So... this is kind of late but, HAPPY 21st B-DAY AVALON AND STEVE!!!!!!!!! I hope this week(end) has been awesome for you guys so far. Well I dont hope... I know, because I just spent it with you guys.

Bullocks!

Jane Monheit at the Berklee Performance Center on December 9... $26!

Absolutely ridiculous.

Running in Boston

Made me remember this.

And so it begins... (v. 5.0)

It seems that every time I celebrate a return to running, I end up wrapped in my towel, face still a deep sanguine (I was looking for a word that evoked the image of dark pink fleshy meat) color, hair dripping from a shower that couldn't get cold enough--blogging. What an awful sentence that was. I'm sure some literary titan or Expos preceptor could analyze the hell out of a stupid, simply poorly constructed sentence like that. Something about the anticipation of the action being intensified by the passive nature of the description and the parenthetical comment revealing the narrator's ... oh to flaming hell with literary analysis. For serious. For love of all things serious.

So today I ran in Cambridge around the Charles. I felt strong. The cold air held me like sashimi in a bed of ice, and it wasn't until I stopped moving that I felt my face flush that familiar color which would make everyone ask if I was okay. The entire run was basically flat. I was wearing long sleeves. I'll keep you updated.

Foliage

I took myself on a day trip to LA today.

6 hours of on and off driving, some traffic, some unprotected left-hand turns.
3 hours of waiting, 5 mins of talking to the (hot) consulate man.
1 hour of shopping at Amoeba, yielding no purchases.

On the bright side, I will have a visa in 45 days.

Oh please, EVERYONE's heard of THEM...

Everytime I keep thinking that I'm not as into music as a used to be due to my growing resentment towards the attitudes people take on music (fine, no one's heard of your new favorite post-modern ethereal 20-piece musical discovery... it doesn't make it good, it just makes you a douche), I find myself listening to 10 new cds all in one sitting. I have to listen to music when I wake up in the morning, when I study, when I go to sleep. As music scenes merge, divide, and fight, I just have to keep on listening...

What did you huck this weekend?

I went to Rhode Island this weekend for Brown's Huck a Hunk o' Burnin' Pumpkin Halloween Ultimate Frisbee Tournament. A mouthful, no?

I'm starting to feel that familiar concern again, that familiar obsession-- I once posted, way back in the heyday of our TPHS shared blogs, about a cross country race that involved buckets of rain, shoes of mud, and tons of steaming, pure adrenalin. I wrote about loving sport for that feeling of 125% exertion, vomit at the end of the race, running so that there are no regrets. I felt that today, when we lost a game to Columbia, whom we beat decisively just two weeks ago at Yale, whom we should have beaten today, and who fumbled stumbled bumbled their way to serving us our asses and egos today. I never was good at cross country, and I'm a long ways from being an ultimate player, but there was that frustration today, the depression that came from regret of dropping a good put, or not running down a huck, or not getting on defense fast enough and watching the other team score. It was depressing as hell to lose, but on second thought, knowing that I felt it at all was refreshing. Sport is instant pleasure: play hard, feel good. Hot damn diggity, dear Halfwhat readers, in this post I profess my love for ultimate frisbee and the swift, skilled people who play it. How terribly silly.

VIVA LE SPORT!

Juli says the best cure for hangovers are waffles, Sgt. Pepper's, closed blinds, and sleep.

I am inclined to agree.

A Simple Request

I would like somebody with a sweet digital SLR camera to take a sweet picture of me doing something sweet, like chasing a disc (and clearly getting to it), laying out or "saying NO!" or laying out.

That is all.

Just so you guys know...

I am working WAY hard to get all my work done before you I see you guys (Juli and Linds) on Thursday. All for you two! Be grateful.

Oh, I'm so excited!

Facebook whore

I'm turning into a facebook whore! Lindsey, Jen, and a couple Megans probably noticed all the crazy pictures I've put up. And if not, look at the pictures of you guys tagged by others. I'm sure you'll all hate me :)

So much more fun than accounting homework!

A friend thought she was cool the other day when she told me she didn't have time to read the newspaper that I spend so much time producing. I was thinking, but didn't say, that one can't not have time for current events, because the world still happens even when you're absorbed in yourself.

Nevertheless, she didn't have time to read about the Halloween parking situation in this crazy town, and when she got to her car this morning, she had two tickets.

Well she's lucky she didn't get towed. But it proves my point: those who don't have time for current events get screwed by them.

(vote)

Yesterday was a holiday. And though I didn't deserve the free time, I gave myself a whole day of it. I had a big leisurely breakfast with friends, I did nothing, I lazed around in my pjs, I napped. Then, of course, I went out -- got dressed in my saloon girl finery, put on tons of makeup, curled my hair. The night was good I suppose, full of fragmented fun with many different friends and aquaintances in different places, walking around long after my feet started hurting from my high-heels and fishnets. I fell asleep on a friend's bed while the whole group of them were still talking and laughing in the next room.

Today is Sunday. And I have to get some work done. No more Halloween or holiday for me.

I did return home this morning to a heavy birthday bag that had appeared on my chair. (Thank you, darling)

You've got the music in you. So what?

Yesterday, I saw my first snow. I didn't get to tell anybody that.

Big wet chunks feathery ice floating-- rain parading in furs. From the fourth floor of a building the air is filled, you feel as though there should not be space for you if you go outside, or that it ought to bear you up if you were to jump into it.

Everything was gently capped white.

Today you wouldn't know it: it's 65 degrees and sunny, all the white gone. Only puddles (which could have been anything but snow) and my memory--and I've found that that memory doesn't mean much. I walked along the Charles this morning, slow, dragging my feet (probably hoping for someone to come save me), and watched the nightmare perfect New England scene and tried to feel enchantment again, and I couldn't conjure anything up. [They say, or I've heard, that it is technically true that one cannot recall the sensation of pain, one may remember feeling hurt, but not be able to actually feel the feeling again. (This is why women continue having babies.)]

So I just listened to the New Radicals and I just want to believe them. But love is saying difficult things. That's what I always tell myself when my feet are weak, when I find bruises on my hands and head and legs and arms and remember later how they got there: this is hard, and it is worth it. It must be. Saying exactly what one means is a difficult thing; an academic pursuit of a supreme and infallible ability to discern, elucidate, articulate, communicate-- To be accurate. To be right. To be truthful. To be wise. To act just. Will just thinking harder allow me to understand and resolve? I don't know how things can happen-- brain function, music and literature, language acquisition. I get the feeling that thinking harder won't do the trick. I don't know if this has to do with law (Is this right?) if thing A happens then B must be true. If B is true, C is invalid. Can it be? Sleep. Drink. Eat. Procrastinate.

Drunk Dialing

Don't you hate it when one of your friends calls you totally drunk and keeps slurring about all this stuff that's gone on so far tonight? Hahahaha- I love it :)

You're the best Lindsey! Can't wait to see you in like 5 days! LeeAnn, you should come to LA too... the rest of Half What will be there =D

I love my room arrangements!

The combination of my inclination to rise early, my roommate's inclination to have her boyfriend over or to be over at her boyfriend's, and the necessary placement of my desk outside my room due to its size just resulted in a delightful scenario.

Maybe bittersweet is the term i'm looking for.

Bittersweet.

Turn Turn Turn

I wish I was better at changing. Rather, dealing with change.

My parents have always said, even as a baby, I have a tough time with change -- diaper changes, baths, changes in location -- and today it still rings true. I've almost gotten used to the ever-changing college world I live in, the constant class changes, the frequent moves, but I constantly struggle with the changing dynamics among things that are close to me -- my friends, my boyfriends, my occupations. Maybe no one's really good at these difficult decisions, but I wish I was more positive about the opportunity for change. I usually end up appreciating them after they're over. It's easy to see what doors opened a few weeks or months down the road, but in the midst, all I see is a closed door.

Reguardless, what happens, happens, right? What's done is done?

The U-T Story
The U-T Editorial by Logan Jenkins
The Editorial by Marsha Sutton

Everything will Change (Ooh)

I have a newfound appreciation for this song (The Postal Service - Brand New Colony) and its nintendo intro. Mostly for the nintendo intro.

Oh, I've been keeping up with the news. I am the news.

I wanted study diligently for a midterm I have on Friday when I returned home from work this evening, but instead I found myself absorbed in research for an article i'm doing tomorrow on National Take Affirmative Action Day. It will be my third article of the week. I love editing, I love writing, and reporting... but each day the newspaper sucks away my focus, my ability to form coherant sentences, and my ability to read. I have two overdue response papers to write, a 2-3 page essay, and a Spanish test to study for. This could be a problem.

Just Call Me Captain Backfire

I'm listening to John Mayer's Stupid Mouth and thinking of high school.

I hope you all have been keeping up with the news!

Cambridge

Last week, Cambridge flirted with us: she was beautiful: precocious trees blushing and burning and frisky in brisk air, the sky blue and stuck with pearled clouds, clotted paint, and the wind perpetually moving, blowing, so that you can never smell the smoke when you walk by another bundled pedestrian with a jeweled, glowing cigarette in his hand. It was one of those quaint New England nightmare perfect scenes (and thanks to my short fiction class, I have learned that with Lizzie Bordon and Chappaquiddick and John Cheever to its name, New England is full of nightmares).

I recently read a piece of short fiction that described a man this way: "He looked like a veteran of middle-age and wore the trappings of his compromised taste in fashion like battle scars: short-cuffed pants and creepy Italian leather sandals." I liked the phrase immensely: "his compromised taste in fashion." A compromise forced upon him by middle age; his clothes the trappings of age, can you imagine?

Now, Cambridge is dark and gusty, blustering with fury because Wilma upset her, and now the precocious trees have lost their pretty leaves, which are extinguished, flattened, plastered wet to the ground. The last thing I read was Joyce Carol Oates's Black Water, a novella loosely based on Ted Kennedy's adventure in Chappaquiddick. I use "adventure" in that stupid ironic sense, since he killed a young woman. Oates writes like a record whose grooves are all wrong and keep leading you back to the same point, or more accurately perhaps, a terrifying funhouse with all of her banal and overused themes reflecting back and repeating and never relenting and only because of their oppressive repetition are they made terrifying.

I have a headache (I think I thought it up, because I was fine 20 minutes ago), and it's not piercing, thank goodness, just a hard, tumic sensation. It's been growing for a while; I hope it's not a caffeine dependence. I feel like the end of the beginning is coming soon, and I have no conclusions about college life--all I know is that it's cold, windy, I've got a paper to write and things to read, and I haven't smiled in a long time.

The rain and gloom have begun. Like an itch that won't go away, it is not so much actively annoying, as it is subtly, disruptively annoying.

I like the rain. I liked taking a nap this afternoon to get out of the cold. I liked curling up on my couch with a blanket and some reading. I liked listening to my upstairs neighbors have rainy-day sex on a squeaky bed. I like that it reminds me of the depressing winter and spring...

Oh wait. I mean, I like that I get all wet and cold when riding my bike.

Wishing for sun...

I'm back on the board!

I realized that I didn't have a post on this page anymore, and that's just not right. I don't wanna get kicked off... again...

Okay, so life's cool. My apt has to meet with our landlord about that party we had on friday for my b-day (which wasn't even very loud or crazy, because that's not how I roll), but hopefully we'll just get yelled at and nothing more. What lame neigherbors I have...

After that, on Saturday I went home to go out to dinner with my parents and celebrate with them. The most notable thing to come out of that is that I drove to San Diego and back all by myself for the first time! And it wasn't even that bad! Kudos to me.

I don't like people asking me about my love life, especially if it's just to tell me that they've found someone... so I'll just say it. No, a love life does not exist for me. Yes, I am still single, and I have no plans on changing that, I have trouble enough holding onto my friends.

Now that i'm uber involved at the newspaper, all my friends and their friends and their friends call me to get publicity for their events, clubs, projects, etc. Do I look like free advertising?

I was late on LeeAnn's bday, I can be late on Jen's too. HAPPY BIRTHDAY JEN! So there.

Juli, you don't appear to belong in Half What -- the rest of us have October birthdays.

And now she's 20!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MISS JEN FENG!
I hope you have an amazing party on Friday. I shall see you when I come to LA November 3 (I hope)!

I'm that editor I hated freshman and sophomore year. The one who changes my story to the point that it's barely recognizeable. The one that calls me five times to check facts, and jokes with the other editors while i'm sitting there waiting and when I leave. I'm the editor that runs out to get Freebirds for dinner and can't remember my name.

The point is, that i'm an editor. And the little reporter whose story I read today told me I was a lot nicer than any of the editors she's worked with before. I'm ready for more.


PS HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEEANN (a bit late...) Let's all wish her a big Boston birthday! :-)

Boston, Rejoice!

The Boston skies have broken! The steel shell of rain and wind yields to the glorious winds, which blow so as to make our Goldfish plant Hagrid fall off the sill! And the Sun! It shines on Boston today!

At 11:00 AM, Boston, MA was experiencing fair weather at 58°F, wind was west at 23 mph, gusts up to 43 mph.

She's 20!

Happy Birthday to the most amazingly awesomely sexy cool girl I know! ;)

Linz- I hope you have a terrific birthday and get tons of awesome presents and everything you ever wanted. Love youuuuu!

I'm eating a really good apple. I mean really good. It's organic and it was really dirty when I bought it, but now it's clean and sweet and juicy and amazing. I'm never buying my apples from the supermarket again.

Tomorrow feels a little better, because in today's paper there was a little birthday box for me featuring a bad picture and a funny message. It's the little things, like birthday fill, amazing apples, a check for $2.98 in the mail and...evil sailing teachers?

For the first year ever i'm not looking foward to my birthday. Not because i'm turning 20, old, and that's a bit scary, but because i'm expecting too much. As a 20-year-old, I feel like I should have a semi-perfect, well-put-together life and be sure about my friends, the guy i'm dating, my career path, my living situation, my classes, and the place I decide to spend the special day, but i'm just not. I'm fighting the urge to forget about everything and run home to my mommy and daddy this weekend and spend a reliable birthday in the bosom of my family. Instead, i'm going on a retreat. I'll be in nature which is perfect, but there's also nowhere to run and nowhere to hide should I find myself unsatisfied. A Saturday birthday has the potential to be amazing...it also has the potential to be much less. Happy 20th?

Alice Munro, you whore!

I didn't realize how long it had been since I posted... until I had a paper to write.

In the past few days, I have dug myself into an academic euphoria; I've steeped myself in Cartesian linguistic theory while discovering the string quartets of Heitor Villa Lobos, sifted through the chalk diagrams and explanations of neuronal activity, and, rolled in cigarette smoke (not my own) while discussing short fiction. I have become overexcited about all of the things I do not know; I cannot wait to read Hauser's The Evolution of Communication, or Anderson's Doctor Dolittle's Delusion, or more papers about the neurophysiology of language acquisition... and yet, I think about writing the essay due tomorrow about Alice Munro's "A Wilderness Station" and I don't know what to do.

I am terrified of writing this essay. I have written close reading essays at least four times in my life that I can remember, and some of those incidences were under timed conditions. I am terrified and psyched out and do not know how to begin. I would rather read now than write, rather drill French grammar, or tag and shelve library books, I would rather do anything than exercise the creative aspect of my language ability.

BLaaslkdhENVXNKCJHfda!

I just went on facebook to confirm a friend, checked all of my emails (at least once), checked the social analysis 34 discussion board, and typed in all of the tracks of the CD I am burning.

NBLADfjskhACI#!

My fish is dying.
All my roommates are asleep.
I have about 1,000 things to do today/this week.
My room needs a good cleaning.
I'm thinking about dropping a class.

It's Monday morning. When the world is dead when you don't know how you're going to make it through the week when you're turning 20 on Saturday...oh, it's Monday.

Studying abroad is not for the unmotivated. I have about 50 pages of materials to read, 20 pages of forms to fill out, and about 25 various pieces of information to gather before I apply for my visa. In person. In LA. On a weekday before noon (a Thursday?). Can I come visit anyone while i'm there?

Exactly 90 days from today I will be on a plane bound for Sevilla.

In slightly more current news, I bought a halloween costume today. It's red and lacy and...it looks as if i'm going to be like all the other sluts in I.V. this year. On the one hand, Juli will be happy because i'm being a girl this year. On the other hand, I think I need to get over to the craft store and buy some black lace in an effort to cover myself up a bit. Ha. Black lace. Cover.

lump of coal

Like a child on Christmas, every morning for the past week I have run outside to collect my newspaper from the door mat. And every morning, save two, it hasn't been there.

Either someone is deliberately depriving me of my daily current events, or I am being continually overlooked. I've called twice, and I just laugh as they credit my account for the papers I haven't recieved. The overall quality of the paper is not worth my aggrevation, so I will laugh each morning til they finally bring it. And I will sit alone with my bowl of cereal wishing I had something gray and black to read.

Earl Grey's Essay-writing Prowess

Last night, I had 20 oz. of Tsa something Chai tea at approximately 8:30 p.m. and was infused with the tense alertness that is caffeination until 1 a.m., when I allowed the buzz to fade into sleep. Now, I realize that the little cup of Earl Grey tea I spilled and then drank at breakfast is seeping through my muscles, but, zut alors, I am also infused with the nervousness that writingtwoessaysbeforenoononefortheadvocatecompandoneformyfirstexpositorywritingessay-ation. I have to focus. I have to fucosc. I ahve ot haifous.

Week 2 and i'm already skipping classes. This needs to stop.

Meet my roommates

Meet my roomates (from left to right): Robbie and Alex (who share the other bedroom), and Yumi (who I share a room with). I haven't spent that much time with Yumi and Robbie casue they are really invovled with this Asian theatre group on campus, but Alex is around a lot and we watch lots of TV together.

It's really strange living in an apartment now. School seems to distant from me now. It's like I have my life here, and classes are just a small interruption in the day. This is not a good thing, because school seems so far away that school work is like this odd dream instead of an obligation.

I leave you all on this note:

Who's going to Spain?

I'm going to Spain. Now it's time to freak out.

What an amazing New Year's gift. (It's Rosh Hashanah)

Angel

Cell phones bring across thousands of miles: a confrontation; a problem to face; a bigger person to be.

I am listening to Jeff Buckley instead.

Presenting Oscar

Product of the Ceramic Department's semester event: CLAY ALL NIGHT! Doors open from 8 pm to 1 am. Unfortunately, Oscar wasn't fired, so in reality he will crumble soon; on Halfwhat, he will live forever.

There have been many moments in the past few months where i've stopped, taken a step back, and wondered, "Is this really happening?" Most of the time it is really happening, and most of the time I determine that it was bound to happen that way. Like a few months ago when I was tipsy-stumbling-home-late and recieved two calls from two people who don't call often. Or when I found myself sipping-a-beer-talking-late with a longtime crush. Of course these things happen.

And then there was this morning, when I was groggy-easing-into-a-street-parking-space and suddenly heard myself scream as a car from nowhere slammed into me. My front bumper has seen better days and I can't for the life of me find those hazy, misplaced memories. Of course...these things happen.

And they cost my whole summer income to fix.

But as they say, at least i'm okay.

Lately it just seems like the world is coming to an end. With the hurricanes, crazy thunderstorms, and fires in California I just don't know what to think. And seriously, what is with this HOT weather. Anyway, I hope LA isn't too smokey although it seems like the fires are a ways north of you guys. And I hope the first week of school is going well for all!

Thundercats!

It is raining too hard for me to want to go to my section.

Tonight, I am going to find out my work schedule at the Eda Kuhn Loeb Music Library, and if I am up to it, find out what I have to do to get on the radio. Wazow, bam, boom!

This is the birthday card I turned in as the first assignment of my Advocate design comp.

The past two days has been uncommonly hot in Santa Barbara...hotter than it was all summer. Perhaps the weather is a metaphor for my life, or perhaps it's punnishing the powers that be for starting classes now, rather than a month from now.

I'll be the first to admit i'm still on summer mode. I haven't been home one night this week and I haven't gone to sleep before 2. I have, however, been to all my classes, and I have written two articles. Think I can hold out?

The answer is no. I'm starting at the top and eliminating everything that takes time away from my studies, my journalism, and my beauty sleep. I'll start with work.

Champs

Padres = NL West Division Champions! They beat the Giants 9-1 tonight. Guess who got tickets to game 4 of the division playoffs before they're up for sale to the public? Damn right!

Playing Catch-up

I went onto out website and saw that there were like 5 new posts. So I thought that I should probably write something too because, you know, I don't want to be left out or anything. So I am living in my new apartment, which according to some of my friends is in the boonies, but I'm just across the street from Eric and Avalon, and they're so much cooler anyways. In case you're wondering, they're doing well and watching LOST dvds all the time. My apartment is crazy huge with a crazy huge balcony, and my new roommates are the nicest and most chill people ever. Our neighbors play music really loudly, like to the point where I can make out the words to the songs that they play. But that's cool because it doesn't really bother me, and it means that we get to be just as loud... party anyone? Basically for the past three days I've been running around trying to get back in touch with everyone I neglected to call over the summer to try and make up for the lack of communication. That's basically about it, but classes start over the next couple of days, so I'll be able to write about my awful (maybe great?) professors soon enough.

NL West

I just wanted you all to know that our San Diego Padres could win the NL West Pennant tonight if they beat the dirty SF Giants! For all of you who don't follow baseball, this is a very good thing and will send us into the playoffs. The Padres just have to win the game tonight or tomorrow or if they don't then they have to beat the Dodgers 2 games out of 3. They have an excellent chance! Playoff baseball here we come! Unfortunately this means the end of baseball season is quickly approaching and I will have to spend my nights some way other than watching baseball. Lord knows football doesn't even compare.

I'm going to the game tomorrow night so I'm secretly hoping the Pads lose tonight so I can see them clench! Of course, I wouldn't really be sad if they won. Anyway, I'll keep you guys updated on our team! Now back to real life and school.

Apparently Monday and Wednesday afternoons breed rambling, balding, slightly drunk professors who teach ephemeral, flighty, slightly uncommon subjects.

Professor Rhetoric stumbled into the room, dazedly saying, "It was summer like five minutes ago. Now i'm a teacher." He proceeded to tell us he doesn't know what rhetoric is. And finally he commended the Fourth Biggest Party School status UCSB has earned, promising we'd celebrate by getting drunk the last week of class...

Professor John Milton requires a final 6-12 page paper of "lucid prose" and assigned "too much reading to read" for the first week of class. He doesn't tolerate interpretive welfare and when asked a question about what the weekly commentaries he assigned entail, he said, "I don't know."

Off to class?

Jelly Bellies are fun!

So last night I got one hour of sleep and took a 6 hour nap today.
I'm thinking about not allowing annonymous comments anymore. I'd hate to cut off people who don't have blogger, but it's annoying to get annonymous comments! (even if most of us know who you are)

Today is David and Annie's 21st birthday. So happy birthday to you two!!! They're sooooo old. 21 is so exciting.

I really don't have anything to say. I told someone I'd call them tonight and then I didn't. I'm sorry for that. Today has been a little nuts. I still have some homework to do. My life is out of control lately.

What?

I just e-mailed Howard Zinn.

Cigarettes and Alcohol

Last night, I went to the comp meeting for Harvard's oldest publication, The Advocate, a literary magazine formerly edited and contributed to by the likes of Teddy Roosevelt, e.e. cummings, T.S. Eliot, and Norman Mailer, among many others.

The meeting was held in the upstairs room of 21 South Street, hardwood floor and dark wood moldings and bookshelves all the way around. Two long, wooden tables set up like the head tables at a ritual initiation: two martini glasses offered cigarettes, fat white candles burned down into themselves like shy people, mismatching wine glasses gathered in crowds around six bottles of red wine. Freshmen in Harvard gear kept uncomfortably to themselves and sophomores and underclassmen mingled with the board members that they knew, kids that were dressed in the same colors and tones, sulky, slouchy, cleanly shaved but growing out, black-framed glasses, tattooed backs, polo shirts and black tank tops, upstanding, dramatic, buzzed, reminiscent of all those people you know.

At Harvard, many publications and clubs involve a "comp," which, as I understand it, is short for "competition." It is part initiation, part training, part audition: every institution decides for itself how much of each part their own comp is. The six boards of the Advocate have comps of varying intensity: presentations, essays, submission and revenue solicitation, assignments. Some boards have two rounds of cuts.

I'm scared shitless. I need a glass of wine.

So we're using titles now?

I suddenly got really scared to go back to school. I had this nightmare a couple nights ago that most of the friends that I had made last year really hate me now. I'm not on the best terms with someone right now, and she's dating this guy who would obviously be on her side, and would convince all of his friends to do that same, and... man, I seriously thought I graduated from high school. Kind of funny how a lot of these people consider themselves really "liberal" and get angry when they hear of religious conservatives supporting something just because it's their party that came up with it. Irony's a great thing. But really, I should probably wait before I jump to conclusions...

...*jump*

Whoops, too late. I should be more careful.
In light of my new frustrations, I've put Blood Brothers back on my itunes, and I can't stop listening to their latest CD, Crimes. Let the crazed dancing around my room begin.

I went into Borders today for the first time since I started working at Barnes&Noble. Granted, I snuck in to use the bathroom, but that didn't stop me from looking around a bit. It's a nice store, i'll give it that, and the amendities of working there include proximity to campus, lax to no dress code, books and music, better parking, higher pay (I hear)... the list goes on. However, I do feel that their prices are slightly ridiculous, and their system of book organization is highly confusing and disorderly in comparison to B&N. I like the more sophisticated feel at B&N with the classical music, business casual, and intelligent, knowledgeable staff members (that's me). So in conclusion, I agree with what the someone that once told me B&N is for old people who are smart and love books while Borders is for the more hip generation of folks who dabble in books and music and make a lot of money at their cushy jeans and a t shirt-type jobs.

I'd consider working at Borders because i'm hip and down with convenience, but i'd buy a nice book over a CD any day, and if I have no choice but to go to a corporate book store when i'm old, i'll choose B&N.

Fall = Summer + 10

Classes don't start 'til tomorrow and already i'm filling in the hourly schedule in my day planner to make sure I can fit everything in. Fall is summer but worse. Add two more classes, another newspaper, more friends, Hillel, and various other commitments/activities and you get... me. Or what's left.

Presenting Dr. David H. Hubel

"The Faculty of Harvard University deserves my thanks for tolerating such a truculent colleague." -DHH

Rock on.

I got into the freshman seminar. I'm doing the happy dance.

Classes after 12 every day? Yes, please. Rock.

Perfect Weather

San Diego is having the most amazing weather ever right now. I'm listening to Something Corporate - The Formal Weather Pattern because it seemed appropriate. Piano solo! It's lightning and thundering like crazy. I love it, and I have so much homework to do, but I can't because the weather is AMAZING! Then it starts pouring for about 2 minutes and stops. I keep waiting for the power to go out because this is intense. I LOVE IT!!!!

It's funny, really. I'm so stubborn. I make up my mind that I don't like something and I convince myself that I really don't like it. Yet, when others form an opinion without giving something a chance I think they're so close-minded. After talking to Lindsey last night, I can easily see all my "flaws" and I know I shouldn't feel certain ways about stuff, but I think feeling those ways comes with being a girl. I can't change it!

*listening to Ashlee Simpson right now* (guilty pleasure)

I spent a perfect Saturday evening slightly buzzed at a random pool hall that used to be a movie theater in Pismo Beach.

Okay Juli, these are for you because you asked.

Haircuts%20of%20the%20Past%20and%20Present%20003.jpg
Haircuts%20of%20the%20Past%20and%20Present%20002.jpg

They're not very good, but I always feel awkward about taking pics of myself, like I feel really dorky doing it. So I just took two and this is what turned up.

Oh, and I get to see Thrice for free! UCLA has its benefits.

Like a pheonix ignition...

Ah... it's like going back in time...

Today I met Pavlo.

Now that I think about it, he could have been "Pavlov," which is a more familiar name, but I distinctly remember hearing "Pavlo." Pablo, with a V.

Pavlo and I went on a bookstores tour of Boston, which really meant a rare book shop near Dunkin' Donuts (I touched a book written by Galileo that was printed in... a very long time ago), the three-story Brattle Book Store which boasts a million books, and the book store of our tour guide Bob Marshall, an ex-Air Force pilot, current police inspector book collector who looked like a mole with his buzzed hair and wide, friendly nose of Ukrainian descent (his great-grandfather came from the Ukraine during the 1890s, and because he grandfather was to be a lawyer, they named him John Marshall, thus shaking off the 6 mile long name of his ancestors). Bob knew all of the policemen and city workers on the street; he stood up to the aggressive panhandlers, and he used lines like "Did you hurt yourself? You know, when you fell from heaven" on the girls who left the tour early. His heavy Boston accent prevented him from pronouncing words like "partnering" correctly, and he was about 5' 3". Altogether, an adorable man and a pleasant time.

Pavlo was born four days after Chernobyl, but the wind blew East, instead of West, (or West instead of East,) so he was spared. In the Ukrainian education system, students take 16-18 courses in a term, so it was a shock to go to an American style school in Switzerland in 10th grade, where he only took 6 or 7 courses, and more of a shock now to take only four. Pavlo wants to concentrate in Mechanical Engineering, and perhaps study abroad in Germany. He has pretty bad acne, glasses, and a sloping nose that seems to make sense when he tells you he likes to alpine ski. Blonde, tall, wears a belt high on his waist where it's meant to be--that's Pavlo, who told me, "Human beings are quite brittle."

A weekend at a beach house in Pismo with the newspaper staff.

I'll tell you about it on Sunday if i'm not indisposed.

Thank you, LeeAnn, for gracing us with your lovely, poetic tales of your new life in Boston. What's it like to be you?

Keep writing!

(do you have a new email address?)

It Came Down with the Rain

Today, I was sitting in a tea shop facing a dripping, thundering Massachusetts Avenue, the shower head of Boston was turning on and off and on again over people dripping with the sweat that comes with the humidity that lingers from 90 degree days, and I was drinking eight-treasure tea, and waiting for my Curious Monkey Wrap, and I had just finished my interview with Professor Hubel, who likes Bach, plays piano, is from Montreal, who doesn't think Boston's winter is cold, and spent a summer at the Salk Institute writing papers while wondering why he wasn't out on the beach instead, an interview to which I ran full speed down Quincy, through the Yard and up Prescott in five minutes from the Discussion with Faculty where the kids on my floor were discussing the idea of identity and change, to meet Hubel as he just began to open his door and welcome me in, an interview which supplemented my application for Professor Hubel's seminar on the Neurophysiology of Visual Perception, and I was staring out the window, The Wanderer in one hand and eight treasures in the other and such a daft smile on my face.

This is the best morning I've had in a long time.

So this might come off as completely pointless, but I have bangs now. I haven't had bangs since I grew them out along with my permed hair in 7th grade. I like them, it was time for a change. But my parents didn't even notice... maybe it wasn't that big of a change?

On a completely different note, I was talking to a friend of mine about guilty pleasures. It's led me to wanting to know everyone's guilty pleasures... so if you want to tell me yours, I might reveal mine to you. It'll be fun; it's kind of a cathartic experience. However, I feel it necessary to point out that I'm talking about music, I don't really want to know if whips and chains turn you on.

Haha, until I point out that I'm talking about music, that last paragraph sounds kind of dirty.

The editor of the newspaper where I intern took one look at me today and said, "You suddenly look grown up." I replied, "Well, i'm turning twenty in a couple months, that's pretty grown up." I shot a look at the managing editor, who's in her middle twenties, that said "I know i'm not grown up at all" and the office laughed.

This is a weird age, this middle-of-college, not a teenager, not married, not a full-fledged member of the workforce or the country age. I can vote but I can't drink or gamble, I pay bills but my parents still support me. I'm okay with that; and I can always pretend i'm more important than that list of nots.

While procrastinating my insanely insane amounts of work, I turned on the word verification thing for our posts so hopefully that will help. Sorry I've been slacking lately. School is just really intense this semester. I can barely keep up with all my work and sleep and a night of socializing per weekend along with posting on here! Excuses, excuses... but seriously, I don't know if I'm gonna make it through. I'm trying my bestest and seriously questioning my career as an accountant.

I have a sneaking suspicion that I have outgrown my fear of talking to people. People can be scary, and I still choke up every once and awhile, but I don't really dread it anymore. People are just people. I think four years and a summer of intense journalism has turned me into somewhat of a friendly person. Friendly? We'll see if that carries over bilingually. ¿Puedo ser elocuente en español también?

My goal for this post is to not complain about anything. Mind you, this is very hard, because I like to be sarcastic and it's very hard to not be whiny at the same time. Let's see how I do.

I think I'd like to be famous for a year, just to see what that kind of a life it's like. Go to a couple of Diddy's parties, maybe date an actor or a rock star to get that out of my system. Then I would stop and go back into obscurity and normal life before I become addicted to diets and plastic surgery. I don't know how I would achieve this though. I seriously doubt that there's a market out there for a science nerd who happens to listen to a lot of music and watch a lot of trashy TV. Who would watch "My So-Called Theory of Special Relativity?" Or listen to an album titled "Songs from a Particle Acclerator?" No one; therefore, the most attainable method is to find a genie's lamp and make that one of my wishes, the second wish being to have my life go back to normal (just in case you wanted to know, the third wish would be for more wishes... because I'm a cheat like that). Now that I have a plan, all I have to is wait.

Welcome to...

Is there a book called Dorm Life Sucks? As of the past... day, I wouldn't be able to write such a book, but maybe I should wait it out a bit before premature euphoria over the layout of my dorm. Common room, a spacious double, a spacious single, a good-sized single, and a painfully, inhumanely small double. Guess which I'm in?



(Back against the wall, closets to the right, bottom bunk mine!)

The two single rooms are going to the resident basketball star (6' 6" from Pennsylvania and fun) and the resident volleyball star (5' 11" from Kansas City and beautiful in the Courtney Hall sort of way). The good news is that next semester we agreed that the two squished in the double will trade for the singles.

Nothing more for now but that the shower spills to the bathroom floor and I take an ID picture that's going to haunt me for the rest of my life.

While I was making Barnes and Noble look beautiful after closing tonight, I came across an unfamiliar book that caught my eye: Dating Sucks. I have long found this statement to be true, and was excited to find some interesting advice/opinions on the subject. Feeling pretty good, I made my way from Self Help to Pregrancy and Childbirth and came across another book: Pregnancy Sucks.

Does it get any better? Or does life just suck?

A girl messaged me on facebook the other day. A freshman who is going to be living in the same room as I did last year. She sounded really enthusiastic about getting to UCLA ASAP, the message contained a lot of exclamation marks and her greeting and closing contained multiple syllables. "Hiiiiiiiiiieeeee Jen!!! I'm living in your old room next year!!! I can't wait to start up at school!! I hope to see you on campus!!! Byeeeeeeee!!!!!!" She proceeded to request me as a friend on facebook. It made me remember how restless I felt right before I left for school; I couldn't wait to shed myself from these people I called my friends and meet the people I was really meant to be friends with. Now don't think me heartless, I know most of my friends were thinking the exact same thing. And yet here I am, still in touch with most of my close friends from high school, still holding them closest to my heart, perhaps even closer than before. I thought that in going to college I was going to magically become a newer, better person with a completely new life, just like this girl seems to be thinking. I've realized that college is not this magical light at the end of the high school tunnel, but another stage of development; a stage which, like eveything else that involves change, is gradual. Also, perhaps more importantly, I've learned to make new friends, but keep the old still, cause it's the ones that stick around that are the most valuable.

Anyways, do I add this girl or not? It's like this choice between feeling weird and feeling mean.

P.S. Are we getting spam comments? Or are these actually real people?

The warm fuzzy feeling that I get from staying home alone on a Saturday night in order to rest and take care of business only lasts so long...it's 10:30, there's a rager going on outside, and I have run out of business to take care of.

In light of my crazy week, however, I think it's necessary to take this time for myself and feel like a loser.

One of the prosecutor's closing arguements was the quote, "That's really gonna hurt tomorrow." And when he wrote it on the board to impress its impact on the jury he had really bad handwriting, spelled tomorrow wrong, and only put one "n" in "gonna."

I'm going to regret this tomorrow. TAKE THAT, Mr. Lawyer.

(staying up late, that is)

I served on a jury this week. One of twelve in that little box you see in the movies, laughing and listening and dozing according to the lawyers' plans. I learned two things from the experience (if not a few more): 1) The American justice system is a completely unique and amazing concept. 2) I never want to go to court.

Well it's back to life tomorrow. No more 8:30 to 4:30 days with an hour and a half lunch for me. It's to the mini golf course tomorrow at nine, and who knows from there?

At the risk of sounding like a pop culture junkie, I caught part of the MTV awards show yesterday. The part where Dane Cook performed. And no one laughed. Really, there was complete silence. Maybe the jokes about shooting babies and guys who wear Superman shirts were in bad taste for that event, but I was laughing and knee slapping the whole time. I knew there was something wrong with those gosh darn celebrities! They have no sense of humor! But Dane took it all in stride and smiled the whole way because he knows he is a damn good looking guy, he's funny, and he's getting head no matter what. So this post (get it? post rhymes with toast? AHAHAHAHA!) is to you Dane.

Change?

Change? I'm emotionally frail, gingerly materialistic, and totally digging mary jane and loafer pumps, and dustbusters, and appreciating people, who after all these years, are still finding things to say to me. So go Marc Jacobs, Yves Saint Laurent, Black & Decker, and viewers like you.

And my k12 life is slowly dusting its way into bags and boxes and bags.

Now that Lindsey has brought the whole idea of change, it has caused me to think about how I've changed since school. Well no, that's a lie, I've actually been thinking about it a lot lately. I guess that's what I get for not being able to fall asleep until 5 am cause it's so damn hot. Plus, I'm at home on a Saturday night writing this piece that no one will ever read because they're too damn lazy to read anything longer than 5 lines, you figure out how busy I am. I know every year that I've been at college I've gone through some sort of identity crisis (you know, the standard emo "what the fuck is wrong with me?" thinking) and that I have had to deal with a lot of dumbasses... the worst kind of dumbasses too, like the ones who don't realize that they are dumbasses and mistake their stupidity for coolness. No, I don't enjoy spending my entire dinners listening to guys try to one up each other with their stories of the craziest thing they ever did with a knife with one ear and girls giggling about inside jokes and trash talk that isn't even that funny with the other (BIG shocker!). However, I have noticed throughout these past couple of years, that I have found people that I can count on no matter what, and I know that not a lot of people can say that. Also, in my great introverted reflection on the recent past I've remembered the kind of person I want to be... now I just have to make sure that I have a strong enough hold on that idea that I won't go through another period where I want to be like every other mall-loving-giggling-about-stupid-things-pretending-to-not-give-into-chauvanism-but-will-really-be-any-guy's-bitch-for-a-kiss-Family-Guy-loving person out there (*disclaimer: I actually really do like Family Guy, it's a really funny show, but for goodness sake people, don't make it your god).

Wow, talk about it being blunt 'n sassy day. And yes, it does feel good to whine. TAKE THAT BIOTCH!!!

Lately i've been liking things that I never thought I would like. I bought a pair of high heels, I wear nail polish, I wear skirts almost every day, beer and wine are growing on me, sushi with any kind of fish is good, it's fun to go crazy every once in awhile... Maybe it's good to be adventurous; I feel like i'm changing for the better. Yet even so, I look up at the personal crest I made senior year and most of the fundamental traits are still the same. What does that say? Good things, I guess.

I always felt lame on job apps or resumes when you're supposed to put your computer skills because I really don't have any extraordinary ones. Word? Everyone knows word. Powerpoint? We learned that in ninth grade. Well now friends, perhaps it's not extraordinary, but now I can put Excel. Today is data entry day in the exciting world of entry-level journalism and I am the star. At least i'm getting paid. That's right, three whole dollars more than I get for selling books and membership cards to the snobs and tourists of Santa Barbara.

Today is also blunt 'n sassy day.

I swear that I just took my SATs, and now I have to study for another standardized test?! The MCAT is like the same thing, except longer (8 hrs total, including a 1 hr lunch break), with essays, and I want it to die even more. I've been working on it all summer, and I'm not getting any better. Grr... back to the books...

I really like home.

When I was in high school I used to make excuses so I could stay in the house and laze around (that's my nerdy secret). My first two years of college I wished for those lazy days and nights, but there's just something about the dorms that's unwelcoming so I went out as much as possible. The first part of this summer was so busy I had no time to laze around my apartment, but that made me long for it even more. Now I have my free time, and it's glorious. If you need me, I'm at home.

What the "H" Cookie?!

This post entitled: Look What Harvard University Dining Services Sent Me (also known as: What the "H" Cookie Damn Fool Kind of School am I Getting Myself Into?)




I hope it's tasty. E-mail me your mailing address if you'd like some.

Countdown to ...

Places, places, places-- my summer's been defined by the roadmap of San Diego; if I was in a movie montage of me reminiscing about the Summer of 05, I'd be pushing colorful pins into Vista, San Marcos, Leucadia, Solana Beach, Encinitas, Clairemont, Hillcrest, and Downtown San Diego. I was no globetrotter, but I'd say that the cumulative number of hours spent sitting in traffic on the 5, 78, and 15 would add up to a trip to Europe. If only I could get frequent flier miles for filling up on gas.

I'm more than half-packed for Boston and I've got 16 slow, precious, molasses days left to endure in San Diego. With a little bit of luck, they will pass quicker than I can say "I miss burritos, the beach, and Manhattan Giant Pizza."

I'm barely a day back from a week vacation on a cruise trip, and already reality is harsher than I remember. It's sweeted by such things as promotions - i'm no longer just an intern and i'm getting paid — but unfortunately achievements and visions of success can't fill all voids and heal all wounds. Welcome home.

I think this works now.

I had a great weekend in Santa Barbara last weekend, Jenna came down during the week, and then this weekend I went up to Glendora (in LA) with Kel and Sam and went to Kel's cousin's bday party. It was so much fun and I was so full even when I went to bed. I got to meet all of Kel's high school friends, which was really cool. So I really can't complain about things going badly lately. Unfortunately, my 17 year old cat, Tina has been sick. My mom told me that she passed away last night. Even while many of you may be thinking "oh big deal, one of Juli's cats died," it is a big deal. I've had Tina forever and she was the most awesome cat ever. I'm really upset about it, but luckily things are going really well for me lately. So if you see me moping, you'll know why.

what is it with me attracting older (like WAY older) guys? this middle aged guy just emailed me asking me out to coffee...

...*sigh*...

Hooray for Lindsey and her fixing powers!

I'd post something interesting, but there's nothing to say...

I moved into my new apartment? That's sorta interesting.
And I went to Disneyland on Friday! Aaaaaand... I'm going to Santa Barbara next weekend.
Alright, that's definitely it.

I'm good at making myself cry.

I already told this story to people I know, but it's such a funny/creepy story that I have to record it. Alright, so I got hit on by an old man... like using a walker and wearing a straw hat old. Here's what happened:

Set-up: I went to Buffalo Exchange in Hillcrest to get new sunglasses and that place and Claire's at UTC are the only places that didn't carry only HUGE bug eye sunglasses (What's up with this trend, by the way? I have a small head! This doesn't work for me!) I was walking back to my car and waiting to cross the street. this old man walks up and I thought he was going to pass by, so I make way for him to be polite. Instead, he stops and begins to talk to me.

Him: You hungry?

At this point, I thought he thought I was homeless or something, and I didn't want him to give me money or food or something like that, so...

Me: Not really.
Him: You wanna go eat somewhere with me?
Me (getting weirded out at this point): Uh, no thanks, I actually have to be somewhere right now.
Him: I think you're really lovely. Those dimples just do it for me.
Me: (Awkwardly laughs and says nothing)
Him: So how old are you?
Me: Um... 19... (I was seriously considering lying and saying 16 so he'd think I was too young legally and leave me alone)
Him: Perfect!

The little white man flashed on the crosswalk light letting me cross, and I crossed the street.

Anyways, I've decided that I attract only REALLY weird guys and REALLY weird old men. Really now, what's up with this world?

But then again, if I eat peaches, maybe everything'll be peachy. And spiked watermelon? Then i'll be drunk. I don't have to resign myself to cynicism! Hell yes. But I still like oranges.

I think I should start eating oranges again.

My high school cynicism gradually vanished in my first year of college when I realized that I had friends and boys could like me, so I stopped eating oranges, the fruit of my former cynicism. I instead became a hardcore apple eater for a couple years, until just recently when i've relied more on grapes. Somewhere between the time I stopped eating apples and today, I realized that my high school cynicism has returned. I listened to "Wish I May" in honor of the occasion, and ate my first orange just now. Sweet, frangrant, and orange, but neverthelss bitter.

orange you glad?

i want to know what you think about death. what's your concept of it? do you even think about it ever? i'm serious, comment on this please.