I wich I could dance at 21...

...but I don't want to wear the clothes. I was helping my neighbors dress for their night out clubbing tonight. Tight jeans, cleavage-bearing tops, and too much makeup would make for a very self-concious Jen. Too bad, I was dancing the hell out of the techno beats playing at the Beverly Center yesterday.

On another note, an H&M opened up in Pasadena. I just have one question: WHO'S COMING WITH ME?!?

PADRES!!!
They're going to the playoffs. That's all I have to say.

Last Night

I discovered that Joanna Newsom makes much more sense in person.

It helps that the Boston Museum of Fine Arts courtyard has an otherworldly weeping willow looming in one corner and other looming, luminous trees scaling the surrounding limestone walls, and that they lit the stage from below (as there was no roof) with the pink red purple light common to all indie concerts, because when she came on the stage with lemon and honey in a wine glass and her bangs grown out and hair flowing down behind her onto a similarly flowing dress, she looked like some nymph, druid, mystical creature taking her place behind the harp. It makes so much more sense to see all that and then hear her sing.

In other news, wouldn't you all think I was a lot kooler if I had a keytar?

Two things I learned today

1) How to use a macbook (because I have a brand new one!!)

2) My mom knows more about computers than your mom.

I learn slow. ly.

The anger and frustration that accompanied my meteorish landing in Cambridge have faded, a little, so that they're vaguely stuck like smoke in the air after one of those great Moonlight or La Jolla Cove bonfires that we used to fuel with anything we could find on the beach. And a shot or two of lighter fluid for good measure.

I miss my friends. I succumbed to this great and novel realization in trying to figure out where the rage was coming from. (Ah, introspection, the first step to a great blog entry, eh?) It always was a silly idea to me, to miss people, as I always felt I'd see them again, or could keep in touch by mail, email, and phone, and that distance and time were never any reason to despair. But this summer I was shocked by not really not being able to keep in touch while I was in Taiwan, and then, when my time at home was shrunk down to a day, I was shocked by the how limited the time felt, that I would have only three hours or a few minutes to sit and talk with the greatest people I know, and I was shocked by the pangs of disappointment when I realized there were many people I'd have to go another four months (hopefully not another year) without seeing. I always took it for granted that there'd be more nights at Hot Java or with chalk in the park or for midnight burritos or even for movies at the Highlands or for the concerts at the Che and elsewhere.

There won't be, though. The next great step in the realization is that there may never be. In the future, if I ever have the good luck of seeing these kids again, we won't be kids (at least, some won't), and the rendezvous will be tamed into lunches and coffee dates and drinks after work things in between our real lives, and always they'll be somewhere else--Seattle, New York, the Carolinas, wherever we may roam. People are astonishingly irreplaceable. Emails, blogs, letters, phone calls even-- they're insulting. But I guess it's all I've got. So it's time to sack up, and be quaint, and go write some letters. If nothing else, at least the recipients can ball up the paper and build a fire when it gets cold wherever they are.

Re-entry

I told someone today that I didn't even want to go to ultimate frisbee practice and he said, "Wow, something must really be wrong with you."

And there is. Since freshman fall I have not not wanted to play ultimate or throw if given the chance. But I arrived back at school late Thursday night, and went to practice on Friday and then two days of a tournament for which my poor excuse of a body was not ready by any means. Load jet lag onto general out-of-shapeness onto no longer being a rookie on a undermanned team, and you get a little Asian who's neither speedy nor fierce. I have been back at school for four entire days now (back in the States for five), and I'm still sitting here very uncomfortable with my new surroundings, the old atmosphere of Harvard, the absurdity that is college, and the terrible, big empty sadness that I find to be distinctly American.

I played a lot of ultimate this summer, and yet the tournament was a slap in the face--physically and mentally. Forget the physical part--I can get in shape, start running and lifting and swimming--but it's the mental attack that's astounding. I'd forgotten what it felt like to have the pressure, the strange reminders of the politics of an all-female team, the implicit expectations, the tacit understanding and acknowledgement that everything is a competition to be won, that we ought to be better, that we ought to have INTENSITY, yada yada yada. I played a lot of ultimate this summer, but it was all for love of the game. Playing for hours in rain and muck, or through ungodly humidity and sun, layouts and battle scars and the big guys getting pissed on bad plays or bad D--it was all intense, and some of it was really good playing, but none of it ever left a bitter taste. A bad point was a bad point but it carried no repercussions. Celebrations were never forced for the sake of team morale. It was good disc with no strings attached. There's so much bullshit to be caught up in here.

And it doesn't just apply to Ultimate. It's just the general college (or perhaps Harvard) view of things. Everything for the sake of image or impression, everything for the fear of results and repercussions. It's this general feeling of intensity to the point of unfocused frenzy--it's all very meaningless and I don't know what to do about it. Most likely nothing. Classes will start and maybe I can bury my nose in the books and tune out everything else.

Ewwwwww green and orange? Ew.

OKAY

We're switching to http://halfwhat.blogspot.com.

I hope. So...i'll give you til Friday to change your bookmarks and then we're switching! Get ready! On your mark! Get set!