A few Photos

I've been completely negligent in travel-posting, but for some reason I haven't felt any particular urge to take photos or otherwise document this experience. I think it's mostly because I'm in denial about being a tourist in the country where I was born. As suddenly as it was announced, so suddenly the Italy trip has been cancelled, so halfwhat readers will have to wait for tales of another European excursion.

Some photos that I took of Green Island and miscellaneous Taiwan hotspots.

Boats at the dock. These looked particularly shady and ready to sink. We hoped they were just for decoration.


A Goat on Green Island


The Green Island Memorial for Political Prisoners. Green Island used to be the KMT's
Alcatraz for locking up those who spoke or acted or thought against the government. This wasn't all that long ago; some of the names of currently prominent politicians, so on the wall of the memorial covered with names of past prisoners, these politicians' names shine from being rubbed over by tourists and admirers.

This was a sign outside the prison. I'm not sure why it says youth lost.


My cousin Steve looking at Goats on Green Island


In addition to goats, there are deer on Green Island. This is a deer having lunch.


After Green Island, we came back to the Eastern part of Taiwan, to "Ci Shang" or "On the Lake/Lakeside." We stayed near what was probably once a very pretty tourist attraction (as evidenced by the impressive photos of it in our hotel), but when we went out in the morning to take a looksee, it was broken down and in sad disrepair. There were uncared for animals, a horse that evidently had not had anything to drink or eat in a long time, his legs were covered in open sores and bleeding, a bunch of bleating goats, and I think there were supposed to be sheep somewhere. This is a statue of a lady whose story I've forgotten.

important decision

Do we want to renew our halfwhat domain, girls?

Where did all my roommates go?

I'm all alone. It's sad. And scary. Especially with my weird imagination. I end up locking myself in my room every night, just to put one more lock between me and the psycho murderer who will most definately break into my apartment. On the plus side, I have watermelon in my fridge. I love watermelon.

Oh yeah, a note to the frat boys across the street. NO, you don't party as hard as you think you do. You go to UCLA, 'nuff said. NO, you can't play bass well, so stop trying to play the bass line from that DFA1979 song, you're driving me nuts.

Me and Eric are going to Greece next summer. There, it's in print, now you can't back out Eric!

Now to eat some of that watermelon...

My boogers itch

I think I'm going to grunt more often to make myself seem tough. And high five. Not like Hankerchick high fives, but like MANLY high fives, followed by chest butts. Like Buff Indian Guy, who walks around with his arms out to the side even though he doesn't need to.

In San Diego for the weekend before summer school starts!!

Sorry for my leave of absence. It's just so hard to sit at a computer for 9 hours and then come home and sit at a computer. It's funny how tired sitting at a computer makes me, but I'm just worn out. The last four days have been especially long and trying. When three of my best girlfriends went off to Spain last semester I thought not being able to talk to someone you really wanted to was the worst thing in the world. Now I realize waiting plus not being able to talk to someone is the worst thing in a world without a doubt. Now add in not knowing what's going on, and that's how I was last night. I've missed out on friends' birthdays and dinners with friends all to just sit and wait, but I can't risk being somewhere where I can't hear my phone and hop in my car at a moments notice. So from now until I don't even know when, that's my life. Speaking of which my phone isn't within arms reach so I really must go.

*think good thoughts for bobby*

My heart feels all warm and fuzzy

I gave Eric the best belated b-day gift ever. Totally makes up for the fact that it's about 3 and a half months late. I gave him a comic book. I gave Joe a comic book for his b-day. Whoever's next, watch out.

Not really, I think it was just a coincidence. Besides, I gave Joe a Calvin and Hobbes book, Eric's present was much more emo than that. Hehehe.... emo....

killing trees in the meantime

In protest and in defiance to LeeAnn's claim that all the halfwhaters' fingers have been my claimed by gangrene or some freak accident involving margarita glasses, piranhas, and a lot of silly string, I decided to return from my leave of absence. My fingers are fine, thank you, if not a little tired. I'm still keeping up my travel blog, which has now become a "random thoughts while i'm bored at work" journal about reimmersion and the pointless differences between my two favorite countries.

Girls who haven't seen each other for a long time talk about weird things over dinner, sitting streetside in twilight Isla Vista. Namely paper toilet seat covers. Europe doesn't generally stock toilet paper or seat covers in their bathrooms, but back here in sanitary America I have recently become aware of a little seat cover trick. Apparently it is not necessary to take the extra three minutes to carefully punch out the middle, as the paper just dissolves on contact. I have officially become a voracious tree killer and paper seat cover user in response to this revalation. Thank you friends.

The trouble with summer

I can't sleep. This happens all the time during the summer. I stay up to the point where I'm too tired to get ready for bed, so I just stay up a little longer.

Now it's almost 3:30 in the morning and I'm not getting up early tommorrow like I wanted to.

In my defense, I had to read a couple of articles today for some research I'm going to start this week.

Then again, at 2 am I was playing sudoku and talking on aim.

Whatever, I'm jsut gonna blame the heat.

Then again, it's a lot cooler than it has been in the past.

I just can't win.

Slave of Duty

I've decided to begin facing this summer as if I am the average, bright-eyed bushy-tailed American college student out in big wide world for study and travel abroad. As an 11-day stay in Italy has just been tacked on to my summer itinerary, this should give Halfwhat some fodder, since, once again, my fellow bloggers appear to have been rendered incapable of posting because their fingers claimed by gangrene or some freak accident involving margarita glasses, piranhas, and a lot of silly string.

By nature, I'm perpetually bashful and afraid--I don't like to make a stir, I don't like to have public trouble, I hate to be late, and I don't like it when my answers don't fit in the squares or the choices provided on applications--and I can't quite decide which sort of foreign excursion would bring out the best in me: one in a country where I look like everyone else, can linguistically pretend to be a native as far as describing what I like to eat and where I'm going, and have family and friends scattered here and there; or one in a completely enchanting and novel place where I can't speak a word, look a tourist (four-fold, with my family at my side, and perhaps more on tours), and don't know what there is to eat or where I'm going. It's comfort versus curiosity, and I wonder which one I care more to satisfy.

In France, I believe I shared a tiny tale of watching five big Americans plop themselves down in a cafe near Notre Dame Cathedral and butcher the French language as the waiter replied to them in English. I know that the only thing that kept me going in Paris was being able to figure out the Metro system, reading the map, and having an elementary French vocabulary; at least "Pour aller au..." and the sense to say "s'il vous plait" and "merci" as often as possible. (Also, it probably also saved me to be able to say, "How much is all of this?" when I accidentally knocked over a basket of asparagus in a grocer's shop while I asked him how to get to the Funiculaire of Montmartre, which we didn't ride.)

I'm terrified of not knowing Italian, of being Taiwanese, and being in big groups of tourists. Apparently, trips in September are calmer than the overdrive months of June and July, but I know I still will be wrought with the guilt of being an intruder and an ear and eyesore. I guess I can comfort myself with the fact that I'll contribute to their economy both by buying things and probably by being robbed.

To pay some attention to the here and now, I have a test for which I am not prepared and an assignment to do which must be done now or never. It's rather ridiculous that even with only one class, I still seem to avoid devoting the proper amount of time to studying.

Traveloguer, I am not

Souperlindz, travel journaler extraordinaire, who kept us fed heartily with internationally flavored running commentary of her journeys through many countries and many months, should be congratulated for her work. I have been in Taiwan for almost two months and not produced a single substantial insight or quirky story.

I don't have as many pictures available as I would like, but I've discovered that the jarring sensation of stopping a moment to photograph it is becoming less and less appealing. The photos I have taken are on film (thanks, Norman!) and I am still anticipating getting back to the States to find that I have seven rolls of overexposed or poorly lit or generally awful photos. No matter, my cousin's friend Tomoo took some beautiful digital photos of our trip to Green Island that you might sink your teeth into.



A little over a week ago I went with my cousin, his girlfriend/fiancee-to-be, and his middle school friend Tomoo to Green Island (off the eastern coast of Taiwan) and Taitung (Taipei is "Tai North," Taitung is "Tai East). It was outrageously hot and I bought a correspondingly outrageous straw hat which I also wore under my scooter helmet throughout our one-day stay in Green Island.


Steve, Me, Jessica after sunrise on Green Island

This photo was taken as we left the vista from which we'd planned to photograph the sunrise on the morning we were to leave Green Island. We got up at 4:35 only to find as we arrived around 5:00 a.m. that there were already three groups of tourists there. The sunrise itself was a bit anti-climactic, as (mercifully) there were clouds off the coast, I suppose preparing the way for Mr. Bilis, who was supposed to hit Taiwan sometime in the next week.

Mr. Bilis turned out to be a fairly quiet typhoon. A little rain, a little wind, but no holiday or disaster. It's alright, we've got another one coming.

There's not much to report on the ultimate front, although I have learned much about diagonal stacks and ho stacks and catching swilly silly stuff and throwing IOs and OIs. I've been getting terrifically tan (or skin cancer, as some like to call it) and playing disc with a few more random frisbee-fetching vagabonds: a Bella Donna sophomore named Eyleen and Nancy Sun's little brother Jeff, a senior at Yale, as well as some more British, Costa Rican, and Hungarian pickups.

This trip has been bittersweet, but I have gotten used to the weather, and learned a bit about Chinese, family, boys and girls in their late 20s and early 30s, how Bob Dylan feels, Chinese medicine, stray dogs, riding buses, and choosing what to wear when it rains.

That's all from this side of the Pacific for now. My last two bits of wisdom: if you stick ginger in a cat's nose, it'll pee, and that pee can be used to drive out earwigs. Western doctors don't tell you these things!

Full grown.

Happy Birthday, Ray!

I'd post a funny picture of him, if only I was on my own computer.

Goals

Short-term Goals
- Fixing my Right Leg
- Boost Endurance
- Knowing/being able to figure out where my handlers want me to go
- Hops
- Less Falling. More Running.
- Every range of throw. Then developing the know-how for OI and IO.

Mid-range Goals
06-07 Season
- Recruiting a solid 18+ roster for Quasar 07-08.
- Top 5 College Regionals Showing with Quasar, 07.
- Not losing to Northeastern or BU or Yale. Like, ever. Beating MIT. Like, at least once.
- Lefty flick. Teehee.

Long-term Goals
- College Nationals with Quasar, 09.
- World Games 2009: Kao Hsiung, Taiwan

Forget it. I don't know how to write in English no more.

Alright, well that was an awful, disjointed, often grammatically incorrect post. In summary: I started playing on Friday and Sunday, am happy to be getting dirty, tired, sore, and bruised again, and will be playing like a 26-year-old, 6-foot tall man when I get back to Boston.

I'm keeping up alright, though I'm out of shape. My throws, honed on the hours in the Law School Quad, in front of the Science Center, and in the MAC Quad, still have a long way to go, but are progressively getting more accurate in scrimmage situations. Defense is a new game now. I think I may have to learn to effectively poach sooner or later (and conversely, learn to recognize it quickly when I'm being poached), and how to effectively call for help. I think I may have to learn to effectively... uh... well, mark.

I had some pretty good flow with the guys who didn't throw it miles over my head (and even some of those who did), but perhaps in a game I'll still only be good for a deep cut to the break. I guess I'll find out next week.

A rundown on the teammates I've met:

Geoff - Australian, in Taiwan for 3 years working for Industrial something or other, pretty fluent with the Australian accented Chinese. Muscular guy, my guess is late 20s, early 30s. Fun and a defensive badass, as Quasar might put it. Point blocked basically everybody at the first practice I went to.

Craig - American, in Taiwan for 2 years or so as a Kingergarten English teacher, knows only enough vocabulary to get around and not starve. Had a "Freakshow " Jersey on at practice (which, with some superficial Internet stalking, could either be Singapore or U. of Delaware). Handler. Calls the shots as he wants them.

Gerritt Something - Toronto..an, in Taiwan for I don't know how long, 32 years old. Well built, says "aboot," goes up for everything. Don't know much about him yet.

Erich the Swede - Swedish, been in Taiwan for a few months and staying in Taiwan for a few months longer, 30 ish. Experienced, bad knee and elbow and back. Handler. Looks like he could kick your ass in a military way.

Mikey - Mr. Nice Guy. An American in Taipei 10ish years. Past his prime but a fierce runner for 10 seconds at a time when he cares to be. A jolly little man with a round belly and a chipmunky smile. Eager to teach new players.

CK - From what I saw, a skinny kid who can do disc tricks and run fast. Don't really know much else.

Josh - VP of Dahon, makes folding bikes. Stanford Grad '90, former captain, last year playing with Stanford '92. Now 30 ish? Captain of the team. Big on teaching. Big on getting really pissed off when people don't work as hard as he does. "If you guys aren't going to f-cking run I'm taking a f-cking point."

Old Dan - 20 something studying Chinese Art History at National Taiwan University. Formerly of Rutgers.

New Dan - Junior-to-be studying Chinese for the summer at National Taiwan University. Currently of Case Western. An excellent cutter with good feet and a knack for getting into the endzone when on the receiving end of a dubious, almost in the endzone throw. Said he'd heard of Quasar (!).

Henry - Taiwan born, to America at 10, Johns Hopkins grad, back here for work. Into proving his machismo.

Morris - Taiwan born, Canadian grown, back here for work. Newbie and really sweetly naive about it.

Tina - "Peanut". Junior Wellesley Handler. Little girl with lots of spirit and little inclination to run. Also studying Chinese at Shi Da. Wants to start a womens team.

Steffi - Taiwanese 20 something, maybe early 30s working for Josh at Dahon. Fast and spunky.

I'm pooped and confused as to what language I'm thinking in. Better luck with this English thing next time.

Weird, huh?

The girl in picture isn't me. If you look close enough, you can tell. Still weird though, eh?

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.

And finally...

And a last update on what I've been doing: Harvard's going to Regionals!

Last year, Harvard slipped in after another team dropped out. This year we're legit. Sweet. Photos to come.

On the Heir

The illustrious Five-person Musical Orchestra

"The most glaring defect of the production, however, was the awkward relationship between the Agassiz, the orchestra and the singers. The five-person orchestra delivered very polished pieces, doing justice to Commins’ exceptionally inventive compositions. But because of the inconvenient shape of the stage, the orchestra had to be muffled backstage, making it very difficult for the actors to listen to it during the performance.

While Commins tried to improve the musical and acoustical aspect of the production by tailoring the songs to the vocal range of the actors and reducing the size of the orchestra, the lag between the singers and the ensemble was, at times, noticeable.

While professionalism and technical perfection were not expected from a production put together entirely by freshmen, the cast stimulated its audience by being consistently animated and engaging.

Overall experimentally delightful, the show was not only a stretch for the capacities of the production team, but also for the audience’s imagination. In the penultimate scene, the unsightly vulture (Simon J. Williams ’09) clambered onto the stage and it took a moment for me to decide whether it was real or just the protagonist’s hallucination.

There are few mistakes that a passionate kissing scene amid a full-cast dance number can’t redress. The closing number, “On the Air,” an anthem to short-lived fame and unrealized fortune, was so spectacular that I hardly cared whether the cast was singing in the correct key or knew the words to the glorious song. Whether the final scene was improvised or not, the audience’s thunderous applause was justifiably approving."

Swingin it!

The Ex-Friends: featuring "string virtuoso Ray Suen, 20"

Sectionals. But not really.

Unifying lessons of the past week:

I am not clutch.

Yale Cup

Unifying lessons of the past week and Yale Cup:

1. I am better at frisbee than I am at music.
2. I'm scary when I run.
3. I need more than four hours of sleep a night.
4. Nobody likes it when I'm snappy.
5. Colored leggings excite people.
6. Yale has a prettier campus than Harvard.
7. Harvard has a prettier city than Yale.

As that crazy Sartre put it

Unifying lessons of the past week and of Paradise Playoffs:

1. Take responsibility
2. Don't run your mouth.
3. Make time.
4. Have confidence.
5. Don't run your mouth.
6. Take responsibility.

Seven rookies, two rehabs, and the plague.

Don't you hate it when you bring shampoo bottles on a plane and then the air pressure gets all messed up and then when you open it shampoo starts gushing out and then when it's finally fixed the bottle is warped?

I do.

Sink Pair Sons

On March 28, my mother and I visited Notre Dame de Paris, where in 1572, King Charles IX manually nodded his sister's head in consent to marry Henri de Bourbon and in 1804 Napoleon Bonaparte crowned himself emperor as the indifferent Pope looked on. As we left the cathedral, looking to get some coffee at a local brasserie, it began to rain, and so we shuffled into a busy, tourist-y looking contraption called the "Quasimodo Cafe" or something to that awful effect. Not long after we sat at a table par deux, a man whom I might describe as a very large, fleshy egg, says to the waiter with his hand up, fingers splayed: "Sink pair sons, sill voo play."

Granted, I don't speak anything near perfect French, and the effort to speak a few words to the locals is something, if not admirable, but it seems to me that if this lumbering American with his quadruple chin and non-existent neck clearly cannot reproduce "cinq personnes, s'il vous plait," then the imitation seems more of an insult to the language and to the waiter, who can speak and understand English. It did not help my disheartened humor to see that the four following Sink Pair Sons were equally large, egg-shaped, and poly-chinned.

Meanwhile, at the Place de la Republique and the Place de la Bastille thousands of etudiants, lyceens and union workers were staging a manifestation against a proposed labor law less absolutely abominable and more hated due to the circumstances of its proposition. It's a grand tradition of revolution and demonstration That they have in France. My half-French, half-Chinese 32-year-old unemployed artist cousin was among the demonstrators, though not of the ones at the Republique who were sprayed with water cannons and tear gas, I don't think. He may live in a small Communist ville just outside Paris, but as he put it, "I happened upon it and how could I not get caught up? This is my generation." He went on to talk about how he hated the extreme indifference regarding politics and national and generational identity that he noticed growing up in San Diego. He didn't like the lack of citizenship, the lack of concern with community and courtesy; he didn't like the selfishness and gluttony that leads to egg-shaped people and people "falling out of their clothes."

I've suddenly become very concerned with the history of Marguerite de Valois (we read and watched La Reine Margot in class, and I lived in a hotel at 8 Place de Marguerite de Navarre, and we rode a boat named the "Isabelle Adjani," who played Marguerite in the 1994 film versionLa Reine Margot.) even though I suppose it does not concern me at all. I suppose France shouldn't concern me at all, but I am drawn to it for several reasons, not the least of which is that there are carrousels at every corner in the city, the way there are hot dog stands on every corner of New York City. It's the first time I've ever been interested in history, probably because I got a fictionalized, romanticized version of it first. No matter, another reason I like France is because all of its truths are just about as romantic as their fictions.

On another note, I just put my phone through the washing machine, so it's out of commission. After the number of times it's been accidentally dropped, emotionally thrown, and generally mistreated, I suppose the drowning put it out of its misery. It had a lot of good photos on it and 200 phone numbers on it, though. Crap. So e-mail me your number if you want me to have it. Merci bookoo.

So... I really like that new shakira song. The one with wyclef. Makes me want to shake my boo-TAY. Only in my room though, as the years have passed, my dance moves have only gotten worse. Trust me, I've gotten so awkward it's painful.

Edit: Just thought I'd put this in the same post, since it's only like an hour later. I just took one of those pointless quizzes abotu what american city you would be if you were to be an american city, and it told me that I'm los angeles. LOS ANGELES!! Never mind that's it's a little odd because I actually live in LA for most of the year, but also because I kind of think of it as the butthole of the west coast. Although I'm beginning to appreciate all that is encompassed in LA, mostly the food possibilities (I LOVE crepes!). Gosh, I'm a pig. But actually, I'm determined next quarter to get my roommate to get me out of westwood and all it's college glory and into other parts of LA, like little tokyo, chinatown, koreatown, and possibly other not-so-asian infused areas of LA (if she knows of any...those are really the only places I hear her talk of). Yes! I WILL become los angeles! Er... actually no, a lot of people I know who were raised in LA are a little off. And anyways, who takes those stupid quizzes seriously?

It is so freaking cold. Isn't spring break supposed to be warm? My first day back at school was a little challenging. Nothing wanted to go right yesterday. I'm hoping today goes better. Nothing new or exciting in San Diego. It was POURING last night. I don't get this weather. I miss the real San Diego!

Happy Birthday to my boyfriend! Even though he probably doesn't even read this anymore because I almost never post anything.

Aside from that nothing much to report. It's SPRING BREAK! I'm staying in San Diego. I have a couple appointments and an interview. It should be thrilling. :)

Love and Other Indoor Sports (Injuries)

Just as it's hard for me to diagnose, on a scale of 1 - 10, how bad my ankle feels, I find it's similarly hard for me to know how I feel about friend on friend action. That is, what to think when good friend XX pounces good friend XY; individually, I adore XX and XY, and think, well, together they will just be more to adore!

However the burden of experience makes it hard to be so lighthearted. Though together it is twice as sweet, the ending can accordingly be twice as bitter. Tiptoeing and sidestepping through broken relationships takes a toll on the soul, admittedly in a different way from the soul that's been broken. And while I usually can't bring myself ever to blame friends, I suppose when they're hurting other friends, I have to draw a line.

Kids, don't play games with each other, only sports. I can stand watching people limp off the field, but it's much harder to witness tearful phone calls, holes in walls and endless empty pints of Ben & Jerry's. I ain't got aircasts for broken hearts.

Layout to Layout

Layout (2001-2005): Tuesday night in room 115, nudging photos and copy into pica-perfect places, finishing stories, gathering sports scores, sending off 24 pages to be replicated 3000 times over.


Layout (2005-????): Hands out, feet up, body parallel to the ground, disc on the tips of the fingers, SCORE, D!

Help!

I do not know how to study physics.

So in high school, I coasted through subjects I was good at. Anything I had to think twice about, chances are I didn't. I never learned how to learn because I was too busy doing other things. I was never as much an academic as I made my ideal self out to be. And now? As a midterm approaches and I realize that my mind goes blank (or else Loch Lomond plays softly in the recesses of that great empty cavity) when asked what at what angle theta would an actor fall if he were swinging from above for a grande entrance by some apparatus involving a pulley, a massless rope, and a sandbag, I'm realizing that there are some old convictions of mine that are squatting on territory that I need to reclaim.

What I mean to say is hat I've always believed that there was always a way to do things myself. If I couldn't do it myself, if I couldn't do it by the deadline--I wouldn't do it at all. I never copied homework, I never dug study groups, I never asked questions. I believed I should theoretically have all the tools I needed, and if ever i didn't understand or couldn't pull through, it was because I hadn't worked hard enough or thought long enough or practiced enough. If I reached a limit, I didn't believe that external aid would get me anywhere--or if it could, it would be artificial.

This isn't really just an academic question; these old convictions are like landmines-- they're hidden everywhere, and often I find that they blow up in my face when I think I'm on my way up and out of these same old feelings of inescapable inferiority. What would it feel like to tell somebody about... What if I got someone's advice... What if I asked if... blam blam blam--nobody wants to hear your whining. SACK UP.

Hos before Bros

It's a strange revelation.
I always was a girl among boys--a little too vulgar, a little too rough to play nice with the girls. In 8th grade, every day I wore an extra large navy blue windbreaker and a red bandana no matter what the weather. My hair was cropped at the chin and I took pride in the fact that the residual strength from gymnastics meant I could hold my own whenever asked to lift things that everyone was convinced were bigger than I was. Then, I was a girl whose closest friends were all boys because it I happened to be the only girl who went to the high school every day for math class, and because I thought little of changing my clothes every day. But by 11th grade, I grew my hair out and dabbled in fashion sense, remembered that as a girl, skirts were a privilege. I still had my boys, if with complications, because we'd just known each other for so long. It was bros before hos for me; girls were too silly, too frivolous; they talked about boys and gossiped about each other and took an entire day to get ready for formal.


Now the boys are in North Carolina, upstate New York, and scattered throughout California. Now I'm living with girls, playing with girls, confiding in girls. And boys here? The ones who don't know your name only speak to you if they're interested in what's in your pants, and once they find that you're not interested in what's in theirs, the conversation's done, and the most you'll get later is a courtesy headnod. Girls are for petting, not for friendship. And if for friendship, a careful, ginger one, so as not to give either party ideas. I was always warned by those who cared to be more careful with the way I talked to people, especially with males, because I was so forward and so friendly with everyone. I never thought it was a problem. I was told I was naive because I didn't think anyone would be initiate conversation with it in the back of his mind that later he may be able to "tap that." But now I see that friendly with girls is nice, but friendly with boys is flirting; confiding in girls is expected, confiding in guys is flirting. Different rules for every game; I've just never believed in it because the guys I was closest with didn't think that way.

So now here I am with a penchant for curling my long hair and a resolution to be proceed cautiously with the opposite sex. I guess now I've got to stop trying to recreate the crew I had--it was all incidental that they were male, anyway--and get that no one's going to ignore the fact that I'm female because I have relatively large biceps for a little girl. It's loyalty for the girls and wariness of the boys.

In other news, my humble abode is becoming more colorful by the day. Boy, do I love sticky tack.

About to (hopefully) finish up a paper, but I thought I'd drop a note on the website. As I ws coming onto this website, this commercial came on with a song that I remember hearing at the gym on mtvU last year and I really wanted to hear it again, but never got around to it. Now, I want to hear that song again, but all I know about it is that it's a girl singing and there's piano in it. I'm brought back to a time when Debbie made me a mix cd with ths song "Snap" by Antique, in honor of my getting a cd player for my car. That stereo got stolen and along with that song, which I cannot find anywhere now. It's so frustrating when you know that you've lost a song. Like that Pete and Pete episode (bonus points if you know what I'm talking about...not to you Eric because you have the DVDs). I'm frustrated, and now, instead of working on that paper, I'm about to go find my lost song.

Bonnie, bonnie banks

If you live with me, near me, or have been within a forty foot radius of me while I'm doing physics in the wee hours of the morning in Leverett Dining Hall, you'll know that I've been living and breathing the song Shenandoah for weeks now. But after yesterday's C Minor Mass (One cheeky poster for the concert read: "Mozart never finished it, will we?"), I was struck with a different bug. A Scottish one.



So, if ye've never heard it, "Loch Lomond" is a beautiful Scottish folk song about wee birdies and bonnie banks and lost love and all that. Instead of thinking coherent thoughts for the last 48 hours, the song just plays over and over in my head. It must be some sort of defense mechanism against thinking--it seems that thinking, lately, has lead many close acquaintances, roommates, teammates, and the like into ethical, academic, emotional, romantic, and otherwise personal turmoil. Freshmen, seniors, and grad students alike seem caught on so many little snags, and it's easy to get caught up in them myself, become catty or callous or crushed myself, I suppose singing a Scottish ditty is as good a defense as any.

I was thinking, after the cheeky little comment received on my post that was literally just talk about the weather, that in California sun is unremarkable, but here in Boston, when winter wind chill makes the outdoors something to defend against, when there can be glorious snow or miserable rain or a day of respite like today (45 degrees and sunny!), the weather is a frighteningly powerful mood manipulator. It's hard to hold up while feeling attacked all the time, whether by the weather or by one's woes--or both.

Ran along the river today and saw geese and dogs and ice floes; ran around listening to dirt crunch and chasing plastic; just ran around the Charles river hearing Loch Lomond in my head. The outdoors is glorious, and I'm in here doing monkey work in a library until the sun sets. It's time to reprioritize.

Glorious snow!

A Webcam in Marsh Plaza at Boston University.

Big green bringers of cheer

As an update on my search for a clean expletive (a cursing patch, as I like to call it), I heard my supervisor utter "Crickets!" yesterday as a response to the printer jamming. I like it, but it seems that the position of the word in my mouth makes it hard for it to be an organic reaction to frustrating stimuli. One can't say it very loudly, or prolong the syllables because it's such a closed word. It's sort of a mutter-under-the-breath, think-before-you're-angry word. This may be good. I'll let you know how it works out.


"Tomorrow: Snow along with gusty winds at times. Cold. High 26F. Winds N at 25 to 35 mph. 6 to 10 inches of snow expected."

It's a beautiful day out. As much as I love the pretense of sun that Boston puts up (though the air is still cold as a turd in a freezer), if it's going to be so cold, I'd rather have loads of snow to play in. The big green blob's going to bring me snow!

What a weekend!

Vegas, superbowl party, not doing my homework... it was a good weekend :) Here are some pictures to prove it!

Let me know if you want to see more... I'm in the process of uploading them

Latest Update

Publications writing about publications. You know the drill:
Attorney offers deal in magazine controversy

I kind of feel like that dog looks. Not too busy, but quite antsy.

I'm so excited about going to Vegas next weekend to celebrate Shao. We're gonna have so much fun! I'm also excited about no class Tuesday night so I can go to Taco Tuesday =D. It's the little things like Taco Tuesday.

PS- if any of you are thinking of driving drunk just call me and I'll come kick your ass for even thinking about it. People are so irresponsible! Seriously one of the dumbest things you could do and it could ruin your whole life. Just try not to be dumb, okay guys? Thanks.

I see that Half What is still going strong, even in my absence. Good job.

I regret to inform you... actually, I don't really regret it at all... that I have no scandalous stories to tell you.

I have a date tonight. I wonder whether Spaniards go on dates at night like Americans, or during lunchtime, since that's the biggest meal of the day. I wonder if they go on dates at all. I wonder when they eat in restaurants, because there aren't really that many restaurants that i've seen, just a hell of a lot of bars with tapas.

What's your favorite Cezanne?

My car is sad. It's missing a tire. It blames LA potholes and mean drivers.

So we're driving along Wilshire to go see Brian Regan at the Wiltern and Joe's driving my car because everyone else seemed to abhore the idea of driving except for him but we were running late and he couldn't go get his car so he ended up driving mine. There's like a series of potholes ahead and our driver tries to avoid them by changing lanes, but the mean guy won't let us change. So we hit the potholes, I see my hubcap flying off into the sidewalk, ask "Is that my hubcap?" turn down the window to find out and hear a hissing noise from the front tire. Already running late, we drive on the flattening tire to the Wiltern and just make it.

On the upside, Brian Regan was hilarious.

@*#%&

I have been, of late, looking for a word which will eradicate curse words from my daily vocabulary. A few days ago, I was thrilled to find that "Bugger!" had entirely replaced shitdamnassholepissfuckcuntcocksuckermotherfucker* as the response to unpleasant, surprising, frustrating, or otherwise aggravating events. However, last night, Lucy and Ellen were kind enough to inform me that "bugger," rather than signifying say, an insect, is actually verb which means to sodomize (You see, Lucy, there is a more genteel way of defining it than "Butt fuck," although I guess butt fuck carries the same lewd implications). Anyhow, I can't say "bugger" in good conscience any more. Lucy has suggested "pants," with a British accent, but I've yet to warm up to the idea. Let me know if you have any suggestions for a clean expletive. Doggone and any sort of long Italian phrase that means something to the effect of "Tarnation on the cruel, blasphemous winds of Fate which carry me to my doom!" are out of the question.

(*Don't you go picking on me for modifying George Carlin; I saw the man live! I have license! I got his blessing and it came in the form of him splashing me with the echinacea honey herb tea he was drinking to soothe an itch in his throat the night of the performance. Part of this is true.)

BEGIN THE COUNTDOWN

I went to L.A. this weekend to visit friends. Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure Jen is dying in bed still. Poor girl. Too sick to go see gay cowboys with me! Haha... Anyway, I had fun this weekend before the beginning of school, but it was way too cold so we tried not to go out too much. It was a good time had inside though. Drinking, nintendo, tv, and some very good food.

Other than that, nothing exciting to report. School starts tomorrow, but I don't have class until Thursday.

Get better Jen!!! Heal quickly LeeAnn!!! and We miss you Lindsey!!!

My name is LeeAnn. I'm an addict.

Yes, folks, I have a habit. Addiction? Obssession? My own stupidity? Probably all of the above. Really, I abuse myself, the disc and the ground just help me along.


Maybe if schoolwork would leave me sweating, bruised, and bleeding, I'd like it better. Can you imagine? Ultimate French: every time the disc is caught, one must answer a question in French before the next throw. If the other team gets the disc to the endzone, one must do ten pushups while conjugating whatever verb the other team decides. If one conjugates incorrectly, it's another verb and ten more pushups. Dude. Sweet.

Raindrops on roses...

A good thing in my life right now. The prospects of a ribbon are good and in the near future!



Keep an eye out for my linguistics books, Heart of Darkness, and French flashcards. A good summary. Oh, also notice the sulking printer behind it.

Apocalyptic , but Hopeful

The past week has been one of fretting, disturbed sleep, physical exhaustion, and emotional frustration. Oh, and not to mention the unseasonably warm, sunny, and dry days we have had (50+ degrees?). Something was wrong with the universe this past week, but it looks like it is on a smooth, slightly outside in path to normalcy and comfort.

Miss Lindsey is leaving us for Spain tomorrow. :( I think we should try to keep HalfWhat updated so that she still knows what is going on in our lives and in the freaking U.S. In return we want lots of news about all the cool and exciting things you're doing in Spain, missy!

Hello, friends! I will be posting mostly here while I am in Spain. :-) But don't worry. I still love the Half What girls and if I have any scandalous stories, i'll post 'em here. Or nowhere.

Have you been making out okay?

Yes, it's true. I'm back at school, and I'm feeling it in all those ways that are pathetic to the calloused ear.

Today, I put on those heels and a new dress, a matching scarf and a cute jacket, a fleece hat and long underwear in an attempt to infuse the body that wore them with some spirit of sparkling novelty or tight-knit composure. Funny though, how easy it is to drop the hat on the floor, roll one's ankle in the cute heels, find the dress stuck by static to an unwary buttocks, and get stares for the trifecta of colors necessary to defend the legs above the boots from the cold (the socks, the long underwear, the leggings).

Fashion faux pas and haters aside, the end of the week will find me temporarily relieved (of the burden of a final essay which as of yet has yet to find its place in Thesisland). For now, I'll have to find some solace in Al Green's voice and try not to remember how his lover threw hot grits on his back while he was in the shower before she shot herself dead.

Happy New Year! (a little late)

LeeAnn's back at school and Jen is soon to follow. Winter break went fast...

It's that time again...

It's really hard to enter a new year and not become really reflective upon the old one. Or maybe it's just my nostalgia acting up after watching one too many "I Love the 90s" episodes. I feel like a lot of things are coming around full circle, which is kind of strange in a cool way. That being said, I don't know if everything's just going to continue to connect or just burst apart. People coming, people returning, people leaving, everything just seems incredibly unpredictable, and I'm excited and scared to see how everything (and everyone) turns out.
My New Year's resolution last year was to become more self-confident and to not let people step all over me. It was a biggie, I know, and I'm not even sure if I acheived it. I definately feel a lot better about myself now than I did this time last year, but I can't tell if it's because I've personally become stronger or if I just ran away from my problems. I'll give myself the benefit of the doubt and say it was the former.
This year, as I was clinking martini glasses with two wonderful girls who I've known for way too long, I believe all three of us had trouble thinking of resolutions to make. I never really put that much stock in resolutions, even though I probably should since I like the idea of starting with a clean slate, so I said I wanted a drama-free year. It just takes too much out of me, and a tear-stained face is totally not a flattering look on me. It's a huge thing to hope for in the next year, but I've never been one to have low expectations.
So with ALL that said, here's to a new year *clink*

Massachusetts, here I come!

It seems appropriate to have something to say on the first day of the year, some grand word of commencement, something to sum up, size up, tie up, gag, and mysteriously make disappear all the things that have happened in the year past.

Well. All I can really think of is this: I'm terrifed, mortified, surely ready to be horrified--by all that's to come. Which isn't to say I'm inclined to stay where and when I am, just that I feel as though from here on out everything is going to be --or, ought to be-- rather epic.

I guess that's the best I can hope for, anyway.

By the way. I am formulating a new blog that will be my home while i'm in Spain. This way I can post as many pictures and invite as many family members as I would like to see it. I won't leave half what for good, of course, I just won't post as often. Address TBA.

Everyone's talking about getting kicked off. Really, I should be ashamed of myself. Ample time to do nothing but post and I have been doing nothing of the sort. Nothing really at all, for that matter. Here I am, halfway between Christmas and New Year's and still thinking Spain is further than less than two weeks away... the furthest i'm thinking is tomorrow. Maybe Saturday, because I would like to know what I will be doing for New Year's. But it's sneaking up... And I'm going to have to think about packing and how i'm going to speak Spanish and how i'm going to meet new people and pass my classes and... I sound like i'm dreading it. I'm not.

Home!

Wow, we must be getting older, people go back to school sooner and sooner, and some don't even leave in the first place. Anyway the point is, I have a week or so left in San Diego, and everyone's leaving me already! I guess this gives me more time to study (why am I such a nerd??) but *sigh* I don't really want to.

Another sign I'm getting older? I'm able to have better conversations with my parents that are more personal and less political. But there's still that damn language barrier... but that'll get broken down one day hopefully.

Last sign (but I noticed this a couple years ago), I have to watch out who I'm checking out. Some people just look so much older than they really are!

Three Inches of Wonder

It's amazing what a hot pair of heels will do for one's self-esteem. For some reason, being three inches taller makes my world just a little more beautiful.

Alack, Alas

I am home!

Chronic-what?-cles

I'm sorry I have to post this link from SNL on Saturday. It was hilarious. Please watch this :)

http://youtube.com/watch.php?v=zLElfJ9YCh0

It'll be worth your two minutes!

Hey, it's New Kid's Little Sister!

I'm sure you all ran out to your doorsteps or grocery stores to grab the paper yesterday when you heard that your neighborhood virtuoso had his mug in it.


Yay, Ray!

Okay, so before I get kicked off, here goes.

Past week's been pretty cool, I finished my finals on Monday (3 in one day! It sucked!), and my roommates were pretty much done also. So it's really cool, because even if I dont' find anything to do with other people, pretty much there's always something going on at our place, even if it is just a bunch of people hanging out watching trashy tv. Speaking of trashy tv, three out of the four of us have become addicted to project runway. Those people are such spazzes, it's great, and it's only the 2nd episode. Just picture them later on in the season. I can't wait.

I haven't been doing much in the way of partying though... oh wait that's a lie, I had some hypnotique last night. That stuff is so weird. Like you can smell and feel the alcohol but you can't taste it.

Alright, update's over. I'll be seeing 2 of the three of you on saturday!

Which reminds me... HAPPY BIRTHDAY JULI!!!!!

As has already been proven, I don't do well when I have nothing to do. And I have nothing to do. And at day four of being home with nothing to do, i'm not doing well.

Update v. 2.0

Snow

23°F
Feels Like
13°F

An Update

Clear
17°F
Feels Like
2°F

I'm pretty sure I'm gonna get kicked off soon if I don't post. My life is school right now and it's entirely too jam packed with end of the year projects and finals coming up to even think about other stuff right now. Please don't hate me for not posting and please come to my bday party on the 17th. Let me know if you can come and I'll fill you in on details later.

PS- Linz, of course it's okay!

Out of Desire, not Consolation

Yesterday, it snowed. Not just flurries, not just like the fake plastic icing in a can that you could spray on boughs in San Diego--no, this is snow! Three to six beautiful, bright white inches of snow!

And what did I do in it? I played ultimate.

No rants about ultimate here, they are inconsequential at best. Suffice it to say that frisbee in Warwick was colder than a turd in a freezer (not that I keep turds in freezers) and that this winter will be a time to make myself an ultimate machine!

Today, with the residue of illness still festering in my nostrils and muscles, I went to class and was revitalized, reenthused, reinfused by some sort of faith in discussion and learning. In my expos class, we had a discussion about the obligations of literature, and art, in there is any, and my preceptor, to my great surprise, deigned to mention that this is what our essays, or essays in general about art, should ultimately seek to answer. He set the dangling carrot down on the table briefly, and chewed on it himself.

Still, the ideas seem fleeting and self-indulgent, but I'm thinking there might be something to the objective existence of them. We'll see!

Wrought isn't a word. Rather, it's a word that doesn't mean what I think it means. It means wrought-iron fence. It also means "work." I need it to mean "filled." In my head, filled doesn't quite have the same connotations as wrought. But to everyone else, I look like an idiot.

Milton Essay Extraordinaire

"The fall was necessary to facilitate the growth and advance of the human population — it’s the reason all six billion-plus people of the world are not crammed into the Garden of Eden, having sex and pruning the trees."

My professor argues that our world essentially is Milton's Garden of Eden. I think he's going to laugh when he reads that line, because i'm saying that essentially all we do is have sex and prune the trees.

I was sitting at my desk this afternoon, enjoying the quiet of my apartment and the gentle arrival of the fog, when I heard a crash. There are door slams and bottles breaking, but there's only one sound that emanates when one car crashes into another. Outside my house there was a city bus stopped, and a little red car barely visible that had pulled out of a driveway prematurely. Then there were people, and two police cars, and two firetrucks.

I didn't look. I hope that since I saw no ambulance, and heard no screaming or crying, that the driver of the little red car wasn't hurt by the bus that crashed into his/her driver's side door.

I'm pretty sure it takes a lot of bilingual talent to listen to music in english while writing an essay and reading in spanish.

Hot & Bothered

They keep the rooms so warm here, no matter how chilly or swarmy it is outside. I've been in my room all day, almost (but not quite) moist with sweat, filled with ballooning dreams and misgivings, feeling my limbs like tenuously connected lumps of junk metal, sore steel and 6-tons of brass in each buttock, each arm, a stone of terrifying pain in my calf and slivers of worry in my shins; disgust at the courage that isn't there and the spiraling optimism; and I'm sitting here watching the clock tick by minutes that I'm not at practice.

I forgot how much fun it is to analyze poems. I'm serious. Tonight I decided to tackle "A Dialogue Between the Soul and Body," a poem I specifically remember being afraid of senior year when I was assigned to read it. It's keeping me interested, and my brain is hurting from the challenge. I remember why i'm an English major. For some reason, I like to do this stuff. And though I may detest the boring lectures and empty readings teachers like to barate us with, and question my major, I really do like it.

"So that either is not what you mean or plain wrong."

After cleaning my room (organizing all books by height and type), napping for 3 or 5 minutes at a time, eating dinner (and punishing myself with a chickwich), playing a really successful game of Expert Minesweeper for 588 seconds before failing with only 10 mines left to find, skipping frisbee practice for expos's sake, I have no thesis. I have no observations. I have nothing original to write about the Fall River Axe Murders. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zip.

Olfactory Hues

After almost three months in Cambridge, I have decided that college is unequivocally, unfortunately, and inexplicably smelly.

Whether it is the pungent, not-quite-urine-not-quite-vomit- not-quite-menstrual smell emanating from a mysterious (and unlocatable) corner of the bathroom or the thick dead animal smell of the practice room or the striking body odor of afrazzled, hungover grad student T.F. as he sweeps by, arms up, trying to demonstrate a concept in French, everywhere there are unpleasant smells that I either cannot locate the root of or that I cannot do anything about.

And these smells, they are only unpleasant to the degree of annoyance, because it seems that everyone has something more important to do than eradicate them.

This reminds me of the time at home that I unknowingly had a cup of soymilk sitting on my desk that periodically belched foul, fermented gas.

These are the things I articulate when I have an essay to write.

Home.

At my home for another 14 days. Two weeks to finish up my classes, take finals, write papers, say goodbye to my job, my friends, Santa Barbara. I feel like summer is approaching... but Europe is. This is so weird.

I'm sorry for not posting very often, but I really haven't had too much to say. Like there's a lot on my mind, like I've been spending a lot of time just lying around thinking because for some reason I dont' want to do anything else, but nothing that really deserves to be written about really. Plus, there's always a lot on my mind, my neck is sore my head so damn heavy... HAHAHAHAHA!
ANYways, I'm trying to figure out what I want to do over the next summer. I really want to travel somewhere, but not in a study abroad or school/company/intership travel program manner because that's just way too expensive and I still need to time to fill out med school apps and take the MCATs again if I need to. I need something more flexible. Anyone wanna go somewhere with me? I'm not all too picky as to where, just anywhere but here. Speaking of the Ataris, they have samples of new songs posted on their myspace page... and I've decided that I agree that it is weird that bands have myspace pages.

Ever reach that stage of tiredness where you want to go to sleep, but you're so lazy that you don't want to get ready for bed?

Told ya I didn't have too much to say.

I was going to write a conclusion to my last thought, but I was distracted by the pomegranate. I wanted to buy one the other day, but I decided I couldn't possibly eat it A) by myself, and B) without my ex-roommie who's studying in France for the year. Last year we ate one while writing papers on our respective computers, the juicy seeds stored in a coffee pot that sat between us.

Yesterday

I ate a pomegranate.

I was in full packing mode this afternoon, chair blocking the doorway, piles filling the small aisle between my desk and bed, on the phone, music booming. At that opportune moment, my roommate returned home, engaged in loud conversation with her boyfriend, and expected to enter our room with her laundry basket. I closed my eyes and turned away, reluctant to break the seal to my solitude, disrupt the method to my madness.

There's a conclusion to that thought, I swear.