You know you're not posting enough when you have trouble remembering your blogger password

A homeless-looking guy came up to me in westwood yesterday. I mean homeless-looking as in he had no teeth and smelled, because who can tell the difference between a hipster trying to look like he's homeless and someone who actually is homeless these days? He was carrying a tennis racket in his right hand and asked me "If you get hit in the head, can you get up?"

This is after I've been having really paranoid dreams about random people shooting at me. One of them was a clown and it was while he was getting off an elevator and I was planning on getting on. Almost comedic, I suppose. Anyways, this guy triggered all sorts of paranoia in my psyche and I end up being really direct with the guy, saying "you are NOT hitting in me in the head with that thing" and I ran off.

Honestly, being in LA, sometimes I feel like I just came off the bus from Kansas.

By the way, about the comic. It's completely unrelated to this post, but it made me laugh. I don't want you all thinking I'm a complete downer or anything. Any more Brian Regan fans out there?

Sharing. Is Caring.

Elvis Costello - My Aim is True
Mediocre Vocalist. Awful Cover. Great Album.

AAAAAAAllison, I know this world is killing yoooouuu
Oh, AAAAAAAAAlllison, my aim is true.

Plug.

Paul Curreri - Songs for Devon Sproule

Good man. Good album. Listen!

The Twilight is Falling Much Harder Tonight than Ever Before

I, like Douglas Adams, am a huge fan of towels. They are by far the most under-utilized utility known to modern man. Simple to obtain, simple to maintain, simple to replace if the need arises. They can clean up messes, be used as wrapping to protect les choses fragiles; they can be tied up to suspend, dry off pool water and tears, they can be used for makeshift warmth when you crowd around the bonfire after a day in the ocean. They don't complain; they take abuse well. Even if frayed and dirtied, you may still rinse them, wring them, hang them on a rack where they will drip until dry, and there's nothing left, and they are ready to be reused.

They promised rain

But the sky brought sun!

These are the things that give me illogical hope. It rained for a week without pause, and the forecast promised another week of the same. Yesterday, though, the sun came out, I turned in my paper, danced like an epileptic fool to the Blanks, and this morning, Annenberg served watermelon! It is funny how completely Annenberg can control the mood of the freshman class. They know that serving fresh fruit (pineapple! watermelon!), ice cream, and additions to the salad bar make us really happy, so they save it for reading period and finals period and parent visiting weekends. If deprivation leads to appreciation, I guess they gotta do what they gotta do.

"Stop looking; it's not pleasant"

During a rousing game of Apples to Apples a few nights ago with my roommates, roommate's sister and sister's friend, I was talking to Samy and he mentioned that he was reading about the Abu Ghraib Scandal. I took a look a look at Salon.com's coverage of it, and promptly became a rather depressing addition to the game.

279 photos of despicable, disgusting, and utterly disheartening evidence of total disregard for human life. Conducted in the name of protecting my liberty and me. They held (hold?) prisoners there under suspicion of involvement in all sorts of bombings and conspiracies, and yet many of them were "ghost prisoners:" "whose imprisonment and death would not normally have been included in official prison records," and who may or may not have had roles in the crimes. Yes, I've heard that the MPs weren't given any orders but to "keep the prisoners awake;" yes, I've heard that they were "under unimaginable stress " and that they're not to blame. Yes, I've heard that they were "just a few bad apples." And if anyone thinks these statements are an excuse, they are despicable, too.

All this after my own mother has shown her bright and shining colors as a prejudiced American who believes that Muslims can have multiple wives and drape them in burkas while they stroke their beards and plan the destruction of all things good and pure.

And yet I can't bring myself to allow my terrified and constant sadness at the situation to decompose into anger. Forgive the Anne-Frankishness, but really, I like to think to myself that those specialists were deranged, mentally insane or unclear, actually under duress or at least so much stress that they were not acting in their right minds. I know that those specialists were at one point good to people in their lives; they have values, they are human, they had some logic turning in their heads that validated their actions in their view. I'd like to think they didn't knowingly hurt, kill, and humiliate. And my mother? My mother is not evil. My mother is not so irrational, not always; she cares about her family, she strives to be a good and virtuous person. And even if both of their systems of logic fall short of perfect or perfectly good, who am I to judge?

I don't know what to think or do about inhumanity as an American governmental standard or bigotry as a family sentiment. Maybe I should just give a shit and be articulate for once, create an argument as to why every American should see these photos and weep or why even Asian Americans should feel comfortable allowing Muslims into their homes and families, and share it with whatever powers that be.

But then again, who's going to listen? Whatever is going on in the Middle East, or anywhere else prisoners are being held, under American forces or otherwise, we'll only hear a little bit of it, 3 years and thousands of unnamed corpses later. And what good's an argument over guns and troops and government sanction? What good's an argument over your family's convictions?

Amazing.

I ran into a fire hydrant.

JEN'S ALIVE!!!

Haha, I don't know for how much longer though. I'm scared I have some sort of encephalitis or something that's attacking my cerebellum. I fell down for the second time from just nothing but my body being weird. That's right, that's the first place I go to: degenerative brain disorders. Not lack of sleep, not poor nutrition, but mad cow disease. Then again, when I found a lump in my throat, I was scared I had cancer. I'm crazy.

Worst thing is that the second fall was in a middle of a run. I had no phone to call someone to get me. So I had to run home with blood running down own both my legs from my knees. It was probably a very bizarre image.

Going back to crazy, no old men have hit on me lately, but a younger guy did last week at the free clinic. I know, I know, not NEARLY as weird as an old dude, but the guy TRIED to look like an old dude by growing a ratty little mustache. Yeah, you're right, it's a lame story. Um, I saw a strange girl's nipples when she flashed me and Joe as he was driving me home. But I think she was more hitting on him then me, so that's doesn't count either. Okay fine, no interesting people hitting on me stories right now, but that should probably be a good thing.

P.S. I love that Milhouse clip you posted leeann.

I'm sorry!!!! I have some ridiculous pictures that I may think about posting. I've been crazy busy lately. Mostly becuase I've been keeping myself busy. One of my bestest friends just had her 21st birthday and the party was crazy. When I'm not studying for finals I'll post at least one picture so you guys can see how we do it at State :). We went to a club downtown, which is the first time I've been down there and it was soooo much fun. Tonight I went to the Padres game (baseball news!) and the Padres won! That's their 9th straight win, pretty darn good! It was a little weird, but I guess it always is kinda weird hanging out with someone for the first time after you break up. There! Now you're updated. I'm done with finals one week from tomorrow and my Jenna gets back two days after that! Why isn't Lindsey back yet?!?! :(

I'll try to post more next week. Alright, Jen- GO!

JEN AND JULI ARE YOU DEAD?

Post because:

1. West Coast news is the best kind of news.
2. Reading my posts is not fun for me.
3. I'm boring .
4. I'm sure Jen has good stories about old men hitting on her.
5. I'm boring.
6. I'm sure Juli has fun party pictures and lots to say about baseball.
7. I'm boring.
8. Lindsey's saying all she has to say on her other blog.
6. I'm boring.
7. The Half What contributors list names four!
8. I'm really pretty boring.
9. I need to think about something other than frisbee.
10. You are cool. And I'm so damn boring.

Back to the Future

As an addendum to my previous statement, I learned this weekend that there IS a future in sport ...when you're sitting on a sideline.

At half of an incredible game by the Harvard men (Regionals Champions, on the way to Nationals for the second year in a row), I went to watch the womens finals between Darthmouth and Tufts.

My coach looked over at me and said,
"Three more years, LeeAnn."
"What?"
"Three more years and you'll be in this game."

I just smiled and sighed. We were knocked out on the first day of the tournament, losing to Yale and Vermont. I played a few points, but as a rookie mostly watched from the sideline as the veterans failed to meet their own expectations and we as a team failed to hold our seed. We weren't expecting to win a bid to nationals, but we wanted, expected, and with harder running and at times a different attitude, could have earned a second day, which would have meant three wins instead of two. There were a lot of tears, and not of joy or relief. There was just too much sadness on the field.

And then for hours afterward, all we had was talk about the future. Saturday was over, and what we could do but watch the other teams and try to figure out what stood between us and them? A bigger roster, a better mental game, a consistent warm-up routine that wakes and pumps us up, a different mentality toward risk-taking, good dumps, and at this point? Something that always reminds us how much fun ultimate is. The point and a half I played in the Yale game, I was up on my toes defending a girl with a gemini tattoo on her neck; I didn't bite when I knew she was faking, I beat her to the dump cut she was supposed to make, didn't bite again when she faked again, beat her again to the dump cut she was supposed to make, and I saw her get frustrated. Then I think there was a turn, and I remember running upfield and thinking, damn... this is fun!

Granted, it's easier for me to go out on the field, nothing on my shoulders, only one point to think about, and have fun running around and beating my girl, but what happened to that feeling of being exhilirated instead of frightened of what the next point might bring? Instead of dreading fucking up, why not get pumped to lay out? I'm sure I'll feel differently when I'm a senior or a first-year grad, banking on a bid to nationals, playing my last tournament ever... but I hope that even then I'll be psyched to go up against whoever the current superstars are, and be psyched to get a layout D (have yet to do that) or go deep for Nina or watch Lucy pump us up with pom poms. I hope all of the rookies this year will come back to play. I hope some scoped current freshmen will come play as sophomores. I think with enough coercing and personal favors, some of these things will happen...

Another odd thing I noticed--less to do with playing ultimate than being a part of an ultimate community, was the pervasion of ultimate couples. On day two, I tried to find myself a place on the sideline, somewhere between Kolthammer and Lucy, Mack and McDunks, Katie and Sam, and Jefe and McCrazy's flirtations; keep in mind that Harvard Men's (regionals champs!) coach Josh McCarthy and Tufts Women's (regionals runner ups!) coach Sangwha Hong (?) are also married. I not only felt young and short-- but a little pathetic playing with a disc by myself.

Anyhow, on to the nearer future: this summer, I'll be in Taiwan studying at National Taiwan Normal University and I've contacted the Taipei team (Renegade) about playing. It looks to be fun and probably low key as they only practice once a week and sometimes meet up a second time. One of the coordinators is a former captain of the Stanford men's team, though many of the players probably have just about as much experience as I do, and I know I've still a lot to learn, so I'm looking forward to it.

And that's all. The weekend's over.

Time to turn my attention to my nearest future: FINALS.

They can't take that away from me

The great thing about sport is that there isn't a future and there isn't a past-- it's this point, this race, this finish, this layout. It's immediate. You can talk as much as you want about the mistakes you've made, but it really comes down to what you're doing now. It's how I've always wanted to live-- from muddy catch to fierce D and back.

I'm not good with initiative. I'm not good with consequences. It leaves me here in this place, relieved after a shower and proud of my bloody knees, knowing that no one is thinking about how or whether I will play Saturday, no one cares how I played in the fall, knowing that even today's practice won't matter in a half hour when I'm working on my physics problem set.