pleasant occurances of today:
* i burnt off the remnants of my questionable mood w/ a 3 mile walk and 32 ounces of diet coke
* read more of in america by sontag -- found it intriguing
* talked to him, resolved the misunderstanding (funny: he anticipated my complaint and apologized before i even had to tell him specifically what my problem had been)
* was extensively flattered at class for the piece i submitted. the criticism was smart and sound, too. i wrote the thing awhile ago; i think only mariah read it at that point. it was when i was just getting over david. anyway, once i've revised it a little i'll post it up here and y'all can tell me what you think.
* discovered that my worth as a person is measured at $1,768,820.00 according to human for sale. not bad.
Thursday, August 02, 2001
i tried to post last nite but blogger was down for some reason. so this now is my first official blog to babblebook. ilana was w/ me while i made the bold decision. we were hard pressed at first to think of something adequate, so i handed her a book of poetry and told her to open to random pages and read random words. we had just finished watching harold and maude, a lovely off-beat film, and drinking chai; we were buzzed on beauty. i figured it was as good a time as any to make the switch.
earlier, i took my little brother shopping. it's incredible how out of the GAP realm he is. he'll be 17 in a matter of days, but if he had his way he'd spend all waking hours in sweatpants. the peculiar clothing choice matches his chosen occupation: playing computer games and watching anime. everyone says, for the irony of it, i guess, that he'll be the rich one and support adam and me. *shrug* there is no telling, that's true. but i don't intend to have anyone support me, except perhaps a benevolent Dickensian person who has a soft spot for poetry.
speaking of professions and the future, my sweet Harold and Maude experience was countered later in the day by Manhattan with becca over chili. becca and the chili were fine; it was the movie that sort of dampened my mood, i think. its lesson: love is fickle and unpredicable, and people are self-indulgent fools. woody allen irks me sometimes b/c he embodies a trait i particularly dislike. he seems to think that admiting a fault or even making fun of himself for it is a substitute for attempting to improve. in my opinion, it might even be worse to realize there's a defect in you and not try to fix it at all.
we didn't talk about that. our conversation centered around each other's future. becca decided that she saw me moving west for a year, maybe to seattle or to SF, then becoming disatisfied and returning; then i'd disappear for a while, traveling, and not talk to anyone while i'm gone. i told her she thinks i'm more of a hippie than i am.
accordingly, i created a coroporate-drone-type life for her, but one involving a cat named tigger, an east-indian PLoTSO [permanent long-term significant other], near-adoption of an east-indian child, and eventually a marriage to a jewish divorcee.
something else upset me last nite tho i was hard-pressed to figure out exactly what.
stemmed from this. this morning, tho, i remembered that misinterpretations &c. can occur from writing as well as from speech. so whatever.
earlier, i took my little brother shopping. it's incredible how out of the GAP realm he is. he'll be 17 in a matter of days, but if he had his way he'd spend all waking hours in sweatpants. the peculiar clothing choice matches his chosen occupation: playing computer games and watching anime. everyone says, for the irony of it, i guess, that he'll be the rich one and support adam and me. *shrug* there is no telling, that's true. but i don't intend to have anyone support me, except perhaps a benevolent Dickensian person who has a soft spot for poetry.
speaking of professions and the future, my sweet Harold and Maude experience was countered later in the day by Manhattan with becca over chili. becca and the chili were fine; it was the movie that sort of dampened my mood, i think. its lesson: love is fickle and unpredicable, and people are self-indulgent fools. woody allen irks me sometimes b/c he embodies a trait i particularly dislike. he seems to think that admiting a fault or even making fun of himself for it is a substitute for attempting to improve. in my opinion, it might even be worse to realize there's a defect in you and not try to fix it at all.
we didn't talk about that. our conversation centered around each other's future. becca decided that she saw me moving west for a year, maybe to seattle or to SF, then becoming disatisfied and returning; then i'd disappear for a while, traveling, and not talk to anyone while i'm gone. i told her she thinks i'm more of a hippie than i am.
accordingly, i created a coroporate-drone-type life for her, but one involving a cat named tigger, an east-indian PLoTSO [permanent long-term significant other], near-adoption of an east-indian child, and eventually a marriage to a jewish divorcee.
something else upset me last nite tho i was hard-pressed to figure out exactly what.
stemmed from this. this morning, tho, i remembered that misinterpretations &c. can occur from writing as well as from speech. so whatever.
Wednesday, August 01, 2001
FOLKS! i have changed the name to BABBLEBOOK.BLOGSPOT.COM. please adjust all links accordingly, as i am in the process of doing.
welcome to august, folks. this is the month of dispersion, of reuniting, of leaving, of arriving, of thresholds. (ooh, do you feel that shiver?) i don't really know what to feel, it all being so contradictory, that i'm content to just be calm.
on the good news front, my site finally made it onto google. only took a month and a half. :-)
last nite the usual suspects gathered at my house and i fell to pondering where all my male friends went. suddenly my friend distribution is at like 80/20 rather than 50/50. it's strange. at swat, it was about equal; when i was on kibbutz last spring, if anything, i spent a little more time w/ guys.
now the only ones i see regularly are ari and johnny. but the former is often drowned out in the clatter of estrogen and the latter i encounter only once a week. craziness.
on the good news front, my site finally made it onto google. only took a month and a half. :-)
last nite the usual suspects gathered at my house and i fell to pondering where all my male friends went. suddenly my friend distribution is at like 80/20 rather than 50/50. it's strange. at swat, it was about equal; when i was on kibbutz last spring, if anything, i spent a little more time w/ guys.
now the only ones i see regularly are ari and johnny. but the former is often drowned out in the clatter of estrogen and the latter i encounter only once a week. craziness.
Tuesday, July 31, 2001
shit, miss annie! 
here is the good woman herself (far right) w/ the immortal dar williams (second from left). they're holding a poster of the green world, dar's most recent album. miss williams revealed to us over the course of her concert that she hasn't written much recently b/c she's (a) recently gotten engaged and (b) writing a book. quite an eventful life.
we watched three straight episodes of Pride and Prejudice this afternoon at annie's and ate rissotto (is that spelled right, love?) mm, colin firth ... the series is delightful and really well-acted. my head is nearly sloshing over w/ jane austen and pretty, hilariously constricting parlor dresses.
trying to remember the word for ritual japanese suicide by disembowlment, you know, the kind they do in shogun. help?
here is the good woman herself (far right) w/ the immortal dar williams (second from left). they're holding a poster of the green world, dar's most recent album. miss williams revealed to us over the course of her concert that she hasn't written much recently b/c she's (a) recently gotten engaged and (b) writing a book. quite an eventful life.
we watched three straight episodes of Pride and Prejudice this afternoon at annie's and ate rissotto (is that spelled right, love?) mm, colin firth ... the series is delightful and really well-acted. my head is nearly sloshing over w/ jane austen and pretty, hilariously constricting parlor dresses.
trying to remember the word for ritual japanese suicide by disembowlment, you know, the kind they do in shogun. help?
Monday, July 30, 2001
to resume:
ilana drove the entire way up and back to/from the festival site in hillsdale, ny. farmer joe owns a gorgeous plot of land in the catskills and lends it out every summer to the hippies. i think it's right commendable of him.
we had our own mini-music-festival in the car, singing and cding our way up the increasingly lovely mountain roads. we set up our tent, a borrowed a-frame none of us really knew how to use, and which liz ultimately figured out, in what we later learned was the social area. to our right, a group of kids our age seemed content to smoke pot starting at 9 in the morning and never leave their campsite. across from us and down were three boys that initially we could only see from afar, one of whom was wearing a shirt that looked like it said, in symbols, "i love cock." liz went over to ask them for weed and when they returned w/ her we saw that the last symbol was a cat, not a rooster. (ohhhhh ...) they may have been sexist but they were generous w/ their bowl. everyone in fact was lovely. that's the folk-festival atmosphere.
after that, we met the 40 year olds: more neighbors who latched onto us i think to feel involved (the woman kept insisting her job was "uncool"). they shared a bottle of california wine and talked nearly non-stop.
and then daniel, a 16 year old (looked much older) long-haired free-spirit of the purest kind, who lost his wallet w/ $150 in it and threw up his hands and called it "karma." he was very folksinger-savvy and he loved women: while he lamented that tho he missed his faraway girlfriend yada, he couldn't keep from hooking up w/ others and he demonstrated his good taste by confessing to want a piece of ilana.
mostly, tho, the three of us spent time by ourselves. we talked a lot, we enthused over the same music, we people watched and we went to bed at the same time. one morning, liz made a hemp spin for ilana's hair while i read portions of Tom Jones out loud. it felt really comfortable, really home-y.
ran into jonah on saturday so he chilled w/ us for a while. he had read this site (!!) and so knew that we'd be at falconridge at the same time that he was in the area. so that was cool and i got a report on the barn (kids: it's doing fine). as he was leaving, he paused and then said that reading this journal was strange b/c i write things that i wouldn't necessarily tell him.
made me think. i don't consider audience too much -- or maybe i do? i'm more circumspect than i am in the notebook only i read, that's for sure. i guess i have to deliberate further.
and i hate telephones. have i mentioned that? hate 'em. nothing honest comes thru a telephone, or very little. i prefer email and letters: represenations of voice rather than actual, physical voice. the latter is too imperfect.
ilana drove the entire way up and back to/from the festival site in hillsdale, ny. farmer joe owns a gorgeous plot of land in the catskills and lends it out every summer to the hippies. i think it's right commendable of him.
we had our own mini-music-festival in the car, singing and cding our way up the increasingly lovely mountain roads. we set up our tent, a borrowed a-frame none of us really knew how to use, and which liz ultimately figured out, in what we later learned was the social area. to our right, a group of kids our age seemed content to smoke pot starting at 9 in the morning and never leave their campsite. across from us and down were three boys that initially we could only see from afar, one of whom was wearing a shirt that looked like it said, in symbols, "i love cock." liz went over to ask them for weed and when they returned w/ her we saw that the last symbol was a cat, not a rooster. (ohhhhh ...) they may have been sexist but they were generous w/ their bowl. everyone in fact was lovely. that's the folk-festival atmosphere.
after that, we met the 40 year olds: more neighbors who latched onto us i think to feel involved (the woman kept insisting her job was "uncool"). they shared a bottle of california wine and talked nearly non-stop.
and then daniel, a 16 year old (looked much older) long-haired free-spirit of the purest kind, who lost his wallet w/ $150 in it and threw up his hands and called it "karma." he was very folksinger-savvy and he loved women: while he lamented that tho he missed his faraway girlfriend yada, he couldn't keep from hooking up w/ others and he demonstrated his good taste by confessing to want a piece of ilana.
mostly, tho, the three of us spent time by ourselves. we talked a lot, we enthused over the same music, we people watched and we went to bed at the same time. one morning, liz made a hemp spin for ilana's hair while i read portions of Tom Jones out loud. it felt really comfortable, really home-y.
ran into jonah on saturday so he chilled w/ us for a while. he had read this site (!!) and so knew that we'd be at falconridge at the same time that he was in the area. so that was cool and i got a report on the barn (kids: it's doing fine). as he was leaving, he paused and then said that reading this journal was strange b/c i write things that i wouldn't necessarily tell him.
made me think. i don't consider audience too much -- or maybe i do? i'm more circumspect than i am in the notebook only i read, that's for sure. i guess i have to deliberate further.
and i hate telephones. have i mentioned that? hate 'em. nothing honest comes thru a telephone, or very little. i prefer email and letters: represenations of voice rather than actual, physical voice. the latter is too imperfect.
Sunday, July 29, 2001
oh man. home and so much to say. solution, of course: make lists!
physical newnesses:
musicial newnesses:
just got off the phone w/ ben, who wanted to share his musicial experiences. guess it was just that kind of weekend. but i'm exhausted and i'll have to finish this tomorrow.
still to come: susan warner; our crazy camping neighbors; jonah; dar; and i haven't said a word yet about ilana and liz. terrible. well, tomorrow.
physical newnesses:
- my face is raspberry-red and puffy around the eyes, as much from lack of sleep as from sun. (why did i think that putting a wet'n'wash cloth over my face could substitute for lotion?)
- i finally put my hair back: i decided to try the ilana method and keep it down for three days straight. as strings frizzed over, i dealt by braiding them.
- my arms have gotten nicely nutty, further dramatizing my watch tan.
musicial newnesses:
- the nields. northhampton-spawned eccentric energetic group. five band members: two singers, both sisters, both married to their guitarists, both of whom are named bob. i don't know what the story is w/ the fifth guy but i imagine he feels vaguely left out.
- erin mckeown. midgetous, impressive, bjork-like in style and energy (+ propensity to howl.) embarrasing moment: i asked her to sign my notebook, forgetting that i had written my impressions of her at the top of the page. she saw her name and asked, "oh, can i read this?" and proceeded to before i could splutter out an answer. i panicked for a moment, as i couldn't recall what exactly i'd written, but it was all complimentary -- she said that anyone who compared her to bjork was her best friend. course, i also wrote that she grappled w/ her guitar like it was an animal trying to get away; we both tactfully pretended that wasn't there.
- deirdre flint. awesome. elementary skool teacher turned folksinger; adorable, ironic, and really funny, like the musician version of janeane garofolo. i bought her cd, shuffleboard queens, available at folkweb and amazon. i also ran into her so i got her autograph as well. she asked me if i'd been to a particular lighthouse and i just blinked at her. "it's written on yr shirt," she said. "oh," i said, looking down. "i just got this at goodwill." :-)
- eddie from ohio. very much like the nields: upbeat, fun, clever. they played saturday nite after dar...
just got off the phone w/ ben, who wanted to share his musicial experiences. guess it was just that kind of weekend. but i'm exhausted and i'll have to finish this tomorrow.
still to come: susan warner; our crazy camping neighbors; jonah; dar; and i haven't said a word yet about ilana and liz. terrible. well, tomorrow.
Friday, July 27, 2001
last nite, i woke up to the sound of my own voice. it sounded like it was coming from faraway; it took me a panicked second or two to understand that it was being filtered thru my answering machine. i jumped up and plugged in my phone, interrupting the message. "hi," said ben. "are you sleeping?"
i consulted the clock: 1:15 a.m. on a usual nite, i'd be awake, probably tripping around the net somewhere. but i was trying to stock up on good, bedded sleep since i'll be sleeping bagging it for a while. "yes." i said. "i was just watching old films," he said. "go back to sleep. i'll talk to you tomorrow." i hung up and crawled back under the blankets.
this morning when i woke up (to someone else's voice thru the radio, the way god intended) i pushed play on my machine to hear the message from the beginning. it was the recording he had made of senior year coffeehouse, our skool talent-show of sorts. the camera, the phone, and my machine mangled my voice to a wince-inducing state but i remained comprehensible: i was reciting "confessional". well do i remember that evening. i decided that, regardless of the fact that he was there in the audience, and filming no less, i was going to read the poems i wanted to read. and i did. i couldn't tell at the time whether he got it. he hugged me tightly afterwards, grinning, but that's just his way.
no room for interpretation now. "you called me yr 'green-eyed muse'," he says (on the message). "that's so sweet. you have a great voice --"
at that point, the message cuts off b/c i managed to pick up the phone.
i hope he appreciates that poem. sweet, hell: that's one of the sweetest things i've ever written.
ilana's coming to pick me up in a matter of minutes. i'm all packed. also talked to the other ben for a while last nite (johnny: "why do you call him #32?") after i got home from class. ahh benz.
i consulted the clock: 1:15 a.m. on a usual nite, i'd be awake, probably tripping around the net somewhere. but i was trying to stock up on good, bedded sleep since i'll be sleeping bagging it for a while. "yes." i said. "i was just watching old films," he said. "go back to sleep. i'll talk to you tomorrow." i hung up and crawled back under the blankets.
this morning when i woke up (to someone else's voice thru the radio, the way god intended) i pushed play on my machine to hear the message from the beginning. it was the recording he had made of senior year coffeehouse, our skool talent-show of sorts. the camera, the phone, and my machine mangled my voice to a wince-inducing state but i remained comprehensible: i was reciting "confessional". well do i remember that evening. i decided that, regardless of the fact that he was there in the audience, and filming no less, i was going to read the poems i wanted to read. and i did. i couldn't tell at the time whether he got it. he hugged me tightly afterwards, grinning, but that's just his way.
no room for interpretation now. "you called me yr 'green-eyed muse'," he says (on the message). "that's so sweet. you have a great voice --"
at that point, the message cuts off b/c i managed to pick up the phone.
i hope he appreciates that poem. sweet, hell: that's one of the sweetest things i've ever written.
ilana's coming to pick me up in a matter of minutes. i'm all packed. also talked to the other ben for a while last nite (johnny: "why do you call him #32?") after i got home from class. ahh benz.
Thursday, July 26, 2001
phew. getting on the metro this afternoon, all i wanted to do was go home, take a shower, put lots of gel in my hair (the frizz is driving me insane), and think calming, non-vagina related thoughts. anyway, it's over. my dad picked me up and we went to a nice vietnamese lunch. i had surprisingly good squid, which didn't bother me, but trying some of his soft-shell crab did somehow. i consider myself a vegetarian tho i do eat fish and seafood, but the crab felt particularly like an animal. part of my sort-of-joking excuse for eating fish is that i'm a jewish vegetarian (by jewish law, y'see, fish is not considered flesh: it's in another, neutral category.) but by that logic, i shouldn't be eating unkosher sea things. ahhhh maybe i'm taking this too seriously.
the doctor: a lady with thick blonde hair and precise mascara enlarging her already confrontational eyes. anytime she brought up an adult topic, she'd further widen her eyes to impress upon me the seriousness of the discussion. i had to widen my own eyes in response; by the end of the interaction, i felt like betty boop. of course i'm sure betty boop never had to go thru a pelvic exam.
(damn, she is cool. let's take a moment and process that, hmm?)
the upshot is, there is absolutely nothing wrong w/ me. i suppose i could go to disneyland then but falconridge will have to do. :-) we have a tent! still need to shop. mmm, three days of living out in the humid air; no showers; w/ the hippies and their music ... excellent.
i guess this will be my first moderately-extensive absence. i leave early tomorrow and don't get back til sunday nite. so readers, if any of you exist outside of the close crazy circle of friends you see represented in my book, please sign -- let me know you exist. if you have nothing else to say, say congratulations.
the doctor: a lady with thick blonde hair and precise mascara enlarging her already confrontational eyes. anytime she brought up an adult topic, she'd further widen her eyes to impress upon me the seriousness of the discussion. i had to widen my own eyes in response; by the end of the interaction, i felt like betty boop. of course i'm sure betty boop never had to go thru a pelvic exam.
(damn, she is cool. let's take a moment and process that, hmm?)
the upshot is, there is absolutely nothing wrong w/ me. i suppose i could go to disneyland then but falconridge will have to do. :-) we have a tent! still need to shop. mmm, three days of living out in the humid air; no showers; w/ the hippies and their music ... excellent.
i guess this will be my first moderately-extensive absence. i leave early tomorrow and don't get back til sunday nite. so readers, if any of you exist outside of the close crazy circle of friends you see represented in my book, please sign -- let me know you exist. if you have nothing else to say, say congratulations.
Wednesday, July 25, 2001
from the tinman's blog:
"maybe
someday
I'll
get
a
dog
of
my
own.
Or
a
boyfriend.
It
doesn't
matter,
as
long
as
it's
someone
to
lick
my
face
in
the
morning."
according to emode's personality test, i'm a movie star. since three of the other options were Poet, Critic, and Observer, i was thrown for a loop. but after checking them out, i realized they didn't really fit me either. they all involve being shy which i don't think of myself as (very much? anymore?) so i'm in limbo. fine. emode pisses me off anyway: it's gotten too goddamn chirpy for its own good.
i've been at work twenty minutes and i'm already searching for things to do. last nite at becca's during our conversation about idealism and the future and our perceptions of the Real World we will one day most likely have to inhabit, i told her she'd never make it in my office. we're too inefficient, too chill. people do get things done but it's not on the same kind of schedule that she operates on.
the discussion started b/c ari said that even if he lived 115 years, he couldn't do everything he wants to do in life. 115 isn't enuf, just like 4 years of college isn't enuf, and don't get him started on monogamy. ... becca and i exchanged dubious glances. it seemed he was channeling the 60's idealistic, hedonistic free spirits. get with the times, man: it's about apathy and irony now. isn't it?
at the very least, you have to be realistic. at 115, you probably won't want to go on forever. your bones will hurt, you'll have no teeth, you'll have to wear diapers and feel your body whimper for death like an abadoned dog for its master. you'll be a tax on resources. and even if there are infinite numbers of things to do, places to go, people to see in this life, not all are enjoyable or even edifying. and many will make you wish to die a whole lot sooner.
i don't mean for this to be so gloomy. but the research i've done this summer has shown me that the world is not a friendly place (not that i didn't know that before; i'm just more aquainted w/ the details now.) we should try to have a great time while we're here and even better, try to leave a positive mark on our surroundings, sure. make lots of friends, fall in love, be ambitious, be optomistic even.
don't romanticize it, tho. it seems like the only thing our country truly has faith in is money and that, probably, in large part b/c they don't realize that it's only their faith that keeps the system running. maybe it's a good thing: most wars have been caused by people who feel passionately enuf to kill and die for a cause. (what cause? protestantism? capitalism? ridiculous in retrospect.)
maybe the only people who should be allowed to live to 115 are the ones who can guarantee they will leave this earth better than they found it in some small way. hedonism and/or fear of deat doesn't cut it w/ me. the question is, if you decide to keep living, what are you going to give humanity in return?
i've been at work twenty minutes and i'm already searching for things to do. last nite at becca's during our conversation about idealism and the future and our perceptions of the Real World we will one day most likely have to inhabit, i told her she'd never make it in my office. we're too inefficient, too chill. people do get things done but it's not on the same kind of schedule that she operates on.
the discussion started b/c ari said that even if he lived 115 years, he couldn't do everything he wants to do in life. 115 isn't enuf, just like 4 years of college isn't enuf, and don't get him started on monogamy. ... becca and i exchanged dubious glances. it seemed he was channeling the 60's idealistic, hedonistic free spirits. get with the times, man: it's about apathy and irony now. isn't it?
at the very least, you have to be realistic. at 115, you probably won't want to go on forever. your bones will hurt, you'll have no teeth, you'll have to wear diapers and feel your body whimper for death like an abadoned dog for its master. you'll be a tax on resources. and even if there are infinite numbers of things to do, places to go, people to see in this life, not all are enjoyable or even edifying. and many will make you wish to die a whole lot sooner.
i don't mean for this to be so gloomy. but the research i've done this summer has shown me that the world is not a friendly place (not that i didn't know that before; i'm just more aquainted w/ the details now.) we should try to have a great time while we're here and even better, try to leave a positive mark on our surroundings, sure. make lots of friends, fall in love, be ambitious, be optomistic even.
don't romanticize it, tho. it seems like the only thing our country truly has faith in is money and that, probably, in large part b/c they don't realize that it's only their faith that keeps the system running. maybe it's a good thing: most wars have been caused by people who feel passionately enuf to kill and die for a cause. (what cause? protestantism? capitalism? ridiculous in retrospect.)
maybe the only people who should be allowed to live to 115 are the ones who can guarantee they will leave this earth better than they found it in some small way. hedonism and/or fear of deat doesn't cut it w/ me. the question is, if you decide to keep living, what are you going to give humanity in return?
Tuesday, July 24, 2001
note to all boys: this is what we have to go through. and to all girls: check it out, it's a trip. calls to mind why i so instinctively fear anything -- needles, pills -- as an invasion. well. anyway. here's to thursday.
last nite, which prompted said journey into cyberspace i.s.o. information, nomi ilana and i gathered at jamie's. jamie is racked by guilt over various pet-the-bunny issues related to pat-the-bunny. we and ben and jerry's tried to help. her little sister, almost 15, was present: jamie in her distraction didn't care. "well, you wanted to know more about my life," she said, laughing helplessly. maybe it was more than she wanted to know but hey, that's what having an older sister is for.
she leaves for london tomorrow. next week nomi goes to israel, liz goes to canada, and tamar goes to europe. annie goes to senegal. on the 11th, ilana and i go to n. carolina w/ my family. becca departs. everyone, in essence, scatters: then, before you know it, we all settle back into our lives in the eastern college diaspora. funny -- we still have a month and i'm already in reflection-mode. how will i be when i return to swat? becca assures me it's startling at first and then you acclimate because you can, because you have before, because you have to. don't worry, she said.
all right, i won't. and i am looking forward to it; it's just that my tendency to develop contentment wherever i am complicates matters sometimes. happy here, happy there ... it makes me feel kind of shallow.
falconridge? anyone have a tent?
last nite, which prompted said journey into cyberspace i.s.o. information, nomi ilana and i gathered at jamie's. jamie is racked by guilt over various pet-the-bunny issues related to pat-the-bunny. we and ben and jerry's tried to help. her little sister, almost 15, was present: jamie in her distraction didn't care. "well, you wanted to know more about my life," she said, laughing helplessly. maybe it was more than she wanted to know but hey, that's what having an older sister is for.
she leaves for london tomorrow. next week nomi goes to israel, liz goes to canada, and tamar goes to europe. annie goes to senegal. on the 11th, ilana and i go to n. carolina w/ my family. becca departs. everyone, in essence, scatters: then, before you know it, we all settle back into our lives in the eastern college diaspora. funny -- we still have a month and i'm already in reflection-mode. how will i be when i return to swat? becca assures me it's startling at first and then you acclimate because you can, because you have before, because you have to. don't worry, she said.
all right, i won't. and i am looking forward to it; it's just that my tendency to develop contentment wherever i am complicates matters sometimes. happy here, happy there ... it makes me feel kind of shallow.
falconridge? anyone have a tent?
Monday, July 23, 2001
hallo world. i have "uncle fucker" from southpark stuck in my head b/c cindy was playing it upstairs.
this morning started w/ a scare. the phone rang about 9:35 while dad walked sheba to the corner and i was checking email before i left for work. i didn't answer it, figuring it would be for dad and he would get the message from the machine. as it turned out, the message was from my mother, crying and incoherent: all we could make out was something about g.w., our hospital.
we grabbed our stuff and rushed down there, calling as we went the admissions desk, the emergency room, anyplace that might have record of her. nothing. we couldn't find her when we got down there and walked from building to building, either. eventually we got thru to her office where her boss richard filled us in: she had had a procedure that she hadn't wanted to tell us about and it went much worse than expected so she headed home. a call from her a minute or two later confirmed the fact. she had called us from the metro station asking for a ride. relieved, my father and i got back in the car and he dropped me off at the office on his way home to see her.
couldn't help but feel slightly responsible, as all i had to do was answer the damn phone and the message would have come thru un-garbled. ah well. at least she's okay.
yesterday, perhaps out of guilt for recently choosing films over books, i eschewed my remaining videos to read My Year of Meats, a very vegetarian novel that disturbed me and made me think a lot about why i chose that route. the change in the means of artistic escapism did not affect my manners: i was just as impatient w/ the people who dared called and disturb me as i am when my movie-watching is interrupted. luckily people (under)stand me.
hung out w/ becca, went foodshopping and drove her home. refreshing as we barely spoke last week.
this morning started w/ a scare. the phone rang about 9:35 while dad walked sheba to the corner and i was checking email before i left for work. i didn't answer it, figuring it would be for dad and he would get the message from the machine. as it turned out, the message was from my mother, crying and incoherent: all we could make out was something about g.w., our hospital.
we grabbed our stuff and rushed down there, calling as we went the admissions desk, the emergency room, anyplace that might have record of her. nothing. we couldn't find her when we got down there and walked from building to building, either. eventually we got thru to her office where her boss richard filled us in: she had had a procedure that she hadn't wanted to tell us about and it went much worse than expected so she headed home. a call from her a minute or two later confirmed the fact. she had called us from the metro station asking for a ride. relieved, my father and i got back in the car and he dropped me off at the office on his way home to see her.
couldn't help but feel slightly responsible, as all i had to do was answer the damn phone and the message would have come thru un-garbled. ah well. at least she's okay.
yesterday, perhaps out of guilt for recently choosing films over books, i eschewed my remaining videos to read My Year of Meats, a very vegetarian novel that disturbed me and made me think a lot about why i chose that route. the change in the means of artistic escapism did not affect my manners: i was just as impatient w/ the people who dared called and disturb me as i am when my movie-watching is interrupted. luckily people (under)stand me.
hung out w/ becca, went foodshopping and drove her home. refreshing as we barely spoke last week.
Sunday, July 22, 2001
god damn it. i had a whole beautiful entry written, then just when i pressed post someone called, knocking me off the internet and wiping the thing clean. grrr ...
well, to reconstruct: i'm now listening to the bootleg ani cd jamie got me -- ah, loveliness: "swandive" "both hands" "two little girls" "independence day" "up up up" and "cradle and all", among others. she presented it to me at the ceremony last nite at annie's party which also featured an anti-aging package from jay and then three themed gifts that escalated in their just shocking inappropriateness: the kama sutra from ilana, a blow-up doll from annie, and lastly the apex of such things. i didn't even have to open the box (from liz) to know what it was. shocking, shocking, shocking. by that point i was almost weeping w/ laughter. ... i adore my friends.
matthew stark and r. block had come by earlier and they stayed for a while. almost immediately ruby removed his shirt. but they didn't partake of the queen mary goodness annie provided -- taught ilana to inhale! -- and they left around midnite. we were thoroughly toasted by that point and stuffed w/ frosting and liz's cookie-cake -- we went to the living room to make like potted plants for a while. i started describing a scene from a book that annie didn't want to hear about b/c it involved cruelty to animals so i compromised by spelling out the offensive verb in sign-language. "K-I-L-L-E-D," said ilana: "kill Ed? why? who's ed?"
"killed, love," i said, and then she joined us rolling on the floor laughing.
then we hottubbed, then slept, then woke to make/eat blueberry pancakes and disperse. missed tamar and nomi. they never made it over b/c tamar, who's parentless at the moment, stalled on norbeck. jamie's dad eventually had to help her.
the other mini-tragedy of the evening occurred when ilana's glasses were sacrificed to the party gods at the paws of annie's spawn-of-satan golden lab, lulu. well, better ilana's glasses than ilana. all in all, 'twas a successful gathering. ari and becca, i think, both return tonite. and wow i wonder if ross is in san francisco by now. (hallo, ross, if you're reading this.) didn't get a chance to talk to him afore he left. well, enjoy. i did.
well, to reconstruct: i'm now listening to the bootleg ani cd jamie got me -- ah, loveliness: "swandive" "both hands" "two little girls" "independence day" "up up up" and "cradle and all", among others. she presented it to me at the ceremony last nite at annie's party which also featured an anti-aging package from jay and then three themed gifts that escalated in their just shocking inappropriateness: the kama sutra from ilana, a blow-up doll from annie, and lastly the apex of such things. i didn't even have to open the box (from liz) to know what it was. shocking, shocking, shocking. by that point i was almost weeping w/ laughter. ... i adore my friends.
matthew stark and r. block had come by earlier and they stayed for a while. almost immediately ruby removed his shirt. but they didn't partake of the queen mary goodness annie provided -- taught ilana to inhale! -- and they left around midnite. we were thoroughly toasted by that point and stuffed w/ frosting and liz's cookie-cake -- we went to the living room to make like potted plants for a while. i started describing a scene from a book that annie didn't want to hear about b/c it involved cruelty to animals so i compromised by spelling out the offensive verb in sign-language. "K-I-L-L-E-D," said ilana: "kill Ed? why? who's ed?"
"killed, love," i said, and then she joined us rolling on the floor laughing.
then we hottubbed, then slept, then woke to make/eat blueberry pancakes and disperse. missed tamar and nomi. they never made it over b/c tamar, who's parentless at the moment, stalled on norbeck. jamie's dad eventually had to help her.
the other mini-tragedy of the evening occurred when ilana's glasses were sacrificed to the party gods at the paws of annie's spawn-of-satan golden lab, lulu. well, better ilana's glasses than ilana. all in all, 'twas a successful gathering. ari and becca, i think, both return tonite. and wow i wonder if ross is in san francisco by now. (hallo, ross, if you're reading this.) didn't get a chance to talk to him afore he left. well, enjoy. i did.
Saturday, July 21, 2001
estrogen-sprung tears aside (i cried thru sherman alexie's "comedy" smoke signals and then again when the mail came ["no diet coke needed": perhaps -- but it makes a damn good comfort food]) i've been much happier and more relaxed. my father got home yesterday, driving over to pick me up from liz's where i was having shabbes dinner w/ her and ilana. much of the afternoon time, we spent in the kitchen as liz cooked and cooked and ilana sorrowfully recited umd's shortcomings. difficult to gauge what exactly to say. create best combination of encouragement, looking-on-the-bright-side, you'll-be-happy-anywhere w/ Fiske reccomendations? racking my once-glutted mental college directory: have you thought about middlebury? she loves vermont (tho she's never been ...) bates was founded by abolitionists ... or what about haverford? maybe that's me being selfish. that way i'd get her, becca (penn), and ben (u. of a. ) all w/in half an hour's distance.
doesn't matter what i say anyway; she's unhappy and she will be until she shakes it off. i have to stop pretending i can fix anything just by brainstorming the perfect thing to say.
after dinner, to which stacey came too, liz's parents accompanied us to the living room to watch a movie. that's their ritual after a long week: wine, laundry folding, and video. i screwed up of course having brought over neil jordan's the butcher boy, which, tho critically lauded, i hadn't realized is the darkest of dark comedies. strike one for good judgement. liz and i liked it anyway. or i think liz liked it ... hard when the surrounding audience keeps commenting how long/violent/incomprehensible/unwatchable it is.
and despite everything i'm serene? i guess it doesn't make too much sense. still, i am. hopefully can make it to falconridge. i went a couple summers ago while at barnard w/ my then-roomie CA girl christine and much fun was had.
party tonite -- hopefully -- at annie's. then zoo sunday, perhaps. haven't been there in ages and yesterday i was struck by a craving. love the zoo.
doesn't matter what i say anyway; she's unhappy and she will be until she shakes it off. i have to stop pretending i can fix anything just by brainstorming the perfect thing to say.
after dinner, to which stacey came too, liz's parents accompanied us to the living room to watch a movie. that's their ritual after a long week: wine, laundry folding, and video. i screwed up of course having brought over neil jordan's the butcher boy, which, tho critically lauded, i hadn't realized is the darkest of dark comedies. strike one for good judgement. liz and i liked it anyway. or i think liz liked it ... hard when the surrounding audience keeps commenting how long/violent/incomprehensible/unwatchable it is.
and despite everything i'm serene? i guess it doesn't make too much sense. still, i am. hopefully can make it to falconridge. i went a couple summers ago while at barnard w/ my then-roomie CA girl christine and much fun was had.
party tonite -- hopefully -- at annie's. then zoo sunday, perhaps. haven't been there in ages and yesterday i was struck by a craving. love the zoo.
Friday, July 20, 2001
listening to ancient, haunting folk music via my aunt. naturally i consulted amazon and only upon finding that both albums had 5-star ratings and glowing costumer reviews did i break open the plastic. i'm such a dip.
last nite around 12 i decided i needed the sleep, which i never get somehow either on weekends or during the week, so i would forsake wifp for a day. immediately after i made the mother-sanctioned decision, ben and liz called: "where were you? we were trying to get you all evening!" i excused myself, citing class and becca and johnny's visit thereafter; they waved that off. "we're coming over," they said. "now?" i said. "now," they said.
who could argue?
i threw on clothes and slipped out of the house as soon as i saw ben's new white pickup (!!), clutching my bag like a runaway.
we didn't do anything crazy; i kept insisting i had to get back soon to go to sleep (see previous self-analysis). we went to liz's porch and sat and talked. we're an interesting combination, we three. liz is my oldest female friend and ben is my oldest male friend. i've been thru a lot w/ them, individually and as a unit. the three of us, along w/ jay and lisa, back in the day, used to cast circles. religious rebellion, yeah; regular rebellion; but mostly an excuse to bond.
they returned me home safely around 2 and i promptly went to sleep.
i was glad of the thing, tho: i hadn't done much bday related stuff yesterday. other activities filled my schedule: running around the hill, first to deliver handbooks to rep.s, then to meet w/ santorum's and spector's L.A.s. the latter, despite his junior-senator status, has a much fancier and more formal office; coincidentally, he's a much more hardcore (read: hellbound) republican. spector actually has a decent record on women's issues and he's co-sposoring one of the bills we were lobbying for.
after that craziness, and catered chinese lunch, i went over to visit mom and read tom jones on a park bench for a while (wisdom therefrom: "... men of true wisdom and goodness are contented to take persons and things as they are, without complaining of their imperfections or attempting to amend them. They can see fault in a friend, a relation, or an aquaintance, without even mentioning it to the partiest themselves, or to any others; and this often without lessening their affection. ... There is, perhaps, no surer mark of folly than an attempt to correct the natural infirmities of those we love.")
Then i caught a 4:20 show of princess and the warrior. that last left me dazed. i love when films affect me physically, when their residue is impossible to shake off.
judah presented me w/ his and adam's present: state and main and rhps on dvd. very sweet. and i got phone calls and/or emails from my boatloads of friends and well-wishers. so thanks, everybody: i feel more-than-adequately loved, natural infirmities'n'all.
last nite around 12 i decided i needed the sleep, which i never get somehow either on weekends or during the week, so i would forsake wifp for a day. immediately after i made the mother-sanctioned decision, ben and liz called: "where were you? we were trying to get you all evening!" i excused myself, citing class and becca and johnny's visit thereafter; they waved that off. "we're coming over," they said. "now?" i said. "now," they said.
who could argue?
i threw on clothes and slipped out of the house as soon as i saw ben's new white pickup (!!), clutching my bag like a runaway.
we didn't do anything crazy; i kept insisting i had to get back soon to go to sleep (see previous self-analysis). we went to liz's porch and sat and talked. we're an interesting combination, we three. liz is my oldest female friend and ben is my oldest male friend. i've been thru a lot w/ them, individually and as a unit. the three of us, along w/ jay and lisa, back in the day, used to cast circles. religious rebellion, yeah; regular rebellion; but mostly an excuse to bond.
they returned me home safely around 2 and i promptly went to sleep.
i was glad of the thing, tho: i hadn't done much bday related stuff yesterday. other activities filled my schedule: running around the hill, first to deliver handbooks to rep.s, then to meet w/ santorum's and spector's L.A.s. the latter, despite his junior-senator status, has a much fancier and more formal office; coincidentally, he's a much more hardcore (read: hellbound) republican. spector actually has a decent record on women's issues and he's co-sposoring one of the bills we were lobbying for.
after that craziness, and catered chinese lunch, i went over to visit mom and read tom jones on a park bench for a while (wisdom therefrom: "... men of true wisdom and goodness are contented to take persons and things as they are, without complaining of their imperfections or attempting to amend them. They can see fault in a friend, a relation, or an aquaintance, without even mentioning it to the partiest themselves, or to any others; and this often without lessening their affection. ... There is, perhaps, no surer mark of folly than an attempt to correct the natural infirmities of those we love.")
Then i caught a 4:20 show of princess and the warrior. that last left me dazed. i love when films affect me physically, when their residue is impossible to shake off.
judah presented me w/ his and adam's present: state and main and rhps on dvd. very sweet. and i got phone calls and/or emails from my boatloads of friends and well-wishers. so thanks, everybody: i feel more-than-adequately loved, natural infirmities'n'all.
Thursday, July 19, 2001
i'm a fool. as it turns out, my piece isn't due tomorrow after all. that means i raced home for nothing; didn't contact becca tho she was nearby; worked myself into a near-frenzy wonderful what on earth i was going to write about ... :-)
(i found this out via johnny of course: desperado1926: have you not read the 201823740812374 e-mails sent?
ishtar42: not read, per se ...)
whoa silliness. anyway. i'm calm. tomorrow i lobby. tomorrow i'll be 19, same as the cereal, same as the day. my aunt sent me revolver, as well as two cds of singer-songwriters she remembers from her own folk-lovin' hayday and a book on dylan that purports to explain the meaning behind each song. really sweet of her: i have the feeling she's reliving her youth thru me. hey, man, whatever works.
my last day of being 18 had -- like every family has -- its ups and downs. ... i just got off the phone w/ ilana talking some stuff thru. hopefully having discussed the issue will help make it go away.
and spending time w/ tamar tonite was wonderful.
the interns and martha threw me a little suprise party at work today. that was really sweet too. really, i just need to resist being moody and critical and over-sensitive and stop scratching my mosquito bites, and life will be dandy.
(i found this out via johnny of course: desperado1926: have you not read the 201823740812374 e-mails sent?
ishtar42: not read, per se ...)
whoa silliness. anyway. i'm calm. tomorrow i lobby. tomorrow i'll be 19, same as the cereal, same as the day. my aunt sent me revolver, as well as two cds of singer-songwriters she remembers from her own folk-lovin' hayday and a book on dylan that purports to explain the meaning behind each song. really sweet of her: i have the feeling she's reliving her youth thru me. hey, man, whatever works.
my last day of being 18 had -- like every family has -- its ups and downs. ... i just got off the phone w/ ilana talking some stuff thru. hopefully having discussed the issue will help make it go away.
and spending time w/ tamar tonite was wonderful.
the interns and martha threw me a little suprise party at work today. that was really sweet too. really, i just need to resist being moody and critical and over-sensitive and stop scratching my mosquito bites, and life will be dandy.
Wednesday, July 18, 2001
too tired to write much -- only wanted to mention briefly that (1) my mother returned home late tonite while i was on the phone w/ tamar. i heard vague commotion but couldn't place it. when i emerged from my room, i realized she was in hers, with the lights off. cautiously, deciding i had to risk it, i walked in. "are you okay?" i whispered. "yes," said my mother. "i just had too much wine. and a martini!"
at which point i burst out laughing and more readily approached the bed. my silly mother was affirmatively tipsy, enuf so to repeat an off-color joke that of course i am much too ladylike to repeat here. she was also sober enuf that we could talk some -- not about yesterday, of course; just about general stuff, sufficient to reassure me that she does not in fact hate me and that i could even go so far as to say perhaps that all is well.
also (2) tamar called me just when i had been thinking of calling her and asked me precisely what i had wanted to ask her: for a date. just the two of us, exploring the wonders of rockvellian cuisine. ah wavelengths.
(3) matthew stark bumped into condit today, or so he says: "literally." (i refuse to engage in chandra gossip -- suffice it to say, the woman is either pulling a sheinbein and in the holy land [jay's notion], or pregnant in belize [ilana's grandmother's], or else hidden in a painting somewhere, a la roald dahl's the witches.)
(4) t - 1 days, really, til my day. wow. i'll be 19. ...
at which point i burst out laughing and more readily approached the bed. my silly mother was affirmatively tipsy, enuf so to repeat an off-color joke that of course i am much too ladylike to repeat here. she was also sober enuf that we could talk some -- not about yesterday, of course; just about general stuff, sufficient to reassure me that she does not in fact hate me and that i could even go so far as to say perhaps that all is well.
also (2) tamar called me just when i had been thinking of calling her and asked me precisely what i had wanted to ask her: for a date. just the two of us, exploring the wonders of rockvellian cuisine. ah wavelengths.
(3) matthew stark bumped into condit today, or so he says: "literally." (i refuse to engage in chandra gossip -- suffice it to say, the woman is either pulling a sheinbein and in the holy land [jay's notion], or pregnant in belize [ilana's grandmother's], or else hidden in a painting somewhere, a la roald dahl's the witches.)
(4) t - 1 days, really, til my day. wow. i'll be 19. ...
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