cruelty of the loud burping. Gross-tastic. Mark and I parted what was a spectacular Valentine's Day with fighting. So turns the figured wheel.

The next day was Alexis' Big Fat Greek Party. I spent much of the day doing nothing at all, which, considering my course load, isn't wise. But I can't study recently. I just want to be out doing other things. Like going to goth crossdressing nights at NEO's or visiting transsexual bars or going to Bollywood theatres. Finding companions for these activities, however, is nearly impossible. So I pittered about my room and did nothing of consequence and then got dressed and went to White Hen with Anne and talked about how Dave Choate was evil and how The's misunderstanding of international trade was indicative of the ignorance inherent in liberal ideology and how lame we were for even gossiping about the Wesley Avenue boys in the first place. I then went over to Mark's for the Greek Party. A lot of awkward silence. Not a fan. I spend most of my life avoiding it. The worst part is, Mark wields it the way fencers wield swords.

The dance/party thing took place in "The Crystal Palace"--a ballroom dance hall that reminded me a lot of the outside of the house in "My Big Fat Greek Wedding." Lots of white and crystal and gold and fake marble, but kind of cool in a kitsch sort of way.

Sadly, not pictured, who was in head-to-toe Fendi (winter, 2003) and flamboyantly gay. He was tall and gawky--a toothpick man held together with bubble gum joints.

Chris Shannon from poetry made an appearance with Kat. He danced and we sat around talking about Phillip Glass and 80's cartoons. The entire 'socializing' aspect turned out to be cool. I got to turn on the "sophisticated" dial of conversation, which I rarely get to do, and worked on being sparkling. I'm not sure, but I think I had them fooled, because the whole group laughed in the right places, conversation rotated subjects at a pleasant pace, and no one monopolized the conversation. It wasn't gossip either--just grown-up sort of cocktail party chat. If I can do this, I am ready for adulthood. It also helped that Kat, Chris, and their friends were all well versed in the pacing of small talk, so the exchange was pleasant, as everyone knew the rules.

I do not know why this was taken, or why I am posting it. Maybe to show that not all of the pictures I post here are of me looking melancholy, detached, or overly contemplative.

After dinner was the Greek line dancing, which is a lot like Jewish line dancing, but the music is better. I joined in intermittently, and while I could line dance all right, my attempts at solo dancing were simply hideous and dreadful, so I sat down despite the inducements of Kylie Minogue and Shakira. When it comes to dancing, my body loses any sensuality it may have had and becomes a dangerously unsexy instrument. Sometimes I simply don't care, but more often then not, I do. The dance floor wasn't full enough for me to be completely comfortable. Still, I had fun. The Greek girls (despite mark's protestations that South American girls were much better) are excellent dancers, and move beautifully, slinking across the dance floor like smoke. All the Greek boys huddled by the bar and let them dance on their own. Abomination! Save your women! How can you turn a blind eye to that sort of dancing? To me, it was unfathomable.

Sunday Mary South and I did some work at the Sherm. Her work is really exceptional, and she's been running up against the same walls in the writing department as I have. This allows me to conclude that, either the writing department hates both of us, in which case we're both bad writers, or the writing department hates both of us because our style isn't like Flannery O'Conner or John Updike, an much more plausible assertion. Mary South was nice to talk to--very well educated. I wish I had had more time to talk to her about her life, and her writing, and Guatemala, but alas, did not. I'm thinking of taking her out to lunch sometime without pretense. I gotta work up the nerve for that. There's something about inviting people out...I don't like to do it. Inviting them along, yes. Once I've invited them somewhere solo, I take on the full burden of the conversation, since I initiated it. Why do I get stressed out by these things? As Epstein said, "Only the Shadow knows."

As hesitant as I am to preempt myself (I impore you: if you have yet to behold the glory that is my rant of 2/16/2003 at 12:42:57 AM, do scroll down), the opportunity to prove Mary Jones completely and unequivocally WRONG seldom drops into one's lap. I choose to grab this opportunity by the horns: AHEM - - -

Exit Music (For A Film)
Originally released: June 1997
Found on: OK Computer

While on tour with Alanis Morissette in September of 1996, Radiohead was sent the last half-hour of Baz Luhrmann's film William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet and asked to write a song for the closing credits. Band members were impressed by the clip, and Thom wrote this song for the movie. At first he attempted to use lines from Shakespeare's play as lyrics, but finally ditched the idea.

The moment in the film when Claire Danes (Juliet) holds a Colt 45 to her head was the actual inspiration for "Exit Music." Thom also had the 1968 version of the film in his head: "I saw the Zeffirelli version when I was 13 and I cried my eyes out, because I couldn't understand why, the morning after they shagged, they didn't just run away. The song is written for two people who should run away before all the bad stuff starts. A personal song."

[http://www.greenplastic.com/lyrics/songs/exitmusic.html]

Now if I could only find a site to back up my further assertion that Exit Music is the lamest of all Radiohead songs (i.e. weakest in premise), I'd be a smug little girl indeed.

Disconcerting - - conversations with persons possessing hopelessly skewed world views.

See, I know I'm doing well. I know things are going well for me. I like my classes. My grades are pretty good. I have a good job. I have solid plans for next year, and fun plans for this summer. I have good friends, within & without my dorm. I have good friends back home. I have a fantastic family. Everything's gonna be alright. Everything already is. I'm 100% more stable than I've been anytime during the past year and a half.

But five minutes of abuse from someone I know better than to have anything to do with in the second place, and you'd think everything was in shambles.

"You're not thin enough, that's why YOU'RE ALONE." "You're only leaving because you're afraid to confront your problems, of which you have many." "NO ONE WILL EVER WANT YOU, WHY WOULD HE?" "I think YOU'RE WORTHLESS - I'd never be with someone like you." "You're just stupid...ignorant...UTTERLY UNDESERVING of anything good." "I only pay this menial attention to you because there's no one better to talk to, otherwise, you'd never hear from me at all." "You don't have any real friends - NOBODY LIKES YOU." "You're an evil bitch...I never did anything to you, it's all your fault!"

NO - in our case, nothing is wrong with me. The problem is, and always has been, YOU.

You aren't doing well. You're unhappy. You're mean, and manipulative, and cruel. You'll have problems no matter where you go, because you cause all of the problems you have. Why would anyone ever want you? You're undesireable and worthless - I'd never be with someone like you. You're utterly undeserving of anything good. I only pay this menial attention to you because there is no one better to talk to, otherwise, you'd never hear from me at all. And by the way, you're no runway model yourself.

I tried to make things work. Tried hard. Many times. And put up with an incredible amount of your shit. And all I ever got was an incredible amount of grief in return. The fact that only bad came of "us" is your fault. And of course I moved on over the summer - I found someone who didn't tell me I was an undesireable, worthless piece of shit every time we were together. It was a nice change of pace.

So I'll save you the trouble of IMing me every couple of days to remind me that you still think I'm undesireable and worthless, and that I was never good enough for you, and never will be. Happy Valentine's Day, dave - you're done having anything to do with me, because I am finally done having anything to do with you. I'm not taking anymore of your shit. No more insults, no more accusations, no more blame.

Find some other head to fuck with.

Fox Movie Channel
Mighty Morphin Power Rangers: The Movie
Sat 02/15 05:01PM-07:01PM PG
Adult Situations (1995)**

A two-star movie about a group of 'average' high school students who, in their spare time, morph into spandex-clad, space-age ninjas (with the aid of Zordon - an eyeless, floating head) in the only city in America under daily attack by talking, skyscraper-sized space monsters (magically biggerized by the evil Lord Zedd, who is inexplicably hell-bent on raizing downtown Angel Grove).

What I wanna know is - - adult situations?!?

AlexiaIscariot: nick does this thing now where he goes \m/
AlexiaIscariot: is that cool or dorky?
riotnrrrd3: um
riotnrrrd3: what is it
AlexiaIscariot: its the rock symbol
riotnrrrd3: oh
AlexiaIscariot: like you flash at concerts
riotnrrrd3: no that's cool


Nothing to say. I have nothing to say.

On the walk home from work, I could hear chanting. "we want meat. we want meat."
"How awesome," I thought. "A rally for meat. Just what we need."
It was only when I got closer that I realized the chant was really, "we want peace."

oh well.

I stumbled across this in the library just a few seconds ago. From the book Stray Pebbles from the Shores of Thought. Copyright 1892. Signed by the author in brown, formal script:

Love's Wish

Would I were beautiful!
Then you at Beauty's shrine might freely dine,
A welcome guest
For joy's bequest.
But, dear, if this were so,--
If I were Beauty's child, all undefiled,
To make you blest
In beauty's quest,

You might forget to see
The soul's pure hidden shrine wherein e'er shine
The things that test
Love's true behest.

Would I were beautiful,
That you might better see the soul in me!
That wish is best,
Is't not, dearest?

--Elizabeth Porter Gould

I enjoy the NASDAQ updates, Jones. Maybe someday we can be prosperous & evil together? Pool our capital & play the currency markets? If I'd been thinking, I would've cleared out my trust fund & savings and purchased Euros when they first came out. Yeah. That might've been clever. Not exceedingly profitable, as $100,000 is so much less than a million, or several million. But profitable enough for an 18-year-old. Would make about $15,000 today on a venture like that. *blast* ~ $.90 to the Euro when it was released, and now: ~ .927 Euro cents to the USD.

And I'm skipping the one German class to do the homework for the second. I should stop posting.

I've lost BLOGWARS points with this, haven't I, Tom.

The, I don't want to hear it. Don't try to villify something as honorable as international trade, which in and of itself has no soceital evils to report. Besides, I'm a poet. My life is filled with more art and frickin' carpe diem solipsisms than I know what to do with.

Dave Choate and I have a bizarre friendship. If he dislikes me most of the time, why do I keep coming back? It is one of life's mysteries. I think for the following reasons:
1. Adele's "Dune" story
2. Charming smile
3. Ambiguous sense of style: surfboy? slovenly? Kentucky boy?

If I'm lucky, maybe I could alienate everyone this week. Yep, that'd be wicked.

Andrew Mason stopped by in a cowboy hat last night with an exquisite girl named Andrea. She wouldn't let me photograph her, and that really bothered me. I'm not sure why.

Man, after being so sharp and witty yesterday my posts today feel sort of cornmeal dull. I can't think of anything. I'm too tired, slept in past my 5am wakeup, which means that now I have a whole bunch of reading due today that I didn't do. Boyakasha! On the plus side, I've gotten A's (and K's lame B+) on all the midterms I've gotten back. Today is classical greece. We shall see.

Tom, dude, stop talking about my sister like that! Freaks me out.

peace.

like a lot.

you make me barf.

Jonathan Frakes was wicked sexy! He was my second celebrity crush following David Bowie as the goblin king (age 8).

I tend to be more Freudian than most, but I believe people are abstracting a bit too much from my more vulnerable entries and applying Freudian analysis to them in an attempt to understand my inner pysche. Please restrain yourselves.

I have tailored one of my life's goals this evening. As many of you remember, freshman year I strove to have someone write a song about me including the lyrics "for you I bleed myself dry." I now amend this wish so that I can include "you knock me off my feet" as a possible subsitute, assuming the song is cheerful enough to be able to make the lyrics adorable. You know, like Death Cab.

Frank Black makes a beautiful prom queen.

"If I was there, that never would have happened. I would never let it get that far. No one would ever be allowed to speak poorly of you in my prescence." Odd how some things stay with you. Shame included.

My fingers are pink.

Wait! It isn't so great since you learned karate chop chop chop chop chop!

Can you hear me through the sucking of your quaff quaff quaff quaff quaff?

What the hell? That's what I'm talking about.

Had a dirty dream involving jonathanfrakes (the guy who played commander riker on startrek)...yeah. I'm never sleeping again.

Kids, check out today's NASDAQ: this time it's not a computer error--the market just surged like crazy. I love the war market!

Ünited Stätes Toughens Image With Umlauts
WASHINGTON, DC—In a move designed to make the United States seem more "bad-assed and scary in a quasi-heavy-metal manner," Congress passed a bill Monday changing the nation's name to the Ünited Stätes of Ämerica. "Much like Mötley Crüe and Motörhead, the Ünited Stätes is not to be messed with," said Sen. James Inhofe (R-OK). An upcoming redesign of the Ämerican flag will feature the new name in burnished silver wrought in a jagged, gothic font and bolted to a black background. A new national anthem is also in the works, to be written by composer Glenn Danzig and tentatively titled "Howl Of The She-Demon."

hatesdallas: hey
hatesdallas: this is margaret
hatesdallas: did you get my message about whittier?
AlexiaIscariot: yeah
AlexiaIscariot: congratulations!
hatesdallas: nixon went there!
AlexiaIscariot: now you can relax
hatesdallas: i'm so proud
hatesdallas: little richard nixon
AlexiaIscariot: thats so cute

To quote Homer: Ah, the rosy fingered dawn. I was walking back to Panera around 7ish and the sun was rising up out of Lake Michigan like some firey Venus from the froth of Uranus' waves and I thought, "Man, Asiago cheese bagels taste so good, but don't sit so well."

Gotta love Shania Twain: You're a nice piece of real estate and I'm gonna get me some land. But this video--it confuses me. What does a futuristic post apocalyptic landscape with motorcycle chases and giant transformer-like robots have to do with country music? Only the Twain knows.

Tom has acknowledged the superiority of Ali G, a move that everybody makes at least sometime during their lives. Tom, if your connection is fast enough, I'll send you "Ali G in da House" his big screen movie about Parliament and the UN. Notice I used "big screen" just like those chaps in the rag columns do. I am with it. I am hip.

Faith Hill's kind of hot, but does nothing for me.

It's too bad I went back to Dallas last weekend, because apparently, I missed out on a lot. Being the only sober one at an all-star mafia cross over event would have facilitated a lot of explanation as to accurate reporting of details the morning after. As it was, I went back to Dallas for two days of much needed relaxation. Little things change each time I'm back: Zach has started looking at girls in magazines (at age 5.5), and whengotgets super embarrassed when caught and runs away. Jordan (8) writes poems about bugs and the solar system that end in lines like "There is much darkness." Julia (14) spent most of the weekend slow dancing with boys at the middle school valentine's day dance (more than I can ever say about myself) and Margaret (18) was freaking out and not going to school. All in all, it was nice to catch up. Saw "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days" and was not impressed. I don't know--I am a huge fan of the rom com, but I didn't really understand why they were together. I mean, the chick could have still written a great article without actually driving him away--what, like "composure" magazine has some high level of journalistic integrity? The whole thing was lame. Plus, I didn't like Kate Hudson. She lacked curves, something which, since "Chicago," has become increasingly important for me to enjoy a movie.

Gosh dangit, the Sean Jean show is beautiful. The "renegade chic" look is wicked sexy, and I love the women's line. Well done, Puffy. Well done. Bad boy for life.

I met a heterosexual transsexual yesterday. Post-operative, male-to-female. This is different from a transvestite, who simply cross dresses, and likes women, and a homosexual transsexual, who is male-to-female so he can date straight males. The guy who spoke was now a woman who was a lesbian. Confused? I found his personality grating. Very into himself, his hotness. He was thin, but he wasn't hot. And you're a transsexual--big frickin' deal. What, you want a pat on the back? You want some recognition for your edgy and alternative lifestyle? Please. You're just a wannabe artist like so many struggling photographers out there. The only difference is you have a Y chromosome and a vagina. I'm so impressed--especially about the vagina part. What a novel accoutrement (sorry for the vulgarity, russ). Wow, you showed us some Mapplethorpe photos of the SM underground. I've never seen those before: how shocking! The lecture was worth it, however, just for his terminology. He dubbed pre-op female-to-male transsexuals as "male-boxes." I laughed myself sick.

Justin Timberlake is an ugly, ugly man.

Wednesdays suck:
11-1230: Poetry
1230-130: Work
130-2: Break
2-330: Pysch
330-4: Lecture
4-730: Work
730-830: Institute
830-10: Work

And then I go home and go to bed and the day starts over again. I have 80 emails in my box. I haven't done anything in the past few weeks. I am so, so retarded. I have, however, been eating nonstop for the past 2 weeks. It's my coping mechanism. I know, I know: cry me a river.

Met my new poetry teacher, Chris Wiman. Not nearly as scary as "The Lady Dragon" --in fact rather hip. I may enjoy poetry this quarter. Interestingly enough, I got a B+ for last semester (don't ask). With all of those check minuses, I nearly died. Whatever. Sounds great. Give me my grade so I can run. Now I just get to apply to writing 307 so I can get rejected. Fiction's a whore. But the thing with fiction, is my work is actually brilliant. The fact that no one sees that is embarrassing for this school's writing department.

I need to go shoe shopping today. One pair black low top Chuck Taylors. So when I sing along to Avril Lavigne's "I'm with You" I can feel more punk. Dude, David LaChapelle directed that video. What the heck is wrong with the world? David LaChapelle? Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Apparently, someone is trying to make it into movies, or someone can't get any more gigs for Rolling Stone. I hope that isn't the case, because LaChapelle really is a master.

Can I be a Victoria Secret model, or am I too old?

Tom, Saturday I'm going to Alexis' Greek fiesta (I promised weeks ago), but I should be in town by midnight or so, so if you are throwing a party, I'll stop by then, if that’s cool. Otherwise Friday night? Next week? Let me know.

Wesley All stars have dropped the ball. With the exception of Mike Wang's sublime posts of loneliness and The's posts of white male frustration, you have been way, way lame. What is the excuse for this? Is there one? Come on boys. I was expecting at least a second side of the story about the NES show. Got nothing. I know you don't like me, but come ON.

Jen Frank is so, well, self aware about her role as an "artist" and her status in the indie-rock elite. I know this is a facade to protect a very gentle little girl, but why is this intriguing, Mike Wang? I'm not being facetious, but I am curious. The jury's still out on Frank. we'll see how she does under closer acquiantence

For Tom
Lobster sticks to magnet!

Johnny Cash does a version of "hurt." His voice is actually beautiful, like the singer of Red Red Meat or Tom Waits. Really extraordinary. Oh, if anyone has the new Nick Cave album "Nocturna" send it to me, since I am too lazy to download it myself.

What have I become my sweetest friend? everyone I know goes away in the end. You can have it all, my empire of dirt. I will let you down. I will make you hurt

umm, Jason?

(1) drugs
(2) promiscuous sex
(3) tv

?

If I was making a list of the top-three leisure-time excesses, I don't reckon "tv" would be on it. You didn't even capitalize it: if television was really that threatening, oughtn't it at least to have warranted caps?

Then again, if "tv" = LifeTime, Oxygen or the local Evanston channel, I see your point.

whyohwhy did I drink all that MountainDew? Jones, if I show-up tomorrow morning, I expect a PRIZE!!

Does Steve only have three fingers & a thumb, or is one of his fingers in his mouth, or his nose? Dude...if that finger is all the way up his nose, that man has a quite a talent. He could be one of those circus guys who gets paid to hammer metal spikes up his nose. But is the circus in a position to take the globe in its C-shaped jaws & crush it? Unlikely.

Hey, look at my German web-project! It's craptacular! And 40% of my final grade...I may have to spend an afternoon in the basement of Kresge - 'sprucing' it up. At least the links work? The ones that are there...

Mary-- you do look totally glam. The smooth hair look is nice... which brings me to a serious question, for which I'm sure none of you have a suitable answer: How does one combat hat hair? My winter look thus far has been something along the lines of "warmed-up-corpse" with my hair too oily and flattened straight against my skull by my (very cute) fleece hat, contrasted nicely with my dried out skin, too much eye makeup and dark under-eye circles. The skin afflictions wouldn't be so bad if I could prevent the hat hair. The easiest solution, I'm sure, is don't wear a hat. But unlike.... some people... I am not willing to sacrifice comfort for fashion. Suggestions?

The rest of my photos that were promised to you all earlier this week are coming to you right now.

Steve is a good friend, simply because he posed for this picture to enhance my photodocumentary.

The faceless face of evil. True malevolence sometimes comes in unexpected packages... like 83-year-old diner cashiers.

I've been listening to Frank Black's "Teenager of the Year" nonstop for the past three days. It has depressed me. Here's the verdict: yeah, it's a clever fun album... I'm a sucker for that "I want to live on an abstract plain" stuff. wit. sure. Why did F.B. want to end the pixies to make this music? As good as it is, it doesn't excite me nearly as much as anything the Pixies ever recorded. No other band that I know of had such a cohesion of parts-- sure black francis wrote the songs-- but joey santiago's guitar parts and kim deal's vocals and bass lines were essential to creating the craziness. The strongest songs on "teenager of the year" are the ones that have joey s. guitar parts. The Pixies amaze me. Black's solo album (well, this one at least, I haven't heard the others) makes me smile, but doesn't blow me away. I don't want Frank Black to be endearing, I want him to be deranged.

A polite request to the residents of Cook County: Please folks, when it is 5 degrees and windy, and I am trying to cross the street with the light, don't make me wait for your right-on-red b.s. It's freaking freezing out, and you are in a nice heated car. A person could die out there, or at least lose a few toes to frostbite. Let me cross the street!

I just got my camera back from the shop this weekend, which had all of my christmas photos. Although its two months late, I thought I'd walk you guys through my holiday, do some explaining, and introduce you to the characters in my life. As Adele would say, a "photodocumentary" if you will:

This is a picture of me and my former fiance elder smith. We were going to print these out and send them with our wedding invitations but, alas, we split up.

These are two more missionaries that lived in our home over Christmas break. The one with the eyepatch is elder patterson, who lost had to take his eye out after years of cimplications. He has been responsible for bringing various evils into our home, among them video games, sports, and rap. The very eager one is elder ford, who is afraid of girls and reads. The reading is important.

This is elder lynch. This man was the bane of my existence in a lot of ways. He would tell me what to do, and he was rigidly stubborn when it came to ideas that he was clearly wrong about. Towards the end of the vacation, I avoided him completely.

This is my aunt barabara. She's crazy. I gave her one of my sestinas, and she circled "clamor" and told me I may want to think of another word, because I'd been repeating it. My mom turns to her and says, "It's a sestina barb. It's supposed to repeat the words." She doesn't have a wallet, and just throws huge amounts of bills in the bottom of her purse.

This is my dad. Most of you know this.

This is my sister Julia. She's the only femme member of the family. She wears frilly things and makeup and blow dries her hair and recently, she started shaving her legs and got her ears pierced, both things that you're supposed to wait until your 16 for. Way to flaunt the rules, there, Jules.

This is Margaret. She's my sister. She's 18. She's much better looking than I am. But I went to school a lot more than she did, so it evens out. Tom said he would totally mac her if she were older. I say, "why wait?"

Mom is a ravenous fan of the crossword puzzle. We started doing them a couple of years ago as a joke, and mom has continued to this day. Every morning of vacation I can be found with mom at the local McDonalds doing the crossword over egg Mcmuffins

Mom makes really good cheesecakes

This is our christmas tree. Isn't it colorful? You are dazzled, yes.

In honor of my single status, mom decided to help me out with this very lovely man.

This is another christmas present. A wall hanging. And since I've been taking human sexuality, its become much more potent

These are my friends at the New Years Eve party. The most obvious person--the one on the couch in the very, err, revealing dress is leesie. Leesie was the girl who stole the boy I was in love with. I'm sure I blogged about it in the past. Brian. The beautiful, tragic artist who she told me was weird and then the next weekend she lost her virginity to him on Max's parents' white bedspread so Max had to clean the blood off the next morning. Leesie and I have never liked each other, and have sort of come to terms with out mutual dislike.

Angela. She writes nice poems and stories. She's what we would call a "fasian" or "fake Asian" because she doesn't hang out solely with other Asian kids and she's only a second-generation Chinese woman. It's a long story, revolving around her correcting a teacher on his Mandarian and his reply: "I learned this from a real Asian person" thus making Angela a "fake Asian" person. Angela has nice hair and stillettos.

This is Becky, my arch nemisis. I will tell you some Becky stories later, since there isn't room for them here. In the meantime, take a long, hard look at her so when I tell the stories, you'll know they were about this....girl.

My friend Amy and her fiance. Amy likes Barber and anything that has to do with the piano. She's going to be an architect, so its a good thing she's studying engineering at Rice.

I straightened my hair for the party. I want to say "look how glam I am!" but I know I just look like I always do, with smoother hair.

That's all. Thank you for your patience.

Brilliant, Jones.

and bother to the world! my Friday night babysitting job just got canceled. now instead of spending Valentine's Day bolstering my bank account, I get to spend it - - feeling undesireable. sounds like a barrel of monkeys. i can't wait. usually, i don't give a hoot about any holidays, Valentine's Day especially. but it bothers me this year. it ought to be "celebrated" on the 13th. stupid Valentine's Day...

Ah my children. Your patience will be rewarded. Soon. Soon.


Back when I was 17 and depressed, I started creating these: paper mosiacs. They are the first (scary) and second (heart) I've ever done, and surprisingly, look like my later work. If anything, I spent more attention to textures, more careful about colors. But still--I always thought they were cool.

goodfuckinggracious:

I just had a conversation with Kimmy, who lives down the hall, and she mentioned the loud talking/singing of last night, and complains about how loud X___ was last night. Now X___ lived here for a couple of years, but doesn't anymore. But I was convinced I'd heard her voice coming from one of the showers last night. And now it turns out she was over last night visiting the two girls who live on this floor who I heard in the showers, addressing each other by name.

There's the three.

So I mention to Kimmy that I remember that when I walked by the shower stalls, there were FOUR distinct sets of clothing/pajamas draped over the outer doors of the stalls - two sets of pajamas on each door. And that I'd heard a bunch of voices, and recognized the two girls who addressed each other by name, and thought I recognized the voice of X___, who Kimmy knew was over last night. But I hadn't recognized the voice speaking/singing everything...

So Kimmy mentions that Y____ was ALSO up here making a bunch of noise last night. And I know Y____, and I know Y____'s voice, and have a hankering Y____ was ALSO in the shower last night.

That's four. FOUR girls together in TWO showers. In my dorm, on my floor, in the bathroom. Last night.

I don't know what else to say. Mark, does this sort of thing happen in Foster House, too? Can our houses hook-up, so these girls can find boys to experiment with - preferably experimentation of a sort that does not take place under the showers I use every morning. Nice, straight experimentation. Without the Bollywood soundtrack? Cause that'd be way cool.

I really need to go to bed now, but this has to blogged now lest I forget it overnight.

I was just in the bathroom brushing my teeth (Note: there are only two shower stalls in the third floor bathroom of HobartHouse. TWO!) and I notice that both of the shower stalls are full. Not a big deal. People need to wash, and with 14 girls on the floor, two people washing at the same time is understandable.

Except that, as I'm brushing, the people in the showers start talking to each other. And then, they start singing Bollywood songs at the tops of their lungs. Which would have seemed pretty bad by itself -

- had there not been THREE distinct voices speaking to each other and singing. THREE distinct, female voices coming from TWO shower stalls.

Apparently, I am living in a hotbed of lesbianism. That, or there are some facets of the Muslim religion I've overlooked? If Allah endorses co-ed showering too, I may have found myself a new religion.

If I leave NU having learned only one thing, then it's the following:

the worth of words = nil. Overrated and overvalued while generally empty and meaningless. Trite pleasantries at best, more often blatant, unabashed deceits.

Maybe that's why I never have much to say? One too many pleasantries or deceits from others, and you run out of words to say yourself. My words sound just like everyone elses.

...subtlely familiar, but utterly foreign. and I'm sorry I ever tried.

Hurrah!! Teenage Angst is finally finished downloading. Now I'll know how it ends.

woah. eight little vacuums in one? That's pretty wicked. I think I need that for my carpet.

and here I am using a broom...

AdeleNicho1as is a MicroSoftPaint WHORE!

ok, kids. this is it. ready yourselves.

As I was saying, no camera was available at 6:30 a.m. on Friday morning. But the scene was something like this:

My attendence at Panera despite my tiredness from seeing Luna was part of my new resolution: to be the places I say I am going to be. So if I tell you I will meet you somewhere, I will do it. I've been very bad about this in the past, but this weekend was a step in the right direction.

So after a chat with Mary, I went home and showered and left for work. I take an 8:10 a.m. train.

This is what willard looks like at 8a.m. on a sunny Friday:

And this is the view from the Davis St. station at 8:05 a.m.:

This internship at the mag is one of the best things that I've done in a very long time. I've discovered that I can do professional, responsible work competently. I can even enjoy it. I'm playing an integral part in getting the magazine ready. My editor trusts me to do good work. My editor said to me, "you're going to be a good editor." He mentioned it in a very off-hand manner, but it meant a lot to me. I can handle this work, I can even do it well.

This is what our building looks like:

I'm also having a lot of fun at the mag. Everyone on the staff is pretty young, so they're willing to hear me ramble about my band and stuff from time to time. They're all smart and cultured and fun. They have a lot of neat things to say.

This is the CLT logo:

It looks like the CLT is devouring the world. We will take the fragile blue Earth in our C-shaped jaws and crush it! It kind of reminds me of the International Baccalaureate logo, which was the "holy hexagon" spreading across the Earth's surface. Both are slightly ominous.

Here is my desk at work:

It looks like I've moved in a little.

Friday night, a mild disaster in terms of the photo-documentary. I forgot to bring my camera to the NES gig at Shanley. I was a tad dissapointed with our set. We played pretty well (from what I could hear), but our set was fraught with a lot of technical difficulties-- feedback galore and two broken strings on The's guitar. Also, I was freaking freezing through out the gig, and my finger was bleeding profusely. Friends showed up though, and even with the lights in my eyes, I could see Tony singing along with California. Thanks all for coming, and for making us feel like rock stars.

Because I don't know how to draw, Nathan is just a floating head.

I think that as a band, NES is much improved over the last few months. Although we don't get that many practices in, we sound much more together and confident than we did in the past. I am notably better at the guitar now, and we've been able to play off each other a little bit more lately. It's very exciting for me in terms of that. But it's less fun than it was in some ways. I feel like the super odd man out a lot of times, and this is my own fault, largely. And it makes me sad.

So Friday, like Thursday, turned out to be a pretty late night.

I had agreed to work at the Sherman on Saturday for my friend Saeeda, who had relatives in town for the weekend.

aww, jeez. I get tired so early these days. There are more photos. There is all of Saturday to be discussed. There is Pearl to be made fun of. But I am exhausted. Bottom line: I'm incredibly busy, and very happy and motivated. Stand in my way, and I will crush you. More tomorrow.

The fact that I have the following in typing makes me v.happy:

MormonIceQueen: but would you let me paint your fingernails black?
MormonIceQueen: ??????
davechoate: of course

hehehe. But black is so cliche...let's be edgy and paint them hot pink with rust-green tips, and then use a toothpick to paint little spots of black on the pink sections. Watermelon is the new black, dave. You'll be the envy of every Hispanic, professional nail-technician in Evanston.

Also, further proof that all the German education is having adverse affects on my English, and is consequently responsible for my no longer being capable of getting anything better than a "B+" in any course not taught in or focusing on German/Germany. I am, however, still capable of basic rhyming:

davechoate: what are you doing tonite?
MormonIceQueen: going to the nes thing
davechoate: oh, NES
MormonIceQueen: N E S
MormonIceQueen: yes.
MormonIceQueen: ^ rhyming
MormonIceQueen: i'm so clever.
MormonIceQueen: did i spell rhym right...no. because it's 5 letters
MormonIceQueen: damn.
davechoate: you always were
MormonIceQueen: what's the other letter
davechoate: e
davechoate: rhyme
MormonIceQueen: r-h-y-m-e
MormonIceQueen: still clever!
davechoate: you can spell

And that ^^^ impressive display of intellectual acuity took place BEFORE I fell into four too many green-tinted bottles. Adele, I sincerely hope you aren't going to MicrosoftPaint the few minutes of your weekend that intersected mine.

my weekend: a photodocumentary.

Late Thursday night, I went to the abbey to see Luna. This is when I realized that I should take photos of my weekend. However, I didn't have my camera.

So let us begin with Friday morning, when the documentary begins for reals.

Although Luna kept me out late, and I had to be at work at 9, I met Mary for breakfast at panera at 6:30 Friday morning. Alright, so I forgot my camera again. No big deal. This artistic rendering gives you an idea. Mary, Adele, happy, with the largest cinnamon roll on the face of the planet.

----- grrr. sherman restaurant calls. that was just a teaser. the rest of the documentary will be uploaded tonight.

The very sad thing about BLOGWARS (Notice the all caps, the trademark) is that its coming at a time when I actually am on a low swing for things to blog about. Because, as I've mentioned before, when real things are going wrong in your life--not just discouragment and depression or angeror annoyance--but real things that make you unhappy and keep you awake at night, those are the last things ever you want to blog about. And as it happens, the stuff this week--this month--this quarter--has been very much not-blog-worthy.

Lets talk about some of the laer, less serious things I can talk about.

I am once again addicted to food. I plan to stop this shortly after my return to NU. As for now, all I want to do is sleep and eat. Those being the two elements in an Americans life that will always be there for him, I think it's a fine decesion on my part. I can best xpress my felings about food in a dialogue by Ms. Audrey Griswold in "European Vacation":

Audry: Could you pass the croissants please? and the butter and the jelly?
Clark: Glad to see you have your appetite back, honey.
Audry: Oh yeah? Well who do I have to be thin for?

Gosh, I love that movie.

I did indeed take Mark to my poetry reading on Friday. It was indeed an interesting time. In part, I was really glad that he was there. He's taken (for a few weeks anyway) poetry 206, so he had some idea of what I was trying to do as far as meter and tropewise, so having him tell me my work was good meant a lot. I think he was telling the truth, too, and not just telling me what I wanted to hear a la "that dress totally doesn't make you look fat." So it was nice. I felt supported. I was a bit nervous, because at the last minute I changed what poems I was going to read, so I hadn't really rehearsed them, but it end up going alright. I started moving into my "debate/church talk" mode, and ended up talking like a holy lawyer. It's a bizarre combination. As Mark mentioned in his weblog, the whole thing was awkward. I felt a bit awkward.

My dad wants to go now. I'll continue this at another time. Suffice to say: Dallas is lovely, I saw my former fiance (notice how we say former instead of ex: it sounds so much nicer), I turned in my revisions, and now I'm resting and hoping to regain some sanity for the remainder of my Sunday.

geez. why do I always have the urge to post when I'm drunk? fortunately, this morning was/is the HobartHouse annual trip to WalkerBrothers...anything & everything you want - free. v.nice. v.tasty. so I was up early, to erase all of the drunken babbling. food ordered/eaten: strip of bacon, sausage link, two bowls of strawberries, plain pancakes (3), the big apple pancake, a spinach omlette with double cheese + bowl of mushroom sauce stuff, a dish of ice cream. But my glass of milk never arrived. There's enough food leftover to feed my bony family for a week. They gave me a bag to carry it all out in...which would have been embarrassing, except that when it comes to (free) food, I have no shame.

and Tom, I don't think I'm obligated to pay you back for the shanley thing anymore - because, there's a purple BRUISE on my right arm & another on my left shoulder from where you PUNCHED me last night! ;-) ow. you owe me another $5 in ice packs.

I've been using my iron a lot lately. and exercising and getting up at a decent hour and always going to class. what the heck? I've even cut most of the candy out of my diet (or marked lack thereof). My body has been taken over by a mutant "responsible anne". horrifying. I need an exorcist.

Not sure if I had a good time or a bad one...but it was one extreme or the other. I am not a teenager, but I am listening to teenage angst right now. listening/watching...brianmolko=so cute! But only when he's looking like a girl.

I love that story, Jones. But I could never figure out the husband - - why did he stay with her? She was a bitch. Why'd he marry her in the first place, if she'd always consider him below her. Even at the end of the story, after he'd given everything up to help her make the money to pay for the necklace, she still didn't appreciate him...still only worried about herself, and pitied only herself. That's always bothered me about that story.

Steven--I owe you an email. I haven't forgotten. Thank you for the emails of sanity during the dark daily poem weeks.

Well, I disappear for the weekend tired, broken, humiliated, and discouraged. But not depressed. I'm sure that will come later.

You know that story by Maupassent (sp?) about the poor pretty woman who goes to a ball and borrows a diamond necklace from a rich friend and then loses the necklace at the ball and so buys a replacement for her friend rather then hurt her pride by saying she lost it and she and her husband spend the rest of their lives paying back the debt of this necklace until she runs into the friend many years later after she's lost her looks because life has beaten her down and tells her friend who is still young and pretty that she lost her necklace many years ago and the rich friend says "why didn't you tell me? it was a fake worth 20 francs at the most!" You know that one?

That's what I feel like right now.

I am so tired right now I am physically ill.

No one would believe me, And no one cared to check it out. You know what's gonna happen. He's going to go down and he's going to come back again. Sad I'm going to die. Hope it's going to happen later than I think. They will tie me up and send me off on set me off on someone's lawn.

I am at work. I am holding the following book in my hands:

610.4 P987
The Importance of Being Historically Minded
WM. Allen Pusey

How does one pronounce that?

Why do I continue to take these? They're pathetic. Perhaps the same reason why Tom continues to think he's black.

baring the depths...erm...shallows of my soul for no particular reason.

Things about which I am self-conscious:

1. my eating habits. haha. the thin girl whining about food consumption. what a bitch. but here's the story. I will eat anything at anytime. I am always, always hungry. I like to eat alone, so I can eat what I want, how I want, without people looking at me funny. I can't stand to have other people watch me eat. The thing that makes this self-consciousness really strange is that my eating habits are probably just about average. But I hate to be seen as someone who eats like an average person. It's about how people view me. So I try to eat in (relative) secret.

2. being viewed as materialistic. yeah, this one. I like buying stuff, books and cds and clothes when I have money. But I cannot stand to have people see me carrying a shopping bag. I want people to see me as strikingly unmaterialistic, not the kind of person who goes out and spends a lot of money on frivilous things. And again, I think I am probably LESS materialistic than the average person, yet I still get paranoid about being viewed that way.

And these are the only two pathetic things that make me self-conscious. Other than those weird hang-ups, I am bursting with confidence.

and what about sexual favors?

Because, I'm at a massive disadvantage from the getgo. Everyone else has at least a smidgeon of programming experience. I have none. I can type in this box, and then click on the post&publish button. There should be handicaps in this war...like in golf.

Has anyone ever actually used those ball-washer things at the golf course to wash a pair of underwear. My curiousity has almost peaked.

And why are they called "g-strings"? The "thong" I get, but the g-string?!? It doesn't look like a "G", and when I put one on, the straps/fabric don't intersect to create a "G"or "g" form. There's so little fabric in them anyways, they ought just to call them "-string"s.

Don't push me, Adele. I'm on a Placebo kick this week. And if we're going to fight with pictures, I have quite a few interesting shots from a report/study I put together on circumcision and the foreskin last quarter. Then again, I suppose that'd help you more than me. damn.

If Tom Sherman has the final say in all of this, then would my posting a nude photo of myself = Anne winning?

nevermind. :-) you're lovely. and i preempted you anyway when I republished.

damnit, jones! I posted first. Then I went to revise, and your little entry preempted mine! I wanted them to feel MY pain first!

That midterm went so badly, it might have been one of my relationships...Pol W. Europ the 362nd. I think he's trying to breakup with me. Or he just did, and I didn't take it very well. What's worse, he won't give me any of my stuff back, as I don't recall learning ANY of the material on the exam.

Define and explain four of the following: (40%)

-collective responsibility
-Charles 1 (House of Stuart)
-Lib Dems
-ENA
-SMD

Projected Percentage Earned: 12%

Respond to Question 1, and one of Questions 2 and 3: (60%)

1) Geography is the sole determinant in whether a country's political and economic development occur in an evolutionary or a revolutionary manner. Address both Britain and France in making your argument.

2) Great Britain is an elective dictatorship. Respond, taking into account the British political structure, the role of the Prime Minister and his duties and powers. Use the French political system, and the duties and powers of the French President to contrast.

3) What's left of the Left? Over the last two decades, the parties of the political left have increasingly abandoned their traditional socialist programs, and moved toward the political center. Why? Address both Britain and France in making your argument.

Answered 1 and 3. Projected Percentage Earned: 28%


Well. When you look at it that way it isn't so bad, eh. 40 of 100 points - - - hey! that's a strong F.

:-D:-D:-D:-D:-D:-D:-D

I only hope things go half so well tomorrow, when Germaine Politik the 250nd tries to dump me.

Most recent grades from K:
v-
v-
v

I believe next to one of my images it simply says "please." I am discouraged, but suprisingly not as much as I would have thought. Why? Because the grades that she gave back really do indicate (from everything I keep reading on people's comments) that she grades on preference over skill. I am bizarre, I am florid, I am violent. K is convservative, plain, and metrical. Half of the poetic tricks/messages I put in the poem (as did Mary South) she completly ignored. Or didn't get. If she gives me a C in this class, then I will die. If she gives me a bad letter of recommendation, I will die. But her blatently ridiculous comments ("you're just versifying prose") and her caustic opinions have completly disqualified her from having much of an effect on the style of my pieces. I will take her advice about form. That is all. I will not die if she no longer likes my pieces. I do not like hers. If she cannot treat me with respect, I cannot respect her opinion.

John Dony told me my work was "strange and incredibly weird" today. John is awesome.

There is a notorious name dropper at my church who pronounces Nietzsche "Nitch-key" and Carl Jung, well, "Jung." I often fear that a life of misappropriate pronunciations stretches before me.

I haven't posted substantially in a week. In that time, Friday I took Mark to see Chicago (which is pretty wicked sexy. I blame it for kicking my already strained libido into hyperdrive), Saturday I hung out with Russ and talked for a few hours, and Monday was Rushdie. Ahhhhhh, Rushdie.

At first I got to do a little informal writers workshoppish thing with him. This was awesome, even if I had to change my outfits a few times (I looked too Indian--like I was one of those girls who buys urban outfitters Hindi dresses because Madonna wore one. I swear, it was a coincidence!) I got him to sign "Satanic Verses" for Mark (thus proving I am much kinder than he deserves) and "the ground beneath her feet" for me. I asked him some questions about his books, felt all nervous and shaky--it was odd. I've never worked myself up into that level of agitation before. Celebrity means about as much to me as sexuality or race: that is, not at all.

The lecture reiterated to me that I was totally justified in my post a few days ago about the Northwestern student body. Rushdie talked mostly about the art of the novel--how to write it, themes, motivations, the craft, the tradition. I was entranced--it was utterly spellbinding, even if I wasn't a writer, to hear a witty and well-learned man talk eloquently about art. I turn around during one sparkling comment, however, and see an audience full of people with their chins placed sullenly on their knuckles. One boy was nodding off. And despite the fact that I really wanted to be sympathetic, and I really wanted to be "its ok, you're not a writer, its probably just shop to you" I was honestly disgusted. And maybe that’s pretentious, and maybe I am a pseudo-intellectual, but that can't stop my response. I was simply disgusted that these children were in the world, seeing one of the greatest living authors of our time, and were sitting there half asleep, entirely missing his warmth and subtlety.

The entire experience made me, for no particular reason, want to become Salman Rushdie's mistress. I want to live in his house, and wake up with him, and follow him about, and munch on blackened toasts while he works on manuscripts. For a few weeks, I could be a devoted sycophant. High school did teach me something.

I finished Cathy Coote's "Innocents" last night. The story's central idea is that a young girl manipulates her innocent 34 year old teacher into sleeping with her, and how through every gesture and artifice she draws him in further and further for the sole, perhaps soul, purpose of debasing him. She wants to see him bestial, on the floor, cruel. Now, it was written by a 19-year-old Australian girl, so it is overwrought in parts, and very transparent--I see a lot of my flair for prosaic melodrama, and why it doesn't work, so it was helpful to me as a guide. But despite the obvious lack of sophistication, there is something in this book that really, really draws me in. I felt at times that I was the narrator, that this book in some ways could be my life stories. Never with the same level of malice. Never with the same level of control. But....hmmm. Maybe I should stop.

What did annoy me about the book, however, was the appearance of the narrator. She's a smallish little 16 year old, so she's short and pale and delicate and thin. This has been annoying me a lot lately, when reading books, by male authors in particular. Their women all have nymphet shapes--long and graceful, delicately boned, thin, transparent skin, large eyes, soft features. This annoys me.

I am never going to be what one may call a delicate woman. I am a big girl. I am not fat, but I am big. I am tall. I have thick thighs and round hips, a curved waist and large breasts. I'm not an hourglass so much as a series of waves, that melt into each other, overlapping. Men do not write about women like me. They write about small women they can fit in their arms like children. Women that they can protect. Women whom they can sink in splayed fingers to flesh and leave red marks. Women who gasp when hugged too tightly, who can be broken by fists, who stand nervously and play with their wrists. No wan writes about controlling matronly, curved women. The best thing I can hope for is a shout out in a Zora Neal Hurston book, where I can be known as an Amazon. But even then, she meant that for black women. White women should be like Dostoyevsky’s Sonia--dark. Meek. Pale. Thin.

I'm guessing that is why Anais Nin's "Little Birds" appeals to me so much. Her women range all over the board, but at least 4 of her stories involve big women. Her women are tall, plump, and wild--they are her lionesses, with halos of hair, large hips, and legs like tree trunks. Their sensuality is derived from their power--they are earthy, husky things. I read to know I'm not alone.

This didn’t intend to be this sort of post. I guess it ended up being that. I blame my Human Sexuality midterm.

I feel underrepresented by the media: where are all the acne-excellent? When do we get a Gap campaign, or a pop idol, or member of the fellowship? Damnit! Even the kids selling anti-acne products in ads have clear skin - how do I know it works, then?!? If you start out with clear skin, chances are pretty dang good six weeks of using the product will result in --- STILL CLEAR SKIN. I'll shop at Abercrombie when the girls in their catalogues are pimplerific.

And Adele - your evening appears to have been more enjoyable than mine. Until you wake-up tomorrow morning...and wish you could curl up in a toilet.

That image exists solely to up my ratings in the BLOGWARS. Although nickd has pulled into a commanding lead. Shit.

Steven - thank you! :-D

That absolutely made my wretched yesterday afternoon/early evening.

Related post to come...after I'm finished B-ing my way through a Politics of Western Europe midterm from...what's the European equivalent of Hell?

France.

or Poland? I've heard some pretty sketch stuff about Polish prostitutes lining up along the borders...scared Mark & his dad right back into Germany.

Anyhows - I'll post as soon as I B my way through a Politics of Western Europe midterm from France/Polish prostitute. *shudder*

The S&P wasn't quite itself today

My sister's away message/profile:


taking a shower in celebration of black history month.
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Catastrophic Valiant Kim-Chee Earthquake Stomp-Kick!

I feel I must interject here--you're getting carried away feeling sorry for yourself with these revisions and gaps in history.

I said I'd update this morning, but i'm too dizzy. later, much later

What's the matter? Does the cheese-head not want the cheesy pizza?

In the mornings, I dream of a dirty disaffected youth, seen through a haze of smoke. an angry mess, unwashed, a thousand curses on my lips.

But I start to move, and things change.

The stark buildings have soft edges in the grainy morning light. Everything in the city is green through the double thick glass, with the exception of the trees. The trees are still gray. The cement is wet, the streets lined with brown gray slush. Grease (animal fat, says r.v.) swirls out across the sidewalk, streaky patterns of purple and green. I don't walk, I swing, eyes peering up through the mist-- jaunty, I like to think. Until I slip on the animal fat, and flail my arms crazily, and mutter some dorky phrase, "oh goodness," recover quickly, and then lower my eyes to the walk to avoid a repeat incident.

But I'm grinning, inside and out. The grin is actually consuming me. I am going somewhere. I hop over curbs, I giggle, and titter, and sing songs to myself. Today: "out on my skateboard, the night is just hummin... blah, blah, blah... absolutely no one, no one but myself to blame.... don't worry! we're in no hurry!" I am thrilled and inspired. I know so many wonderful people.

Glances and babble and laughter over nothing, asking "how was your day?" and wanting to hear the answer. Why don't you see how important that is?

Will someone please call a surgeon who can crack my ribs and repair this broken heart that you deserted for better company? I can't accept that its over--I will block the door like a goalie tending the net in the third quarter in the tied game rivalry. So, just say how to make it right and I swear I'll do my best to comply. Tell me am I right to think that there could be nothing better than making you my bride and slowly growing old together?

Rushdie. I want to be his 21-year old mistress. more on that later.

Wonderfulish weekend. I'll blog at 330 or so when i wake up tomorrow.

badnight.
tears.
placebo.
everyyoueveryme.
7weekstilspringbreak.
iwannasleepallofthisaway.
causethere'snothingelsetodo.
everyoneiknowisunhappy.
maybeitstheenvironment.
disappointedpeopleclingingonto.
nothing.anything.everything.
there'sneverbeensomuchatstake.
andradiohead.
letdown.
iwishididn'tknowwhat'sbotheringme.

Bring it on, bi-otch.

So Tom, we want blogwars? dear heavens, it's beautiful. A beautiful, beautiful idea. But I mean, come on--me against Natale in Round 1? There is totally no way he can even compete--he's been out of training for over a month.

Jones, I need to talk money markets with you.

Re: Transferring money to a German account.

Euro/USD fluctuations. The USD has rebounded 4/1000 of a cent against the Euro over the past 5 days, and I'd like your Republican-opinion as to how much further the dollar can rebound by the 15th of May. Anything worth waiting for, if waiting past the end of February means my forfeiting 50 Euro? We'd have to gain about five cents over them, after making up the 7.8 cents they're currency over us. And gain/losses of that size rarely happen overnight.

What about the immediate impact of the US declaring war on Iraq on or soon after the 5th of February. Will the market go straight down for a bit? Because if it does, I have to transfer about $1500 to a German university by Tuesday night. Unless the USD is planning on trampling the Euro to death by mid-May.

*alas* I suppose it's going to wait, and refuse to rebound until after I've paid myself into debt through Freie Universität Berlin and University of Edinburgh fees. And the GBP is still gaining on the dollar.

On the other hand, I did purchase 100 GBP in postal orders in December...and have inadvertantly made $2 or so on that investment. ;-) *hurrah* Enough to buy three bags of candy at White Hen.

That is all.

Calls from the public:

Sifl: Caller, go ahead
Caller: Yeah...uh..in Florida
Olly: uh huh.
Caller: In florida...we had hamburgers...
Olly: Wow
Caller: We...we stayed in the hotel and we saw Mickey
Sifl: Ok, what's your question?
Caller: Why did those seagulls take my sister?