On Thursday, went with Jeremy to a discussion by several guest speakers about whether Christianity is intellectual suicide. Jose was the one who gave us the idea to go, but he never showed up, having gone to fencing instead. His loss, really. It was rather exciting; the place was packed and with the air of people turned out expecting a fight, because of course all the Christians showed up in spades, and all the atheists showed up in spades because they couldn't turn down such a tempting call to arms. A ton of people we knew showed up, like Sam and Mike (who had actually graduated last semester so I hadn't seen him since then) and Strong Sad Eric (formerly known as Loser Eric in my blog, but he's actually a really nice guy, if socially inept, so calling him Loser Eric sounds mean.. and he reminds me of Strong Sad from Homestar Runner). These debate things are the best when every single person entering the room has his own foregone conclusion, and nobody's foregone conclusion coincides with anyone else's. Also, they had chai, so it was good.
Actually, the event was sponsored by several fellowships, so all the speakers presented the Christian point of view with intent to convert, and there were no opposing speakers. Still, I (unlike Sam, who is an out and out atheist) found that they addressed criticism pretty well, if with logical loopholes. The first speaker we had was a scientist, and a horrible speaker though an educated man. The second guy was better, presenting a hilarious parody of the modern liberal mindset which I can't say I'm not guilty of, though he tried to prove that Christianity wasn't intellectual suicide by listing a number of mentally talented Christians over the years. This is a dumb argument, because surely nobody believes that individual Christians can't excel in the sciences or arts or philosophy, it's just that Christianity as an institution makes Christians in large numbers one of the most terrible things this world has seen. For every Tolkien or CS Lewis there's a hundred rednecks, moms who do things "for the children," or medieval serfs. And surely they aren't bad people on their own and with their families, it's just when they start getting together and lighting torches and brandishing pitchforks that the world is in trouble. And this, honestly, goes for any other ideology in the world which believes itself to be the only right one; communism, veganism, football fans, what have you.
On the most part though I do respect the speakers immensely. I did talk to one of them, the second speaker, afterwards, asking him why salvation had to be obtained through Christ specifically, as opposed to any other God. His answer was that he personally believed it to be so because it was in the Bible, which he as a historian believed to be true over any other religious document. He told me to spend a long time looking at the Bible analyzing it like any other historical document and asking questions regarding its truth value. Is this well translated? Is this a good copy of the original manuscript? What time period did it come from? Who was it written by, who was it written for, and what society was it a product of? How well does it correspond with the accounts of other documents of the era? I would, like any other document, have to make a judgement using rational analysis, about whether what was said therein was historical fact.
I told this to Sam, who did the online version of rolling his eyes and asked, "Why not believe Greek myths then?"
Which is a good point, but I still do respect the speaker as the only Christian, Jeremy not withstanding, who has ever given me an answer to the question of, "Why Christ? Why should I believe in the Bible moreso than any other holy text?" with something other than the circular response, "Because it says so in the Bible."
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
Have made cup and straw kazoos with Jose, Jeremy and Niall. What you do; take a paper soda cup, after you've emptied it, wash it out, and punch a hole through the center of the bottom side with your straw, and stick your straw in partway. Clench with your teeth the side of the straw that's sticking out of the bottom and suck in air through your teeth. Tada! Cup kazoos!
Unfortunately, Jeremy and Paul, his roommate, cannot for love or money, make their kazoos work.
Jeremy is like this though; he's terrible with woodwinds. He has a bamboo flute he got at Rennfest which he tried to learn to play. It's one of those flutes which, unlike a recorder or a penny whistle, you don't blow directly into, but hold it sideways across your mouth and blow across the mouth hole, for better sound quality. Well, he can't do it. I told him that it's just like blowing across the mouth of a soda bottle to produce a low whooping sound, but apparently he can't do that either. I think this "trained incapacity" (as Sociology 101 would have it) comes from playing trombone all these years... perhaps his mouth is conditioned to only move in a certain way.
Unfortunately, Jeremy and Paul, his roommate, cannot for love or money, make their kazoos work.
Jeremy is like this though; he's terrible with woodwinds. He has a bamboo flute he got at Rennfest which he tried to learn to play. It's one of those flutes which, unlike a recorder or a penny whistle, you don't blow directly into, but hold it sideways across your mouth and blow across the mouth hole, for better sound quality. Well, he can't do it. I told him that it's just like blowing across the mouth of a soda bottle to produce a low whooping sound, but apparently he can't do that either. I think this "trained incapacity" (as Sociology 101 would have it) comes from playing trombone all these years... perhaps his mouth is conditioned to only move in a certain way.
Tuesday, March 02, 2004
Politically Noncommital Girl Strikes Again!
Went to see a screening of a documentary called Life Over Debt organized by Oxfam, an organization against global hunger that I'm kinda in. Chris (Brian's twin brother and head of the Economics Club) sprung on me saying, "You're an econ major? Would you like to be more involved in contemporary economic issues?" and I was like, "sure..." because I've lately been trying to make an effort to partake in more student events, with marginal success. Besides, I've always felt a bit guilty about being such an uninformed voter and so politically inactive. I can't even classify myself as either liberal or conservative, much less find a party or a politician to support. I didn't even vote in the Maryland primaries today. I was reminded in the morning, but then I forgot by lunchtime, and in any case, all the Democrats seem alike to me. I feel bad about this; voting is what Nick and Malex and Andrew would've wanted me to do. At any rate, the documentary, which I did remember to go to see, was about how Jamaican farmers are driven out of business by foreign corporations which sell things at lower prices, or something like that and is very anti-globalization.
I found it like Bowling for Columbine in that instead of taking the responsibility of being an objective film, it goes for emotional manipulation and cinematography instead. Not that it wasn't artfully done but I'm just saying it seemed a bit too perfect. You know, it of course must have many shots of carousing tourists (always fat and white and sunburned) with (poor, black) people working in factories, and analogies comparing foreign corporations in Jamaica to colonial slavery. Obviously many of the people representing the anti-globalization point of view had to be impassioned blacks with thick Jamaican accents while the sole speaker for the WTO had to be a bald white man with glasses who was coolly composed and well-spoken, the very epitome of a (imperialist) corporate shark. (Also he had no eyebrows. Is that freaky or what?) So whether intentionally or not, a lot of the documentary took advantage of people's guilt over being relatively affluent, or their residual white guilt over historic oppression of other cultures, or xenocentrism (where people sentimentally find other people's cultures to be more wiser, richer, and more wonderful than their own simply because it's exotic) to be emotionally manipulative regarding the issues instead of being informative about them.
The discussion following the screening was pretty much a recruitment drive for the Coalition Against Global Exploitation, a local Baltimore association. Personally I think this makes any sort of educational and informative documentary screening and discussion lose a bit of credibility as being .. well... educational and informative. Because if the impartial facts truly and rationally stood for themselves, education without proselytization would be enough to convince someone of the merits of CAGE or a similar organization. All you'd have to do is say "This screening sponsored by CAGE and Oxfam" on the posters and have a contact e-mail address. The fact that most of the "discussion" period was devoted to the logistics of joining CAGE and what they as an organization do, instead of the documentary or the issue itself, seemed rather to defeat the purpose. There was no real "discussion" because there was no real dissent- it wasn't possible to express dissent without sounding like an asshole. (I, for my part, didn't speak out at all on everything I've written here, and nobody else did.) I'm sure the people with CAGE are nice and very tolerant; it's just the nature of public groups that nobody wants to be the sole dissentor.
I don't know what I think of it really; maybe protectionism is better for developing countries to be able to develop their own enterprises. It is true that people ought to have a right as consumers to buy whatever they wish, be it local or foreign goods (which was the argument of our WTO corporate shark*), but this may not be a priority if it thwarts the growth of local businesses. US businesses based in a country ought to be subject to health and labor regulations of some sort, though obviously the idea is that these regulations will be more lenient in another country than in the US, hence encouraging investment. "Free trade zones" sound like cowpoo* to me. I appreciate the infrastructure and new technology that foreign investment provides, but it is also cowpoo that free trade provides jobs to people who otherwise wouldn't have them. This may be true in some cases but in many cases it takes away jobs by driving away local businesses by encouraging imports instead local production. Also, short-term loans to countries, with interest, is pretty dumb because they can't use that money for long term investment and just end up in debt. Obviously, we ought to stop subsidizing American enterprises that produce things for which there is no demand and instead fund the transitions of some of those enterprises into other venues.
However, I still don't think globalization is generally evil.
*Who probably isn't as much of an asshole in real life as the documentary makes him; anyone can seem an asshole in documentaries when juxtaposed with shots of mournful mothers and starving children.
*Cowpoo! Like bullshit but better.
Went to see a screening of a documentary called Life Over Debt organized by Oxfam, an organization against global hunger that I'm kinda in. Chris (Brian's twin brother and head of the Economics Club) sprung on me saying, "You're an econ major? Would you like to be more involved in contemporary economic issues?" and I was like, "sure..." because I've lately been trying to make an effort to partake in more student events, with marginal success. Besides, I've always felt a bit guilty about being such an uninformed voter and so politically inactive. I can't even classify myself as either liberal or conservative, much less find a party or a politician to support. I didn't even vote in the Maryland primaries today. I was reminded in the morning, but then I forgot by lunchtime, and in any case, all the Democrats seem alike to me. I feel bad about this; voting is what Nick and Malex and Andrew would've wanted me to do. At any rate, the documentary, which I did remember to go to see, was about how Jamaican farmers are driven out of business by foreign corporations which sell things at lower prices, or something like that and is very anti-globalization.
I found it like Bowling for Columbine in that instead of taking the responsibility of being an objective film, it goes for emotional manipulation and cinematography instead. Not that it wasn't artfully done but I'm just saying it seemed a bit too perfect. You know, it of course must have many shots of carousing tourists (always fat and white and sunburned) with (poor, black) people working in factories, and analogies comparing foreign corporations in Jamaica to colonial slavery. Obviously many of the people representing the anti-globalization point of view had to be impassioned blacks with thick Jamaican accents while the sole speaker for the WTO had to be a bald white man with glasses who was coolly composed and well-spoken, the very epitome of a (imperialist) corporate shark. (Also he had no eyebrows. Is that freaky or what?) So whether intentionally or not, a lot of the documentary took advantage of people's guilt over being relatively affluent, or their residual white guilt over historic oppression of other cultures, or xenocentrism (where people sentimentally find other people's cultures to be more wiser, richer, and more wonderful than their own simply because it's exotic) to be emotionally manipulative regarding the issues instead of being informative about them.
The discussion following the screening was pretty much a recruitment drive for the Coalition Against Global Exploitation, a local Baltimore association. Personally I think this makes any sort of educational and informative documentary screening and discussion lose a bit of credibility as being .. well... educational and informative. Because if the impartial facts truly and rationally stood for themselves, education without proselytization would be enough to convince someone of the merits of CAGE or a similar organization. All you'd have to do is say "This screening sponsored by CAGE and Oxfam" on the posters and have a contact e-mail address. The fact that most of the "discussion" period was devoted to the logistics of joining CAGE and what they as an organization do, instead of the documentary or the issue itself, seemed rather to defeat the purpose. There was no real "discussion" because there was no real dissent- it wasn't possible to express dissent without sounding like an asshole. (I, for my part, didn't speak out at all on everything I've written here, and nobody else did.) I'm sure the people with CAGE are nice and very tolerant; it's just the nature of public groups that nobody wants to be the sole dissentor.
I don't know what I think of it really; maybe protectionism is better for developing countries to be able to develop their own enterprises. It is true that people ought to have a right as consumers to buy whatever they wish, be it local or foreign goods (which was the argument of our WTO corporate shark*), but this may not be a priority if it thwarts the growth of local businesses. US businesses based in a country ought to be subject to health and labor regulations of some sort, though obviously the idea is that these regulations will be more lenient in another country than in the US, hence encouraging investment. "Free trade zones" sound like cowpoo* to me. I appreciate the infrastructure and new technology that foreign investment provides, but it is also cowpoo that free trade provides jobs to people who otherwise wouldn't have them. This may be true in some cases but in many cases it takes away jobs by driving away local businesses by encouraging imports instead local production. Also, short-term loans to countries, with interest, is pretty dumb because they can't use that money for long term investment and just end up in debt. Obviously, we ought to stop subsidizing American enterprises that produce things for which there is no demand and instead fund the transitions of some of those enterprises into other venues.
However, I still don't think globalization is generally evil.
*Who probably isn't as much of an asshole in real life as the documentary makes him; anyone can seem an asshole in documentaries when juxtaposed with shots of mournful mothers and starving children.
*Cowpoo! Like bullshit but better.
Friday, February 27, 2004
On Monday, at Jose's behest, I went with Jeremy to Latin dancing lessons. Poor marching band Jeremy cannot move his hips for love or money; he seems not to be inhibited, but just to be physically incapable of the motion. Shall put him on the stairmaster for a while and see if he learns to wiggle his butt. Won't mention it otherwise; he seems rather sad and discouraged by his lack of progress* anyway.
*Symptom of a condition commonly known as Whiteness.
*Symptom of a condition commonly known as Whiteness.
Sunday, February 22, 2004
On Saturday we were going to have an impromptu LAN party but it didn't work out because it was a bit too impromptu; no one came. Also people kept asking, "Who's coming, what are we playing?" before deciding whether to come. Because everyone was waiting on everyone else's decision, nobody made any decisions in the end. Kay was busy messing with his new computer and when we called him to invite him to our LAN party (without the party part) he asked us who was in it, and since nobody much was except for me, Jeremy and Niall (Chris didn't have a computer to contribute), he decided we weren't cool enough for him and spent the day hanging out with his other friends. There was a simultaneous LAN party in Potomac basement, but our hardware wasn't good enough for them and they ended up unintentionally excluding us by playing Unreal Tournament 2004 extensively.
Went to Wizards of the Coast at Arundel Mills today with Jeremy, Chris and Niall, since WtC retail stores are being closed. Got me some transparent pink dice and some glow in the dark ones, and got, at somewhere else, one of the Half-life expansions. Thanks to Steam, with one CD key I can play basically everything in the Half-life expansion pack including Counter-Strike and Team Fortress Classic and Day of Defeat.
Niall pushed me across a parking lot in a speeding shopping cart.
At Best Buy later on, while waiting for seats to open up in a nearby Ruby Tuesday's, we bumped into Kay, with his Other Friends, and a 19 inch computer monitor in a shopping cart, which promptly keeled over from the weight. We were sickened and left for dinner. I ordered some indeterminant yet tasty meat-with-potatoes meal and Jeremy got something fishy and uninteresting. Jeremy eats and likes any and all seafood; therefore, he is to be ignored anytime he recommends a seafood restaurant or entree. In the meantime, Niall made friends with Sam Adams. I have determined that when people get drunk it doesn't do much except make them act more like themselves (more open, and pronounced mannerisms becoming more exaggerated, etc); therefore, Niall got more Niall-esque.
Have also installed Jeremy's version of Homeworld (the first one), on my computer. Have finished the tutorial, and suck at it tremendously. Nothing else is new.
Went to Wizards of the Coast at Arundel Mills today with Jeremy, Chris and Niall, since WtC retail stores are being closed. Got me some transparent pink dice and some glow in the dark ones, and got, at somewhere else, one of the Half-life expansions. Thanks to Steam, with one CD key I can play basically everything in the Half-life expansion pack including Counter-Strike and Team Fortress Classic and Day of Defeat.
Niall pushed me across a parking lot in a speeding shopping cart.
At Best Buy later on, while waiting for seats to open up in a nearby Ruby Tuesday's, we bumped into Kay, with his Other Friends, and a 19 inch computer monitor in a shopping cart, which promptly keeled over from the weight. We were sickened and left for dinner. I ordered some indeterminant yet tasty meat-with-potatoes meal and Jeremy got something fishy and uninteresting. Jeremy eats and likes any and all seafood; therefore, he is to be ignored anytime he recommends a seafood restaurant or entree. In the meantime, Niall made friends with Sam Adams. I have determined that when people get drunk it doesn't do much except make them act more like themselves (more open, and pronounced mannerisms becoming more exaggerated, etc); therefore, Niall got more Niall-esque.
Have also installed Jeremy's version of Homeworld (the first one), on my computer. Have finished the tutorial, and suck at it tremendously. Nothing else is new.
Dorkiness
On Friday we spent a night playing Niall's Final Fantasy I based tabletop roleplaying game. It went something like this:
----
Niall: You walk into a town. It has an inn, an item shop, an armory, and a small fountain in the middle.
Me (Thief): I play in the fountain.
Niall: You, and the rest of the party (because in Final Fantasy you can't split up), are thrown out of the town. Great job.
Jeremy (Black Mage): I'd peed in the fountain as well.
Niall: To the west and north is forest. To the east is the ocean, to the south is plains.
We defeat some imps and reach a castle.
Niall: The king says, 'You must rescue my dear daughter! She has been kidnapped and is held in a cave to the west!'
Chris (White Mage): We'll save your daughter if you can aid us by providing us sufficient resources to do the job.
King: You may take whatever treasures you find in this castle.
Jeremy (Black Mage): I lift my hat, and while the king is shocked, snatch the crown off his head! That's a treasure.. and something we did find in this castle..
Niall: You attempt to snatch the crown off the king's head.. the crown stays. It has been molded to his head and his skull has grown around it.
Jeremy: Ew!
------
Later:
Niall: You encounter six wolves!
Jeremy: I take some of the food I'd taken from the kitchen and try to feed the wolves and make them friendly to me.
Niall (rolls): You manage to make two wolves your allies for life.
(we attack and kill the other wolves)
Me: I skin the corpses and carry the pelts to sell them at the next town.
----
Niall: You arrive in a vast chamber of the cave. In front of you, you see a giant lizard man holding the Princess in the air.
Jose (Fighter): Put her down now!
Lizard man: I shall never relinquish my sacrificial victim!
Chris (White Mage): How about a trade...? You give us the princess and we give you.. Angie!
Me (Thief): Hey! I'm not a virgin.. er.. *schemes* ... eh, sure, I'll be the trade.
Niall: Okay.. you trade your thief for a useless princess. The lizard man is now holding Angie in the air and licking her.
Me: I chop off its tongue with my dagger.
Niall: It takes no damage and immediately regenerates its tongue, but it's pissed off and attacks the party.
Chris: I grab the princess and run away towards the castle to get the 10,000 gold reward while the rest of you stay behind and fight...
---
King: Thank you, great adventurer, for returning my dear daughter to me.
Chris: Do I get my 10,000 gold?
King *giving it*: Yes, here you go... and your doom as well, foolish mortal!
Niall: The King shows his true form! He's a demon!
Me: And the princess?
Niall: She turns into a succubus. You, the white mage, are all alone with a bag of gold and two angry demons. The rest of the player party is not with you because you betrayed them and left them behind.
-----
We got bored of that game for a while, so then we had everyone else calculate the stats for the character another person would play. The thing was, if your stats were being calculated, you weren't allowed to speak up. For example, if you were Jeremy, you would play, in the game, a character named Jeremy who was exactly like you, with exactly the same personality, memories, skills, and experiences. However, since your 'character' is created by other people, you'd end up actually playing other peoples' perceptions of you.
On Friday we spent a night playing Niall's Final Fantasy I based tabletop roleplaying game. It went something like this:
----
Niall: You walk into a town. It has an inn, an item shop, an armory, and a small fountain in the middle.
Me (Thief): I play in the fountain.
Niall: You, and the rest of the party (because in Final Fantasy you can't split up), are thrown out of the town. Great job.
Jeremy (Black Mage): I'd peed in the fountain as well.
Niall: To the west and north is forest. To the east is the ocean, to the south is plains.
We defeat some imps and reach a castle.
Niall: The king says, 'You must rescue my dear daughter! She has been kidnapped and is held in a cave to the west!'
Chris (White Mage): We'll save your daughter if you can aid us by providing us sufficient resources to do the job.
King: You may take whatever treasures you find in this castle.
Jeremy (Black Mage): I lift my hat, and while the king is shocked, snatch the crown off his head! That's a treasure.. and something we did find in this castle..
Niall: You attempt to snatch the crown off the king's head.. the crown stays. It has been molded to his head and his skull has grown around it.
Jeremy: Ew!
------
Later:
Niall: You encounter six wolves!
Jeremy: I take some of the food I'd taken from the kitchen and try to feed the wolves and make them friendly to me.
Niall (rolls): You manage to make two wolves your allies for life.
(we attack and kill the other wolves)
Me: I skin the corpses and carry the pelts to sell them at the next town.
----
Niall: You arrive in a vast chamber of the cave. In front of you, you see a giant lizard man holding the Princess in the air.
Jose (Fighter): Put her down now!
Lizard man: I shall never relinquish my sacrificial victim!
Chris (White Mage): How about a trade...? You give us the princess and we give you.. Angie!
Me (Thief): Hey! I'm not a virgin.. er.. *schemes* ... eh, sure, I'll be the trade.
Niall: Okay.. you trade your thief for a useless princess. The lizard man is now holding Angie in the air and licking her.
Me: I chop off its tongue with my dagger.
Niall: It takes no damage and immediately regenerates its tongue, but it's pissed off and attacks the party.
Chris: I grab the princess and run away towards the castle to get the 10,000 gold reward while the rest of you stay behind and fight...
---
King: Thank you, great adventurer, for returning my dear daughter to me.
Chris: Do I get my 10,000 gold?
King *giving it*: Yes, here you go... and your doom as well, foolish mortal!
Niall: The King shows his true form! He's a demon!
Me: And the princess?
Niall: She turns into a succubus. You, the white mage, are all alone with a bag of gold and two angry demons. The rest of the player party is not with you because you betrayed them and left them behind.
-----
We got bored of that game for a while, so then we had everyone else calculate the stats for the character another person would play. The thing was, if your stats were being calculated, you weren't allowed to speak up. For example, if you were Jeremy, you would play, in the game, a character named Jeremy who was exactly like you, with exactly the same personality, memories, skills, and experiences. However, since your 'character' is created by other people, you'd end up actually playing other peoples' perceptions of you.
Friday, February 20, 2004
What I Did on Actual Valentine's Day
On Saturday we took the bus to figure out the Catonsville route, and discovered how to get to the Walmart, the Asian Market, various shopping centers, the theater, and residential areas. Catonsville, which I hadn't had a good look at in the daytime, is a fairly nice place with individualistically painted houses being a novelty compared to the mass-produced housing developments I'm used to seeing, though of course some neighborhoods are better than others. It actually is a decent sized city, and on Sunday we walked to Giant to get pie ingredients.
In the meantime, on Saturday night I decided to drag Jeremy to watch Phoenix dance company, which is basically a bunch of our dance majors getting together to perform. It was extremely artsy; the first act, a rather ineffectual piece which thematically was supposed to juxtapose the movement of dancers with the movement of amusement park rides, was ruined by "music" that sounded like those deep industrial farting sounds the plumbing makes on occassion. And it wouldn't stop.... as a matter of fact most of the music was dissonant and discordant. They even managed to distort one of Stravinsky's string pieces through the sound system, though Jeremy said he thought their tenor speakers were just malfunctioning. The Stravinsky piece was an act titled '1914' and had the dance teacher performing solo in Russian peasant garb. She then proceded to rip it off and expose a plain white suit under it, and then pulled a red handkerchief out of her bosom. I think this is supposed to represent World War I or something or the Russian Revolution.. I was never any good with Dance, or Deep, Profound, Symbolic, Handkerchief Bosom Pulling. The dancing itself anyway was rather nice. There was a video with a girl in black crepe who was shown dancing in a forest and in a stream, so that the swirls of fallen leaves that lifted into the air and the trails of rippling water would follow and accentuate her movements, and music would correspond to her motions, like bells that would ring when she dripped water off her fingers. Also, there was a (live) show where the choreographed motions of several girls was themed after the movements of mobiles, and they had two-toned suits, with the front one color and the back another, so that the colors would blend when they spun. In the same act, there was a backlit screen so that girls dancing behind it would cast their shadows upon it, which would distort in size and shape depending on how wrinkled the screen was, and for their masterwork in set design, there were transparent, multi-colored plastic sheets suspended from the ceiling and slowly rotating, so that in the dark, ghostly images would be cast upon them by a projector. There was a token fat girl also... perhaps every dance company has one. I didn't know whether to be awed by how good she was (some of that shit looks painful... like rolling around on the ground..), feel guilty about immediately picking up the fact that she was kinda hefty, or find it rather amusing.
I feel really really sorry for Jeremy though. That was seven dollars.
On Saturday we took the bus to figure out the Catonsville route, and discovered how to get to the Walmart, the Asian Market, various shopping centers, the theater, and residential areas. Catonsville, which I hadn't had a good look at in the daytime, is a fairly nice place with individualistically painted houses being a novelty compared to the mass-produced housing developments I'm used to seeing, though of course some neighborhoods are better than others. It actually is a decent sized city, and on Sunday we walked to Giant to get pie ingredients.
In the meantime, on Saturday night I decided to drag Jeremy to watch Phoenix dance company, which is basically a bunch of our dance majors getting together to perform. It was extremely artsy; the first act, a rather ineffectual piece which thematically was supposed to juxtapose the movement of dancers with the movement of amusement park rides, was ruined by "music" that sounded like those deep industrial farting sounds the plumbing makes on occassion. And it wouldn't stop.... as a matter of fact most of the music was dissonant and discordant. They even managed to distort one of Stravinsky's string pieces through the sound system, though Jeremy said he thought their tenor speakers were just malfunctioning. The Stravinsky piece was an act titled '1914' and had the dance teacher performing solo in Russian peasant garb. She then proceded to rip it off and expose a plain white suit under it, and then pulled a red handkerchief out of her bosom. I think this is supposed to represent World War I or something or the Russian Revolution.. I was never any good with Dance, or Deep, Profound, Symbolic, Handkerchief Bosom Pulling. The dancing itself anyway was rather nice. There was a video with a girl in black crepe who was shown dancing in a forest and in a stream, so that the swirls of fallen leaves that lifted into the air and the trails of rippling water would follow and accentuate her movements, and music would correspond to her motions, like bells that would ring when she dripped water off her fingers. Also, there was a (live) show where the choreographed motions of several girls was themed after the movements of mobiles, and they had two-toned suits, with the front one color and the back another, so that the colors would blend when they spun. In the same act, there was a backlit screen so that girls dancing behind it would cast their shadows upon it, which would distort in size and shape depending on how wrinkled the screen was, and for their masterwork in set design, there were transparent, multi-colored plastic sheets suspended from the ceiling and slowly rotating, so that in the dark, ghostly images would be cast upon them by a projector. There was a token fat girl also... perhaps every dance company has one. I didn't know whether to be awed by how good she was (some of that shit looks painful... like rolling around on the ground..), feel guilty about immediately picking up the fact that she was kinda hefty, or find it rather amusing.
I feel really really sorry for Jeremy though. That was seven dollars.
Thursday, February 19, 2004
What I Did On The Day Before Valentine's Day
On Friday, we were in Renaissance Art class when the prof, for not the first time, mentioned as an aside that the Basilica of the Anunciation in Baltimore was modeled after Brunelleschi's church of Santo Spirito in Florence.
"Let's go look at it. Right now," I told Jeremy randomly.
"Sure," he said, and bought me a chocolate rose.
After lunch we went back to the room to figure out the bus schedules, wherein I found a pair of heart shaped balloons and a bag of cookies delivered and waiting for me. There was also a tin of chocolate pretzels (which I'd already known he'd bought for me because I saw him buy them) and a little cup of chocolates which I hadn't known about. I was happy but not really surprised; everything was for sale on campus.
We went to the Inner Harbor in the late afternoon, taking the shuttle bus from UMBC. We bickered about where to get off, except that a woman close to us who heard us said that we had better get off because the bus only stopped at the next place (a block down) by request. So we got off by a John Hopkins health services building, a giant cylinder of a place in pinkish granite, and walked by Camden Yards and the Baltimore convention center over a network of pedestrian skybridges, guided by signs for tourists and the unmistakable skyline of downtown Baltimore, noting the Bromo-Seltzer tower, an embrasured clock tower which we pedantically recalled was modeled off of the Palazzo Vecchio in Florence.
Most public things were closed by four in the afternoon, like the USS Constellation, the grounds of Fort McHenry visible as a green mound across the harbor with a big honkin' flag stuck in it like a sandwich toothpick, and the Maryland Science Center which was in the process of getting there. The National Aquarium was open, but $17.50 for admission, so it might as well have been closed for all the good it'd do us college students.
We went to the Baltimore World Trade Center observation tower (apparently the world's tallest five sided building, which is for some reason significant). It looks very small on the outside, an unassuming building on the harbor, but is actually about forty storeys high, which... is actually still rather unassuming, compared to skyscrapers anywhere else. Still, it provided a good view of the city, under a hazy blanket of smog made pale gold by the westering sun. From one of the west windows we saw the arterial expressway through which we had arrived and followed its snaking line further west, and the line of rivers, further out, closer to the horizon. Supposedly we could see the campus from there, but the sun was blinding. Still, we looked at the keyed panoramic photo on a podium under the window, and on that, far in the distance, we could see a recognizable concrete rectangle surmounted by a green drum and a flank of red brick box buildings. Those panoramic photos, one set under each window (there were five of them, one for each side) helped us search for random things in the great girth of land splayed out under us, in a Where's Waldo fashion: In the direction of the city the Ukranian Orthodox church dotted the landscape with golden minarets (which I always thought looked like onions) and sea-ward below us the USS Constellation turned into a toy boat with its clear deck comically interrupted by three stick-like masts, and Fort McHenry was a small flattened mound with stubby cannons (and the flag was still there), and the Seven Foot Knoll Lighthouse which wasn't much of a lighthouse but more like a round hut on stilts with a conical roof. There was a map of the city on a wall, which was more than either me or Jeremy had, so Jeremy memorized it, and was aided by his watch set with a compass. ("Or, you could figure out the cardinal directions using the setting sun.." "Hush, that would make sense.") I went to the bathroom at the top of the world, and was amused by the thought of my crap shooting down 400 some feet of plumbing.
Seaward, closer than we'd ever seen it before, was a graceful arch of metal titled in the key to the photo, "The Francis Scott Key Bridge." Twenty miles west there is a windy hill on which an ugly post-modern state college is built, in which I live. It is ugly most of the time, except that on the crown of the hill when me and Jeremy look eastward there is this piece of architecture that we see, a great span of a bridge which before to us had no name, and we always wondered what it was and where it went. My dad said, "Probably Glen Burnie" but now I know better. Other couples have "their song." We seem to have "our bridge." Whenever I see the bridge from campus I feel happier, and I always go, "Look! The Bridge!" when I see it even though I know it's always there. It seems somehow significant that I should know its name.
------
After we left, stumbled around east until we found Charles Street and went north up it, looking around at everything like dazed tourists. We found the Basilica of the Anunciation a few blocks up as the sky turned purple and pink, but the church was closed so we walked around staring at its columns and dome silhouetted through the wrought iron fence. Then, having kind of done what we had come for, we went back to the harbor, by which time the sun had set in full, and the Bromo-Seltzer tower was lit up in the night by spotlights of purple. We went to the Gallery, glowing yellow through panes of glass and gawked at things we couldn't afford, then went to the shops on the harbor.
We went to Philip's Seafood Restaurant and got us some nice fish and crabcakes, and also pie and cheesecake. This took like two hours. We ended up having to run to catch the bus to campus, except that we near missed it because when I was on an intersection and looked to the right and saw the JHU pink cylinder bus stop, we saw the bus speeding away from the block towards us. Jeremy sprinted to the left, towards the stop one block ahead and flagged it down like a taxi.
When we got home Jeremy discovered, beside my bag of cookies and two balloons, another bag of cookies and two more balloons, for him. ("They multiplied!")
On Friday, we were in Renaissance Art class when the prof, for not the first time, mentioned as an aside that the Basilica of the Anunciation in Baltimore was modeled after Brunelleschi's church of Santo Spirito in Florence.
"Let's go look at it. Right now," I told Jeremy randomly.
"Sure," he said, and bought me a chocolate rose.
After lunch we went back to the room to figure out the bus schedules, wherein I found a pair of heart shaped balloons and a bag of cookies delivered and waiting for me. There was also a tin of chocolate pretzels (which I'd already known he'd bought for me because I saw him buy them) and a little cup of chocolates which I hadn't known about. I was happy but not really surprised; everything was for sale on campus.
We went to the Inner Harbor in the late afternoon, taking the shuttle bus from UMBC. We bickered about where to get off, except that a woman close to us who heard us said that we had better get off because the bus only stopped at the next place (a block down) by request. So we got off by a John Hopkins health services building, a giant cylinder of a place in pinkish granite, and walked by Camden Yards and the Baltimore convention center over a network of pedestrian skybridges, guided by signs for tourists and the unmistakable skyline of downtown Baltimore, noting the Bromo-Seltzer tower, an embrasured clock tower which we pedantically recalled was modeled off of the Palazzo Vecchio in Florence.
Most public things were closed by four in the afternoon, like the USS Constellation, the grounds of Fort McHenry visible as a green mound across the harbor with a big honkin' flag stuck in it like a sandwich toothpick, and the Maryland Science Center which was in the process of getting there. The National Aquarium was open, but $17.50 for admission, so it might as well have been closed for all the good it'd do us college students.
We went to the Baltimore World Trade Center observation tower (apparently the world's tallest five sided building, which is for some reason significant). It looks very small on the outside, an unassuming building on the harbor, but is actually about forty storeys high, which... is actually still rather unassuming, compared to skyscrapers anywhere else. Still, it provided a good view of the city, under a hazy blanket of smog made pale gold by the westering sun. From one of the west windows we saw the arterial expressway through which we had arrived and followed its snaking line further west, and the line of rivers, further out, closer to the horizon. Supposedly we could see the campus from there, but the sun was blinding. Still, we looked at the keyed panoramic photo on a podium under the window, and on that, far in the distance, we could see a recognizable concrete rectangle surmounted by a green drum and a flank of red brick box buildings. Those panoramic photos, one set under each window (there were five of them, one for each side) helped us search for random things in the great girth of land splayed out under us, in a Where's Waldo fashion: In the direction of the city the Ukranian Orthodox church dotted the landscape with golden minarets (which I always thought looked like onions) and sea-ward below us the USS Constellation turned into a toy boat with its clear deck comically interrupted by three stick-like masts, and Fort McHenry was a small flattened mound with stubby cannons (and the flag was still there), and the Seven Foot Knoll Lighthouse which wasn't much of a lighthouse but more like a round hut on stilts with a conical roof. There was a map of the city on a wall, which was more than either me or Jeremy had, so Jeremy memorized it, and was aided by his watch set with a compass. ("Or, you could figure out the cardinal directions using the setting sun.." "Hush, that would make sense.") I went to the bathroom at the top of the world, and was amused by the thought of my crap shooting down 400 some feet of plumbing.
Seaward, closer than we'd ever seen it before, was a graceful arch of metal titled in the key to the photo, "The Francis Scott Key Bridge." Twenty miles west there is a windy hill on which an ugly post-modern state college is built, in which I live. It is ugly most of the time, except that on the crown of the hill when me and Jeremy look eastward there is this piece of architecture that we see, a great span of a bridge which before to us had no name, and we always wondered what it was and where it went. My dad said, "Probably Glen Burnie" but now I know better. Other couples have "their song." We seem to have "our bridge." Whenever I see the bridge from campus I feel happier, and I always go, "Look! The Bridge!" when I see it even though I know it's always there. It seems somehow significant that I should know its name.
------
After we left, stumbled around east until we found Charles Street and went north up it, looking around at everything like dazed tourists. We found the Basilica of the Anunciation a few blocks up as the sky turned purple and pink, but the church was closed so we walked around staring at its columns and dome silhouetted through the wrought iron fence. Then, having kind of done what we had come for, we went back to the harbor, by which time the sun had set in full, and the Bromo-Seltzer tower was lit up in the night by spotlights of purple. We went to the Gallery, glowing yellow through panes of glass and gawked at things we couldn't afford, then went to the shops on the harbor.
We went to Philip's Seafood Restaurant and got us some nice fish and crabcakes, and also pie and cheesecake. This took like two hours. We ended up having to run to catch the bus to campus, except that we near missed it because when I was on an intersection and looked to the right and saw the JHU pink cylinder bus stop, we saw the bus speeding away from the block towards us. Jeremy sprinted to the left, towards the stop one block ahead and flagged it down like a taxi.
When we got home Jeremy discovered, beside my bag of cookies and two balloons, another bag of cookies and two more balloons, for him. ("They multiplied!")
Thursday, February 12, 2004
Went swimming again. I seem to have my own personal swim trainer.
Jeremy now has pink marbled speedos. Ooh! His consisntently pink swimwear allows me to identify him immediately from a distance, even without my glasses on.
Did a bunch of fifty yard drills because that's really all I have the stamina for, while Jeremy did anaerobic drills.
Also went to watch Love Actually at LHII. It was cute, if contrived. Also, Keira Knightley is in it.
Jeremy now has pink marbled speedos. Ooh! His consisntently pink swimwear allows me to identify him immediately from a distance, even without my glasses on.
Did a bunch of fifty yard drills because that's really all I have the stamina for, while Jeremy did anaerobic drills.
Also went to watch Love Actually at LHII. It was cute, if contrived. Also, Keira Knightley is in it.
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
Wherein Angie Gets Off Her Ass Every Once in a While
Went combination swimming and weight lifting with Jeremy and Jose.
Jeremy has speedos with little pink stars on them. He says, "They used to be red... -_-" I think they're endearing. Jose tactfully says that maybe he ought to get black speedos sometime. Jeremy's a damn powerful swimmer, though when I'm in the pool with him because I don't have glasses on I can't see him or what he's doing, only a line of splashing the progresses rapidly down the length of the lane. He looks very good from the spectator's balcony though, which I frequented with my glasses on.
Pools are also a good place to make out because of bouyancy. And little pink-starred speedos. But I hate locker rooms because of those wet, slick, floors with their thin film of God knows what. I'm paranoid.
Bench presses-
My max: 55 lb. -_- (Tthat's like just.. the bar.. without any weights on it)
Jeremy's max: 140 lb. *
Jose's max: 150 lb.
Ab crunches-
My max: 30 lb.
Jeremy's max: 60 lb.
Jose's max: 20 lb.
Leg pushy thingies-
My max: 180 lb.
Jeremy's max: 400 lb. + (The weights don't go any higher)
Jose's max: 400 lb. +
I'm a big wuss.
*This is why when I arm wrestle with Jeremy, he still beats me even when I use both arms. Even while he's being tickled.
Went combination swimming and weight lifting with Jeremy and Jose.
Jeremy has speedos with little pink stars on them. He says, "They used to be red... -_-" I think they're endearing. Jose tactfully says that maybe he ought to get black speedos sometime. Jeremy's a damn powerful swimmer, though when I'm in the pool with him because I don't have glasses on I can't see him or what he's doing, only a line of splashing the progresses rapidly down the length of the lane. He looks very good from the spectator's balcony though, which I frequented with my glasses on.
Pools are also a good place to make out because of bouyancy. And little pink-starred speedos. But I hate locker rooms because of those wet, slick, floors with their thin film of God knows what. I'm paranoid.
Bench presses-
My max: 55 lb. -_- (Tthat's like just.. the bar.. without any weights on it)
Jeremy's max: 140 lb. *
Jose's max: 150 lb.
Ab crunches-
My max: 30 lb.
Jeremy's max: 60 lb.
Jose's max: 20 lb.
Leg pushy thingies-
My max: 180 lb.
Jeremy's max: 400 lb. + (The weights don't go any higher)
Jose's max: 400 lb. +
I'm a big wuss.
*This is why when I arm wrestle with Jeremy, he still beats me even when I use both arms. Even while he's being tickled.
Monday, February 09, 2004
Played Vampire the Masquerade (Sabbat, Andrew) last night.
Vampire is really a terrible game. All you do is walk around and suck blood. You've got no family or friends or hobbies or goals and the sun turns you to ashes. You haven't got any of the motivations of a normal person.
We did encounter an NPC who was Jeremy.
"Bob the Nosferatu gives you the address of a computer security expert."
"I go to that address."
"You see a sign in front of the house reading, 'The Pie Residence.' "
"I knock on the door."
"Jeremy answers, holding a cup of coffee."
*laughter*
"Actual Jeremy?"
"Yes."
"I use Presence on him."
"Okay.. what's his Willpower?"
"Two.. he's only human."
"Jeremy says: 'Wow, I just spent all night playing Vampire the Masquerade and now I see real vampires!' Angie appears in the hallway. 'Who's at the door, pie?' "
"Jeremy: Nobody, go back to sleep."
We're trying to think up ways for him to become a permanent recurring NPC. I suggested having my character Embrace him and turn him into a vampire- a pale, Vampire the Masquerade-playing, coffee-drinking vampire. I don't think my in-game counterpart would be very happy about this but out of character I think this is sexy.
Vampire is really a terrible game. All you do is walk around and suck blood. You've got no family or friends or hobbies or goals and the sun turns you to ashes. You haven't got any of the motivations of a normal person.
We did encounter an NPC who was Jeremy.
"Bob the Nosferatu gives you the address of a computer security expert."
"I go to that address."
"You see a sign in front of the house reading, 'The Pie Residence.' "
"I knock on the door."
"Jeremy answers, holding a cup of coffee."
*laughter*
"Actual Jeremy?"
"Yes."
"I use Presence on him."
"Okay.. what's his Willpower?"
"Two.. he's only human."
"Jeremy says: 'Wow, I just spent all night playing Vampire the Masquerade and now I see real vampires!' Angie appears in the hallway. 'Who's at the door, pie?' "
"Jeremy: Nobody, go back to sleep."
We're trying to think up ways for him to become a permanent recurring NPC. I suggested having my character Embrace him and turn him into a vampire- a pale, Vampire the Masquerade-playing, coffee-drinking vampire. I don't think my in-game counterpart would be very happy about this but out of character I think this is sexy.
Monday, February 02, 2004
I have a poetry class for non-English majors (not because I like poetry, or English classes, but because a literature class is a pre-req for English 271, Creative Writing), Principles of Accounting II, Macroeconomics, Sociology 101 and History of Renaissance Art.
I have to get up at 8 in the morning for my English class, and I have to write a 200 word reflection for each class period, and we spend all period talking about the meaning of various poems, and the prof tries to get us to read the poems out loud, with feeling. I think I may drop it, except that we're studying Sappho and Alkhaios now and I have a soft spot for the ancient Greeks and find Greek verse terribly interesting. So we'll see how that goes.
Accounting is actually, of all things, fairly interesting. We have an engaging professor, and a small and sharp class. In any case, I think that managerial accounting is inherently more interesting a subject matter than financial accounting anyhow, and it makes this class unexpectedly stimulating.
Macro blows because it takes place in a large lecture hall, and the professor could not be more boring if he tried. I fell asleep in the second lecture, so that the class period seemed to be a big nap punctuated by brief periods of consciousness where my brain drowsily went, "Oh, a supply and demand graph" or something similar and went right back out again. To be fair to the professor though, this is may be less due to the monotony of the lecturer and more because I wake up at 8 in the morning on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Still the end result was that I fell asleep all the same.
Also, we have a web site project, and the grading requirements are such that you can only get a good grade if you include things like Flash, Powerpoint, animated graphics, or other glitzy things. (Having solid, well-researched economic material that's properly cited and expressed in a well-organized format will only get you a decent grade). While I do have a guy in my group who's a professional web designer, solving the problem of eye-candy, I still think that that aspect of the grading policy is rather unfair. Also, each project group has a "project coordinator" who has the responsiblity of assigning each of the members of the group a "pass/minor pass/fail" grade, submitted confidentially to the professor, depending on how much the coordinator felt the member contributed to the group. This is, in theory, to discourage group project freeloaders, but I'm critical of a system that allows any one student to have such power over the grade of another. However, I have taken Macroecon in high school, and the lecture notes are available online, so I think I'll do well as long as I go to class ... (unlike for Micro, where I missed my first exam and didn't turn in one assignment.. and even then got a B)... even if I do fall asleep or space out sometimes.
Sociology, which I'm taking as a pre-req for various anthropology classes, is one of those classes that sounds interesting but really isn't. We have a rheumatic elderly professor telling us a vague and generalized history of the world without any support for his statements, like a grandfather who tells kids about the good old days, in just the same manner. For those of you who know him; it's like my dad, but twenty years older. "And then there was the French Revolution where the peasants were fed up with the aristocrats having large parties and building big palaces.." What rulers in which regions? What pieces of legislature and which prevailing customs described in what documents? "The Industrial Revolution was a horrible time. The conditions of workers were terrible. You'd often see children in the mines without hands and feet..." Described by who? What cases? Mr. Thomas and Mr. Hines always told us exactly where their information came from, and I'd become accustomed to it. You can't just say random things, hoping they'll be acceptable because of your position of authority.
"Even nowadays you see the problems inherent with over-competition in markets, in the form of the vile practice where companies outsource their labor to India to maximize their profits.." ...and nobody spoke up. Well I got into this argument with the professor and a girl sitting a few seats away from me who was the daughter of some powerful labor union man. I had just finished Upton Sinclair's "The Jungle" which is an eloquent muckraker tract on the unsanitary conditions of the food industry but also a very treacly propaganda piece for Socialism. My annoyance probably was not so much a result of any one person in Sociology as my residue reaction to that wonderful little book, and the girl, whose name I wish I had, had some very nice points. Still, even though I like arguing, one must wonder... you're the sociology professor for the love of God, why can't you teach that?
In any case, I also suspect the prof thinks we're really stupid because nobody ever speaks up in class. But if you went to a class where you had an old guy lecture at you as you sat with maybe fifty other people in rows of desks marching straight down the classroom so that in the middle and back couldn't hear him, would you ever speak up? I know you're supposed to be critical in class but I'm so critical of everything he says that I end up not saying anything at all because I haven't got a place to begin (and I don't want to disrupt the class by being an Anya). I don't know, maybe things will get more interesting once we get past the introductory lectures. Plus, Sasha is in that class, which is a plus.
I have Renaissance Art with Jeremy. It is really really cool, not in the least because our professor is expressive and funny. In addition, it puts my Greek Archaeology knowledge from last semester to good use, I have someone to study with, and we keep each other awake if we're about to fall asleep.
I have to get up at 8 in the morning for my English class, and I have to write a 200 word reflection for each class period, and we spend all period talking about the meaning of various poems, and the prof tries to get us to read the poems out loud, with feeling. I think I may drop it, except that we're studying Sappho and Alkhaios now and I have a soft spot for the ancient Greeks and find Greek verse terribly interesting. So we'll see how that goes.
Accounting is actually, of all things, fairly interesting. We have an engaging professor, and a small and sharp class. In any case, I think that managerial accounting is inherently more interesting a subject matter than financial accounting anyhow, and it makes this class unexpectedly stimulating.
Macro blows because it takes place in a large lecture hall, and the professor could not be more boring if he tried. I fell asleep in the second lecture, so that the class period seemed to be a big nap punctuated by brief periods of consciousness where my brain drowsily went, "Oh, a supply and demand graph" or something similar and went right back out again. To be fair to the professor though, this is may be less due to the monotony of the lecturer and more because I wake up at 8 in the morning on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Still the end result was that I fell asleep all the same.
Also, we have a web site project, and the grading requirements are such that you can only get a good grade if you include things like Flash, Powerpoint, animated graphics, or other glitzy things. (Having solid, well-researched economic material that's properly cited and expressed in a well-organized format will only get you a decent grade). While I do have a guy in my group who's a professional web designer, solving the problem of eye-candy, I still think that that aspect of the grading policy is rather unfair. Also, each project group has a "project coordinator" who has the responsiblity of assigning each of the members of the group a "pass/minor pass/fail" grade, submitted confidentially to the professor, depending on how much the coordinator felt the member contributed to the group. This is, in theory, to discourage group project freeloaders, but I'm critical of a system that allows any one student to have such power over the grade of another. However, I have taken Macroecon in high school, and the lecture notes are available online, so I think I'll do well as long as I go to class ... (unlike for Micro, where I missed my first exam and didn't turn in one assignment.. and even then got a B)... even if I do fall asleep or space out sometimes.
Sociology, which I'm taking as a pre-req for various anthropology classes, is one of those classes that sounds interesting but really isn't. We have a rheumatic elderly professor telling us a vague and generalized history of the world without any support for his statements, like a grandfather who tells kids about the good old days, in just the same manner. For those of you who know him; it's like my dad, but twenty years older. "And then there was the French Revolution where the peasants were fed up with the aristocrats having large parties and building big palaces.." What rulers in which regions? What pieces of legislature and which prevailing customs described in what documents? "The Industrial Revolution was a horrible time. The conditions of workers were terrible. You'd often see children in the mines without hands and feet..." Described by who? What cases? Mr. Thomas and Mr. Hines always told us exactly where their information came from, and I'd become accustomed to it. You can't just say random things, hoping they'll be acceptable because of your position of authority.
"Even nowadays you see the problems inherent with over-competition in markets, in the form of the vile practice where companies outsource their labor to India to maximize their profits.." ...and nobody spoke up. Well I got into this argument with the professor and a girl sitting a few seats away from me who was the daughter of some powerful labor union man. I had just finished Upton Sinclair's "The Jungle" which is an eloquent muckraker tract on the unsanitary conditions of the food industry but also a very treacly propaganda piece for Socialism. My annoyance probably was not so much a result of any one person in Sociology as my residue reaction to that wonderful little book, and the girl, whose name I wish I had, had some very nice points. Still, even though I like arguing, one must wonder... you're the sociology professor for the love of God, why can't you teach that?
In any case, I also suspect the prof thinks we're really stupid because nobody ever speaks up in class. But if you went to a class where you had an old guy lecture at you as you sat with maybe fifty other people in rows of desks marching straight down the classroom so that in the middle and back couldn't hear him, would you ever speak up? I know you're supposed to be critical in class but I'm so critical of everything he says that I end up not saying anything at all because I haven't got a place to begin (and I don't want to disrupt the class by being an Anya). I don't know, maybe things will get more interesting once we get past the introductory lectures. Plus, Sasha is in that class, which is a plus.
I have Renaissance Art with Jeremy. It is really really cool, not in the least because our professor is expressive and funny. In addition, it puts my Greek Archaeology knowledge from last semester to good use, I have someone to study with, and we keep each other awake if we're about to fall asleep.
Well, I haven't blogged in a while. I'm at school, and haven't been getting very much in the way of privacy, having immediately moved back in with Jeremy. I end up being with him 24/7 except when we're in class or the bathroom, neither of which can hardly be described as privacy either. Therefore, I can only blog while he's in class because it seems a bit rude to make him sit around by himself while I type, though I sometimes wonder how he doesn't miss his own privacy himself. Sometimes I miss sleeping in my own bed where I can stretch out my arms without elbowing Jeremy in the face or can roll over without waking myself or him up, and not have to end up sleeping in the same position all night to wake up with a sore back and shoulders. Sometimes I miss solitary activities like reading for pleasure undisturbed, and surfing the net and mudding and and blasting mp3s very loud, or even just the liberty to fart and pick my nose and scratch myself when I so wish, because it always seems like I'm with someone or other these days. But after dinner when it's late at night but too early to go to bed, in the common room of Suite 404, everyone sits around on the couch or the carpet under the lamp reading roleplaying handbooks or doing homework, and the night is quiet, and maybe the tv may be on in the background with someone playing video games. It has some element of domestic serenity, as if I have some people and a place in the disorderly universe to go back to at the dying of the day.
Really the key to being not bored is to have something of your own to do, or joining whatever it is that other people are doing. I've given up on any pretense of social independence outside of this circle of nerds, and have created characters and joined a number of role playing games. I find myself actually reading players' handbooks in my spare time. I've learned the bloody rules to Axis and Allies, and can kick ass competently in Soul Calibur. Also, I have enough schoolwork to occupy myself, most of it interesting, and in that I am happy.
Really the key to being not bored is to have something of your own to do, or joining whatever it is that other people are doing. I've given up on any pretense of social independence outside of this circle of nerds, and have created characters and joined a number of role playing games. I find myself actually reading players' handbooks in my spare time. I've learned the bloody rules to Axis and Allies, and can kick ass competently in Soul Calibur. Also, I have enough schoolwork to occupy myself, most of it interesting, and in that I am happy.
Thursday, January 29, 2004
Saturday, January 24, 2004
Friday, January 23, 2004
Happy belated Chinese New Year, yesterday. I talked to Jeremy for long hours on the phone at one in the morning under the covers with the lights turned off, and with his voice in my ear he was all but next to me. It's one of those things you wish could last forever.
But then I had to go to sleep and wake up. I wore red and new clothes for good luck. I got money in red envelopes. It's Hou Nian, the year of the monkey. You know this. It's the first time I've really had a relaxed Chinese New Year... before, I've always been in school. If I was lucky the lunar new year might happen to fall on President's Day, but still, I'd never had quite as stress-free holiday as this.
David from school called me to wish me happy new year. He's a big fat Asian man who plays video games and has no friends and in this way reminds me of myself as I had/could've been. I figure that if he has low self esteem and thinks about killing himself the least a member of the human race can do is to talk to him every once in a while. I'd given him my number when he asked for it because I felt sorry for him but ever since then he's been rather liberally taking advantage of my patience. He has no sense of humor so to speak of. When you try to crack jokes with him he'll be very silent for a few moments and then just continue talking about whatever it is he was speaking of before. And it doesn't matter how you respond, he just keeps talking, on the same topic. It's not that he has boring topics; he taught me how to build a good snowman and told me all about Stargate SG-1, but he has a big loopy fat man voice, you know, the kind that goes: "waugh waugh waugh" very monotonously, like "Hoom hoom hoom" but not as Entish. It's horrible. I may sic Jeremy on him if he bothers me. It's one of the benefits of having a male defender.
I went shopping with T for Valentine's day gifts at Montgomery mall (known as Monkey Mall perhaps, so suiting). I had a Gap gift certificate from way back when, the year 2000, given to me by Pearl, a family friend. Apparently she'd given T one of those too. Unfortunately, neither of us actually shop at the Gap, which is one of the reasons that it took me so damn long to use my certificate. This is why gift certificates should be banned and people should give each other either gifts or money. Anyway, after a long while of desperately looking at things hoping maybe my heart might feel the faintest sort of spark of consumer desire, I got myself a jacket, which is admittedly quite nice. It's cute. We also went to Sharper Image and loafed around on the massage chairs without buying anything in that time honored tradition, and contemplated manly gifts (read: sharp, pointy and violent) from Chesapeake Knife and Tool/ the Discovery Store. It was all too expensive. I got V-day gifts (not anything sharp, pointy, or violent) for Jeremy (not at the Gap) but what they are I'm not at liberty to say.
Went out to dinner with my family and T's family and Pearl's family, all at once. It was rather hectic, but all Chinese dinners are.
But then I had to go to sleep and wake up. I wore red and new clothes for good luck. I got money in red envelopes. It's Hou Nian, the year of the monkey. You know this. It's the first time I've really had a relaxed Chinese New Year... before, I've always been in school. If I was lucky the lunar new year might happen to fall on President's Day, but still, I'd never had quite as stress-free holiday as this.
David from school called me to wish me happy new year. He's a big fat Asian man who plays video games and has no friends and in this way reminds me of myself as I had/could've been. I figure that if he has low self esteem and thinks about killing himself the least a member of the human race can do is to talk to him every once in a while. I'd given him my number when he asked for it because I felt sorry for him but ever since then he's been rather liberally taking advantage of my patience. He has no sense of humor so to speak of. When you try to crack jokes with him he'll be very silent for a few moments and then just continue talking about whatever it is he was speaking of before. And it doesn't matter how you respond, he just keeps talking, on the same topic. It's not that he has boring topics; he taught me how to build a good snowman and told me all about Stargate SG-1, but he has a big loopy fat man voice, you know, the kind that goes: "waugh waugh waugh" very monotonously, like "Hoom hoom hoom" but not as Entish. It's horrible. I may sic Jeremy on him if he bothers me. It's one of the benefits of having a male defender.
I went shopping with T for Valentine's day gifts at Montgomery mall (known as Monkey Mall perhaps, so suiting). I had a Gap gift certificate from way back when, the year 2000, given to me by Pearl, a family friend. Apparently she'd given T one of those too. Unfortunately, neither of us actually shop at the Gap, which is one of the reasons that it took me so damn long to use my certificate. This is why gift certificates should be banned and people should give each other either gifts or money. Anyway, after a long while of desperately looking at things hoping maybe my heart might feel the faintest sort of spark of consumer desire, I got myself a jacket, which is admittedly quite nice. It's cute. We also went to Sharper Image and loafed around on the massage chairs without buying anything in that time honored tradition, and contemplated manly gifts (read: sharp, pointy and violent) from Chesapeake Knife and Tool/ the Discovery Store. It was all too expensive. I got V-day gifts (not anything sharp, pointy, or violent) for Jeremy (not at the Gap) but what they are I'm not at liberty to say.
Went out to dinner with my family and T's family and Pearl's family, all at once. It was rather hectic, but all Chinese dinners are.
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
A typical phone conversation (which I have nearly nightly) with Jeremy, arranged by topic, chronologically:
Grocery shopping -> factory farms -> milking machines -> making butter/cheese from human millk/ milk porn -> the location of udders on minotaurs -> improbable anatomy/evolution -> crystalline eyes on starfish that focus light -> diamonds -> the cool ability to form diamonds through magic to make obscene amounts of money/solidifying light -> magic powers -> if Jeremy could have any ability at all it'd be the ability to accelerate objects ridiculously fast -> dangerous projectile pebbles -> bullets and how slow they are -> dodging bullets -> how we talk about such weird shit -> -> how it would be terrible to be a telepath because you'd hear everyone's completely random thoughts -> trying to remember what we talked about -> the strange processes of human memory -> how you forget what you're going to say and then remember it fifteen minutes later, or in the middle of the night -> lucid dreaming -> How Dean Acheson or some guy in the Watergate trial was asked to testify regarding the Nixon tapes, and when the actual tapes were found and compared to the testimony it was discovered that he'd paraphrased the tapes accurately but the exact wordings were mostly off -> being recorded over the phone and wearing tin foil hats -> how we know so much crap and should play Trivial Pursuit over the phone -> chess over the phone -> Battleship over the phone -> telepathic chess in X-men -> some Darkover book wherein these telepaths instill the essence of fear into an enemy army -> random books we've read ...
Grocery shopping -> factory farms -> milking machines -> making butter/cheese from human millk/ milk porn -> the location of udders on minotaurs -> improbable anatomy/evolution -> crystalline eyes on starfish that focus light -> diamonds -> the cool ability to form diamonds through magic to make obscene amounts of money/solidifying light -> magic powers -> if Jeremy could have any ability at all it'd be the ability to accelerate objects ridiculously fast -> dangerous projectile pebbles -> bullets and how slow they are -> dodging bullets -> how we talk about such weird shit -> -> how it would be terrible to be a telepath because you'd hear everyone's completely random thoughts -> trying to remember what we talked about -> the strange processes of human memory -> how you forget what you're going to say and then remember it fifteen minutes later, or in the middle of the night -> lucid dreaming -> How Dean Acheson or some guy in the Watergate trial was asked to testify regarding the Nixon tapes, and when the actual tapes were found and compared to the testimony it was discovered that he'd paraphrased the tapes accurately but the exact wordings were mostly off -> being recorded over the phone and wearing tin foil hats -> how we know so much crap and should play Trivial Pursuit over the phone -> chess over the phone -> Battleship over the phone -> telepathic chess in X-men -> some Darkover book wherein these telepaths instill the essence of fear into an enemy army -> random books we've read ...
Vikings and Mongols and Goths, Oh My!
Guess what! It's Barbarian Week on the History Channel! I'm so excited! ^___^
Guess what! It's Barbarian Week on the History Channel! I'm so excited! ^___^
Wherein Sushi is Served from the Torso of a Naked Woman
This sounds like a marvelously creative, as well as tasty, idea. Too bad about the protesters though.. personally I think those Asian American women protesting this are doing worse by enforcing the stereotype that all Asians are tightasses. And if you're in a women's group I think your time would be better spent not complaining about the artsy presentation of food at a restaurant somewhere, but helping poor single mothers put bread on the table. Besides, it's a double standard. You know if it were a male model doing this, nobody would complain, though maybe there'd be a few jokes about the size of his sashimi.
This sounds like a marvelously creative, as well as tasty, idea. Too bad about the protesters though.. personally I think those Asian American women protesting this are doing worse by enforcing the stereotype that all Asians are tightasses. And if you're in a women's group I think your time would be better spent not complaining about the artsy presentation of food at a restaurant somewhere, but helping poor single mothers put bread on the table. Besides, it's a double standard. You know if it were a male model doing this, nobody would complain, though maybe there'd be a few jokes about the size of his sashimi.
Thursday, January 15, 2004
Wednesday, January 14, 2004
Wherein Angie, Unlike on Sunday, Does Not Walk Into a Sex Toy Store and Say, "Ooh, I Have One of Those!"
Tuesday night, went to Malex's party wherein we made fun of Air Force One. AF1 is super-nationalistic with very bad dialogue, which makes it easy to make fun of. I do give it credit for maintaining suspense though, which is mainly what held it together. Socially though, it was actually a rather quiet night, as a lot of people are already back at college. Nick and Ben Evans showed up, and Janis and Jen (thanks for the bundt cake!) and Silvia, with James arriving later. Janis left late in the night to pick up Lauren from Giant, where she works.
So it was fun. It was quiet. Yeah.
Lauren decided rather spontaneously that we should have a sleepover at her house, so I went, with Janis and Malex (!). Strangely enough, we actually talked about serious topics like depression and healthcare and the job market, which ended up with Janis getting all fired up: "Open your eyes, Alex! There are people starving in America!" ;) This was counterbalanced by Lauren playing her AMVs for us repeatedly, at one point with some anime guy lipsynching Dr. Evil: "I have one simple request - sharks with friggin' laser beams attached to their heads, and it can't be done? Remind me again why I pay you people?" Malex also got Janis to read the Very Secret Diaries aloud, often to more comic effect than intended with Janis mispronouncing names.
We went to bed at around four, and woke up in the morning (and by morning I mean near afternoon) to Scat Man blasting on the speakers of Lauren's computer, looped. We had breakfast, or lunch, and I mentioned that Jeremy had been over and that Malex had met him.
First question from Lauren: "Is he hot?"*
A long tactful silence from Malex ensued.
We spent all of Wednesday... driving around New Hampshire Avenue getting lost and headbanging to loud music in the car... We kept driving around these rural roads which I usually ride along on my way to school, so it felt strange. After an hour or so we did finally make it to our destination, a thrift store at Laurel. Lauren ended up buying a cool "Air Force Intelligence Agency" army jacket and we got leather pants for Janis (which did not fit), leather pants for Malex (which do fit), and some hot t-shirts, the hottest of which is a tight black one that reads "University of Michigan Dance Marathon" in front and is totally gay in a gay gay way. We had Malex try on the army jacket too, but the jacket and the shirt declared a fashion war of attrition on each other and we had to abandon the cause.
I myself got a Pirates of the Caribbean shirt for $4.
I marvel when I realize that I actually do have my very own group of friends, which is rather surprising because I always thought I just followed other people around, meeting their friends instead of having friends of my own. I'm not sure when this changed.
*Yes. Yes he is.
Tuesday night, went to Malex's party wherein we made fun of Air Force One. AF1 is super-nationalistic with very bad dialogue, which makes it easy to make fun of. I do give it credit for maintaining suspense though, which is mainly what held it together. Socially though, it was actually a rather quiet night, as a lot of people are already back at college. Nick and Ben Evans showed up, and Janis and Jen (thanks for the bundt cake!) and Silvia, with James arriving later. Janis left late in the night to pick up Lauren from Giant, where she works.
So it was fun. It was quiet. Yeah.
Lauren decided rather spontaneously that we should have a sleepover at her house, so I went, with Janis and Malex (!). Strangely enough, we actually talked about serious topics like depression and healthcare and the job market, which ended up with Janis getting all fired up: "Open your eyes, Alex! There are people starving in America!" ;) This was counterbalanced by Lauren playing her AMVs for us repeatedly, at one point with some anime guy lipsynching Dr. Evil: "I have one simple request - sharks with friggin' laser beams attached to their heads, and it can't be done? Remind me again why I pay you people?" Malex also got Janis to read the Very Secret Diaries aloud, often to more comic effect than intended with Janis mispronouncing names.
We went to bed at around four, and woke up in the morning (and by morning I mean near afternoon) to Scat Man blasting on the speakers of Lauren's computer, looped. We had breakfast, or lunch, and I mentioned that Jeremy had been over and that Malex had met him.
First question from Lauren: "Is he hot?"*
A long tactful silence from Malex ensued.
We spent all of Wednesday... driving around New Hampshire Avenue getting lost and headbanging to loud music in the car... We kept driving around these rural roads which I usually ride along on my way to school, so it felt strange. After an hour or so we did finally make it to our destination, a thrift store at Laurel. Lauren ended up buying a cool "Air Force Intelligence Agency" army jacket and we got leather pants for Janis (which did not fit), leather pants for Malex (which do fit), and some hot t-shirts, the hottest of which is a tight black one that reads "University of Michigan Dance Marathon" in front and is totally gay in a gay gay way. We had Malex try on the army jacket too, but the jacket and the shirt declared a fashion war of attrition on each other and we had to abandon the cause.
I myself got a Pirates of the Caribbean shirt for $4.
I marvel when I realize that I actually do have my very own group of friends, which is rather surprising because I always thought I just followed other people around, meeting their friends instead of having friends of my own. I'm not sure when this changed.
*Yes. Yes he is.
Sunday, January 11, 2004
If I Had All the World, And Time
On Friday Jeremy came over and stayed the weekend and I was happy because I remembered how it felt like to wrap my arms around someone again. We spent all of the afternoon lying next to each other in that state of sublime time-stopping happiness, as if it were some kind of Activity*, with the curtains drawn shut and the room turned a soft orange by the light through them, and fell asleep around each other. In the evening we went to T's to play with her guinea pig and we all went to dinner together, with my family, and her family, for Cantonese cuisine. My parents were pleased that Jeremy could use chopsticks. Also, those hokey Chinese zodiac placemats are oddly accurate for him which I thought amusing, and also it says that he is compatible with an Ox, which is me. We went to Barnes and Noble in a cozy bubble of nerd-puppy-love and pointed out all the fantasy paperbacks we'd read and flipped through manga, opening the books left to right, and had hot cups of coffee, his a straight expresso at 11 at night. When we got home we played Trivial Pursuit and put together an Empire Strikes Back jigsaw because that's his favorite of the original trilogy, and had extreme headaches at three in the morning trying to piece the edges of the puzzle together, which of course, being Star Wars, were all uniformly black and littered with stars.
*And also splashing around in the bathtub while my parents weren't home. I actually don't think I'll repeat that again. Fun as it is, it can get very cramped in there.
Saturday we went to Starbucks and Forbidden Fruit, the sex toy store, with Malex but not Nick (who had a headache) and played around with cheap platex costumes, like some kind of X-rated dollar store except expensive. I tried the tester samples of "scented pleasure oil" and poked the squishy dildos. Whee! Squishy squishy! This thoroughly disturbed everyone, except for me. We went to the ice cream shop and ordered bubble tea and pastries, but didn't drink out of the same cup with different straws because that'd've been too sickeningly cute, and we went around all the different shops like the Chinese bookstore and TenRen and that store for souped-up Asian cars and the Oriental Market but not the bridal store because that would've been freaky. We went to the music store (where we made crude jokes about trombone slide oil) and the hobby store at Congressional Plaza, and when we got home we put together a 3D apple puzzle which boggled Jeremy's mind due to his lack of depth perception, but he triumphed in the end. Jeremy did flashy things with my foil and my dad talked his ear off at dinner, which was mushrooms.
On Sunday we had coffee and cake for breakfast, and snuggled up next to each other watching the hilariously dubbed Mothra III in our pajamas. At lunchtime we went for dim sum and afterwards to Best Buy, then came home. I suggested that we take some pictures around the house, ostensibly for those last three shots remaining on the roll of film, but in reality to keep the farewells from dragging on for too long because goodbyes are terrible things. Jeremy's parents came in, having brought my Christmas present which had just been delivered by UPS over the weekend, and I kissed my Pie goodbye (several times) and then he went home.
My house and everything is still the same as before (except for residual gossip amongst my mother's friends and stern Talks about the Nature of Boys), as if I've woken up from some dream-like state and he was never here.
On Friday Jeremy came over and stayed the weekend and I was happy because I remembered how it felt like to wrap my arms around someone again. We spent all of the afternoon lying next to each other in that state of sublime time-stopping happiness, as if it were some kind of Activity*, with the curtains drawn shut and the room turned a soft orange by the light through them, and fell asleep around each other. In the evening we went to T's to play with her guinea pig and we all went to dinner together, with my family, and her family, for Cantonese cuisine. My parents were pleased that Jeremy could use chopsticks. Also, those hokey Chinese zodiac placemats are oddly accurate for him which I thought amusing, and also it says that he is compatible with an Ox, which is me. We went to Barnes and Noble in a cozy bubble of nerd-puppy-love and pointed out all the fantasy paperbacks we'd read and flipped through manga, opening the books left to right, and had hot cups of coffee, his a straight expresso at 11 at night. When we got home we played Trivial Pursuit and put together an Empire Strikes Back jigsaw because that's his favorite of the original trilogy, and had extreme headaches at three in the morning trying to piece the edges of the puzzle together, which of course, being Star Wars, were all uniformly black and littered with stars.
*And also splashing around in the bathtub while my parents weren't home. I actually don't think I'll repeat that again. Fun as it is, it can get very cramped in there.
Saturday we went to Starbucks and Forbidden Fruit, the sex toy store, with Malex but not Nick (who had a headache) and played around with cheap platex costumes, like some kind of X-rated dollar store except expensive. I tried the tester samples of "scented pleasure oil" and poked the squishy dildos. Whee! Squishy squishy! This thoroughly disturbed everyone, except for me. We went to the ice cream shop and ordered bubble tea and pastries, but didn't drink out of the same cup with different straws because that'd've been too sickeningly cute, and we went around all the different shops like the Chinese bookstore and TenRen and that store for souped-up Asian cars and the Oriental Market but not the bridal store because that would've been freaky. We went to the music store (where we made crude jokes about trombone slide oil) and the hobby store at Congressional Plaza, and when we got home we put together a 3D apple puzzle which boggled Jeremy's mind due to his lack of depth perception, but he triumphed in the end. Jeremy did flashy things with my foil and my dad talked his ear off at dinner, which was mushrooms.
On Sunday we had coffee and cake for breakfast, and snuggled up next to each other watching the hilariously dubbed Mothra III in our pajamas. At lunchtime we went for dim sum and afterwards to Best Buy, then came home. I suggested that we take some pictures around the house, ostensibly for those last three shots remaining on the roll of film, but in reality to keep the farewells from dragging on for too long because goodbyes are terrible things. Jeremy's parents came in, having brought my Christmas present which had just been delivered by UPS over the weekend, and I kissed my Pie goodbye (several times) and then he went home.
My house and everything is still the same as before (except for residual gossip amongst my mother's friends and stern Talks about the Nature of Boys), as if I've woken up from some dream-like state and he was never here.
Friday, January 09, 2004
I had this dream that I was watching the Return of the King Extended DVD with my mom, and she was like, "So, what does Legolas do for a living? Is he a ranger that patrols the forest?" and I was like, "No, mom.." In this (nonexistant as of yet) DVD I was watching commentaries where they talk about the scoring of the Gondor theme, and the making of RotK, the video game.
Yeah, I'm so sad that LotR invades my subconscious.
-----
I'm not on painkillers anymore because it doesn't hurt enough to warrant them, but I'm still on antibiotics. I'd like to believe that it's not as nauseating.
Yesterday, Malex came over to visit and brought me smoothies. How sweet! (BTW, I've noticed that "how sweet" is a phrase almost universally used by women only) I thought this was particularly nice of him considering that Elliot is also in surgery (brain surgery (!!!!), so mine really does not compare) and Malex would be forgiven from not worrying about anyone else.
I spent the rest of the day cleaning the house and the room Jeremy will be staying in, mainly by throwing out old magazines, so that my house is now presentable, if not clean.
I called Jeremy in the evening to confirm things... in hindsight it might've been better to have him come next week when I'm not recovering (and therefore am not swollem and can actually kiss him proper), and also because next week is our four month anniversary, and by next week UPS should've delivered my belated Christmas present to New Oxford, but feh. I'll take what I can get.
He's coming at like 1:30 today. ^_____^
Yeah, I'm so sad that LotR invades my subconscious.
-----
I'm not on painkillers anymore because it doesn't hurt enough to warrant them, but I'm still on antibiotics. I'd like to believe that it's not as nauseating.
Yesterday, Malex came over to visit and brought me smoothies. How sweet! (BTW, I've noticed that "how sweet" is a phrase almost universally used by women only) I thought this was particularly nice of him considering that Elliot is also in surgery (brain surgery (!!!!), so mine really does not compare) and Malex would be forgiven from not worrying about anyone else.
I spent the rest of the day cleaning the house and the room Jeremy will be staying in, mainly by throwing out old magazines, so that my house is now presentable, if not clean.
I called Jeremy in the evening to confirm things... in hindsight it might've been better to have him come next week when I'm not recovering (and therefore am not swollem and can actually kiss him proper), and also because next week is our four month anniversary, and by next week UPS should've delivered my belated Christmas present to New Oxford, but feh. I'll take what I can get.
He's coming at like 1:30 today. ^_____^
Thursday, January 08, 2004
I went to get my (right-sided) wisdom teeth pulled today, and it really sucked. The surgeon couldn't find the vein in the crook of my arm, and when he did and injected IV into it, it hurt like hell as if my veins were about to explode.
"Feeling sleepy?" he said.
"No," I said.
Anyway, he found another vein in my wrist and injected the anesthetic into that, and I spent the next several minutes with my head leaned back in the chair staring at the ceiling wondering what would happen next, since the surgeon and nurse were obviously waiting on something. Then I blacked out, and slept fitfully; I recall waking up a few times in the middle to feel people pulling my teeth out or putting in sutures. I waved to them, then decided not to be a troublemaker and went back to sleep. Something annoying was on my arm, and I scratched at it, and the nurse would bat my hand away. I learned later that I'd pulled out my IV and my arm was swollen and mottled/discolored and hurt (more than my teeth) later on. I put it in warm water, and now my arm is okay, but my teeth hurt like nothing else. I spent some early hours basically drinking my own recycled blood like some kind of environmentalist vampire, despite the gauze on the wound. If I take the painkillers they make be groggy and feverish, so I'm almost not sure what's worse, the painkillers or the pain. Any sort of screen or reading anything makes me queasy and I'm not supposed to do physical activity so there's really not much I can do except sleep when I can, and listen to people talk. I called Jeremy so that I could hear the sound of his voice and had a relatively fun two hours and then my dad yelled at me for being on the phone too long, even though it's my cell and I have free night and weekend minutes. But the good thing is that Jeremy apparently is coming over on Friday afternoon and is staying the weekend.
"Feeling sleepy?" he said.
"No," I said.
Anyway, he found another vein in my wrist and injected the anesthetic into that, and I spent the next several minutes with my head leaned back in the chair staring at the ceiling wondering what would happen next, since the surgeon and nurse were obviously waiting on something. Then I blacked out, and slept fitfully; I recall waking up a few times in the middle to feel people pulling my teeth out or putting in sutures. I waved to them, then decided not to be a troublemaker and went back to sleep. Something annoying was on my arm, and I scratched at it, and the nurse would bat my hand away. I learned later that I'd pulled out my IV and my arm was swollen and mottled/discolored and hurt (more than my teeth) later on. I put it in warm water, and now my arm is okay, but my teeth hurt like nothing else. I spent some early hours basically drinking my own recycled blood like some kind of environmentalist vampire, despite the gauze on the wound. If I take the painkillers they make be groggy and feverish, so I'm almost not sure what's worse, the painkillers or the pain. Any sort of screen or reading anything makes me queasy and I'm not supposed to do physical activity so there's really not much I can do except sleep when I can, and listen to people talk. I called Jeremy so that I could hear the sound of his voice and had a relatively fun two hours and then my dad yelled at me for being on the phone too long, even though it's my cell and I have free night and weekend minutes. But the good thing is that Jeremy apparently is coming over on Friday afternoon and is staying the weekend.
Tuesday, January 06, 2004
Wherein Angie Pathetically Attempts to Spew Political Commentary in Some Sort of Rational Discourse
Suzannah from the UMBC NOW chapter put a nice little comment on my blog (the November 24th entry)! I'm not quite sure how she found it.. probably by Googling UMBC and NOW in the same search window.
Hmmm... more readers..... UMBC! NOW! UMBC! NOW!
Anyway.
Everybody now... "Hi, Suzannah!"
Suzannah says this:
Wassup. Greetings from the girl in the combat boots.
So what's wrong with this particular woman in combat boots? I would love to know.
Yes - they are the National organization for Women. There is not one woman in this country who has not benefited from NOW. NOW has been a major fighter for women to have equal access to education, job security, health care, housing, domestic violence shelters and countless other things. It isnt the organization for liberal women because NOW's work over the last thirty years has benefitted plenty of racist, bigoted individuals as well. I am constantly amused at the women who throw snide remarks at us while in a university enviornment - while we raise our voices attempting to secure equal access to education funds such as Title IX. Or the women who go home every night and take their birth control and rant about us being too liberal, too vocal about protecting their right to take that birth control, while we fight for their right to take it without shame or high expenses.
I dont get it. You support the cause, but we aren't supposed to talk about it?
For good or bad, we fight for the rights of all women, even you, no matter your scorn. And we will continue to. Thats part of the mission statement, you see - for ALL women.
And when your student loans are cut in half we will still be clamoring Congress to reinstate them. And when the cost of birth control skyrockets we will still be there to fight for family planning funds. That's our job. We are concerned about women who are not necessarily concerned about us.
I am sorry you are so affected by what other people think. I'm not. I'm not because I have heard women who have stood up and talked about rape and domestic violence, women with far less strength then you. I have watched women decide between money for food and money to terminate a pregnancy, and make crucial decisions with far less strength then you. I know plenty of women with less access to education, less access to reproductive health care, less opportunities than you and they are fighting for your rights. Dont worry, you can be silent, eat your lukewarm lunch. We will still be here supporting you. It would just be nice if you cared what we think, instead of what your image might risk.
Before I counter, I should say that I think this is well written, and also a very polite response considering that I had, in my blog, called her a "combat booted broad." I mean, if someone had said that about me I would've torn her a new one. In any case, I feel I should apologize. It's not very nice to go around insulting people you don't know. That particular epithet, I recall, was used for effect more than accuracy. I vow henceforth to amend my ways. It's not that I won't insult people anymore, it's just that now when I insult people in the future, the insult must be true. But I digress.
Now, time for the counter... the premise of Suzannah's response seems to be that I, among scores of American women, hold the same beliefs as the NOW, yet oppose it for being outspoken. This is not quite accurate. I (though I can't speak for scores of other American women) have no issue against outspoken-ness in general; you certainly cannot be too loud in vocalizing opposition to, for example, domestic and sexual abuse, discrimination in the workplace and academic environments, exploitation of women in the media, and a slew of other things. The issue for me is not that the NOW is outspoken in positions with which I agree, but that the NOW is outspoken on things with which I disagree, or at least things which I do not hold a strong enough opinion on to consider myself Right and everybody else Wrong.
For example, I don't understand how "not one woman in this country has not benefited" from the stance that "Bush is an equal opportunity hater who hates everyone who isn't white, Christian, rich and straight," <----- (this is ripped from the NOW rally, not Suzannah's comments on my blog). Also, the statement, "It isnt the organization for liberal women because NOW's work over the last thirty years has benefitted plenty of racist, bigoted individuals as well," implies that Suzannah, a spokesperson for NOW (in UMBC at least) believes that "racist, bigoted individuals" are somehow the polar opposite of liberals. I feel that playing on the fear and stereotype that conservatives are all close-minded redneck bigots is equally, if not more, irresponsible than the stereotype that liberals are all communist, promiscuous, drug addicts, since liberals are the ones that make the biggest deal about the value of tolerance and understanding. Those of you who read my blog and are Libertarians, or any other type of open-minded fiscal conservative might be slightly annoyed at a generalizing brown-washing (the opposite of whitewashing :D) of conservative America. My opinion is that if, by opening its mouth, the NOW makes all liberals and feminists seem like rabid opponents of any and all conservatives* indiscriminantly, then the NOW would be better off not speaking on partisan issues at all. It just gives the rest of us a bad name.
The NOW may certainly help many non-liberal women, but that doesn't mean it's not a liberal organization, in the same way that a Christian organization that provides charitable services and education for non-Christians does not suddenly become non-Christian. Despite what services the NOW does provide to all woman, which are certainly commendable, there are no doubt women like me who do not find certain things like abortion rights or affirmative action in their best interests. It seems rather creepy if the NOW is of the opinion that, "We do what's best for you even if you don't think that's what's best for you." I did not dub the NOW the NOLW (National Organization for Liberal Women) because it is not concerned with, or does not help, conservative women. I coined that nickname because, despite who it helps, it still pursues a liberal political agenda and interests.
*I consider the Christian Right to be a rather odious group. Libertarians and normal Republicans are wonderful people.
Suzannah from the UMBC NOW chapter put a nice little comment on my blog (the November 24th entry)! I'm not quite sure how she found it.. probably by Googling UMBC and NOW in the same search window.
Hmmm... more readers..... UMBC! NOW! UMBC! NOW!
Anyway.
Everybody now... "Hi, Suzannah!"
Suzannah says this:
Wassup. Greetings from the girl in the combat boots.
So what's wrong with this particular woman in combat boots? I would love to know.
Yes - they are the National organization for Women. There is not one woman in this country who has not benefited from NOW. NOW has been a major fighter for women to have equal access to education, job security, health care, housing, domestic violence shelters and countless other things. It isnt the organization for liberal women because NOW's work over the last thirty years has benefitted plenty of racist, bigoted individuals as well. I am constantly amused at the women who throw snide remarks at us while in a university enviornment - while we raise our voices attempting to secure equal access to education funds such as Title IX. Or the women who go home every night and take their birth control and rant about us being too liberal, too vocal about protecting their right to take that birth control, while we fight for their right to take it without shame or high expenses.
I dont get it. You support the cause, but we aren't supposed to talk about it?
For good or bad, we fight for the rights of all women, even you, no matter your scorn. And we will continue to. Thats part of the mission statement, you see - for ALL women.
And when your student loans are cut in half we will still be clamoring Congress to reinstate them. And when the cost of birth control skyrockets we will still be there to fight for family planning funds. That's our job. We are concerned about women who are not necessarily concerned about us.
I am sorry you are so affected by what other people think. I'm not. I'm not because I have heard women who have stood up and talked about rape and domestic violence, women with far less strength then you. I have watched women decide between money for food and money to terminate a pregnancy, and make crucial decisions with far less strength then you. I know plenty of women with less access to education, less access to reproductive health care, less opportunities than you and they are fighting for your rights. Dont worry, you can be silent, eat your lukewarm lunch. We will still be here supporting you. It would just be nice if you cared what we think, instead of what your image might risk.
Before I counter, I should say that I think this is well written, and also a very polite response considering that I had, in my blog, called her a "combat booted broad." I mean, if someone had said that about me I would've torn her a new one. In any case, I feel I should apologize. It's not very nice to go around insulting people you don't know. That particular epithet, I recall, was used for effect more than accuracy. I vow henceforth to amend my ways. It's not that I won't insult people anymore, it's just that now when I insult people in the future, the insult must be true. But I digress.
Now, time for the counter... the premise of Suzannah's response seems to be that I, among scores of American women, hold the same beliefs as the NOW, yet oppose it for being outspoken. This is not quite accurate. I (though I can't speak for scores of other American women) have no issue against outspoken-ness in general; you certainly cannot be too loud in vocalizing opposition to, for example, domestic and sexual abuse, discrimination in the workplace and academic environments, exploitation of women in the media, and a slew of other things. The issue for me is not that the NOW is outspoken in positions with which I agree, but that the NOW is outspoken on things with which I disagree, or at least things which I do not hold a strong enough opinion on to consider myself Right and everybody else Wrong.
For example, I don't understand how "not one woman in this country has not benefited" from the stance that "Bush is an equal opportunity hater who hates everyone who isn't white, Christian, rich and straight," <----- (this is ripped from the NOW rally, not Suzannah's comments on my blog). Also, the statement, "It isnt the organization for liberal women because NOW's work over the last thirty years has benefitted plenty of racist, bigoted individuals as well," implies that Suzannah, a spokesperson for NOW (in UMBC at least) believes that "racist, bigoted individuals" are somehow the polar opposite of liberals. I feel that playing on the fear and stereotype that conservatives are all close-minded redneck bigots is equally, if not more, irresponsible than the stereotype that liberals are all communist, promiscuous, drug addicts, since liberals are the ones that make the biggest deal about the value of tolerance and understanding. Those of you who read my blog and are Libertarians, or any other type of open-minded fiscal conservative might be slightly annoyed at a generalizing brown-washing (the opposite of whitewashing :D) of conservative America. My opinion is that if, by opening its mouth, the NOW makes all liberals and feminists seem like rabid opponents of any and all conservatives* indiscriminantly, then the NOW would be better off not speaking on partisan issues at all. It just gives the rest of us a bad name.
The NOW may certainly help many non-liberal women, but that doesn't mean it's not a liberal organization, in the same way that a Christian organization that provides charitable services and education for non-Christians does not suddenly become non-Christian. Despite what services the NOW does provide to all woman, which are certainly commendable, there are no doubt women like me who do not find certain things like abortion rights or affirmative action in their best interests. It seems rather creepy if the NOW is of the opinion that, "We do what's best for you even if you don't think that's what's best for you." I did not dub the NOW the NOLW (National Organization for Liberal Women) because it is not concerned with, or does not help, conservative women. I coined that nickname because, despite who it helps, it still pursues a liberal political agenda and interests.
*I consider the Christian Right to be a rather odious group. Libertarians and normal Republicans are wonderful people.
Monday, January 05, 2004
Wherein Angie Plays Videogames And Unites Many Nations Under Her Banner
On Sunday, went to John and Sharon's house to celebrate the birthday of Sean, Sharon's son. Sean doesn't speak English and is really into video games, which my mom criticizes in private. "Why do his parents let him play so much after he's done with his homework? They should try to get him to work on his English to catch up!" I think she's being too harsh on him; it's hard being a teenager, especially a teenager in a foreign country. I also found it kind of sad that on his birthday party, he had his parents' friends over but no friends of his own. Well, his present was the newest Castlevania game (Lament of Innocence of the PS2, which I want now) along with a bunch of English grammar books and software, which I think are dumb, miserable presents, like giving a kid a sweater or socks. (I'd like a sweater actually, if it were cute and stylish, since I don't have any.) Your presents are supposed to make you happy, not improve you in ways other people think you ought.
In any case, he took Castlevania upstairs and started playing it, by himself, and I got bored/bewildered by the political talk downstairs among the adults (of which I am technically). My parents said, "Why don't you go play with Sean?" and I wasn't too keen on the idea because he doesn't speak English that well, and my Mandarin is bad, and I don't know him well enough to really care if he's bored or not. But I went anyway, to practice my Mandarin, and actually discovered that playing video games is extremely conducive to conversing in a foreign language. You have a readily available topic to talk about, and if you don't talk you're not being awkward because you're still engaged in something, and there isn't a horrible silence lying about the room. Plus, at least in the case of Castlevania, characters speak often, in English, and slowly, and the dialogue is read aloud for you by the voice actors, so it's almost like a picture book, which is good for Sean and his English. In my case, since the dialogue was slow and relatively simplistic, I could easily translate it into (shitty) Mandarin.
"Your girlfriend Sara is in the castle!"
"Ni di nupengyou Sara shi zai bu lui ni mian!"
You learn item vocabulary as effectively as if you were looking at flashcards; you see something that's obviously a whip, and it says "Whip," so that Sean can learn the word in English. As for me, if I see something on screen and don't know the word in Mandarin, he tells me what it is. It's pretty damn effective. The same goes for actions; swinging, climbing, jumping, hitting, searching, buying items, dropping items, running, dodging, looking at places on maps, opening doors.. they all conduce themselves to simple sentences in Mandarin, as well as desperately trying to translate the instruction manual from English into Mandarin as Sean was getting Leon Belmont beat into a bloody pulp by various supernatural enemies.
"The heart is in in the middle of the room." = "Jege xin shi zai fang zhong"
"You've already passed this place once." = "Ni yijing sheng guo jhege difang yichi."
"You have no more mana" = "Ni mei you mofa"
("Mofa shi 'mp'?" ["Magic is 'mp'?"]
"Dui" ["Correct"] )
"Your whip cannot penetrate his armour. You must use fire magic" = "Ni tiao bien bu keleng da chuen ta di tong jia. Ni yiding yiao yong huo di mofa."
I'm fucking amazed.
Video games bring you such priceless moments as:
-----
"Ni di dian niao tu hua shi tsong Warcraft san ma?" ("Is your computer wallpaper [lit: computer picture, which is best as I can do] from Warcraft 3?"
"Ni wan guo Warcraft 3????!!!" ("You play Warcraft 3??")
On Sunday, went to John and Sharon's house to celebrate the birthday of Sean, Sharon's son. Sean doesn't speak English and is really into video games, which my mom criticizes in private. "Why do his parents let him play so much after he's done with his homework? They should try to get him to work on his English to catch up!" I think she's being too harsh on him; it's hard being a teenager, especially a teenager in a foreign country. I also found it kind of sad that on his birthday party, he had his parents' friends over but no friends of his own. Well, his present was the newest Castlevania game (Lament of Innocence of the PS2, which I want now) along with a bunch of English grammar books and software, which I think are dumb, miserable presents, like giving a kid a sweater or socks. (I'd like a sweater actually, if it were cute and stylish, since I don't have any.) Your presents are supposed to make you happy, not improve you in ways other people think you ought.
In any case, he took Castlevania upstairs and started playing it, by himself, and I got bored/bewildered by the political talk downstairs among the adults (of which I am technically). My parents said, "Why don't you go play with Sean?" and I wasn't too keen on the idea because he doesn't speak English that well, and my Mandarin is bad, and I don't know him well enough to really care if he's bored or not. But I went anyway, to practice my Mandarin, and actually discovered that playing video games is extremely conducive to conversing in a foreign language. You have a readily available topic to talk about, and if you don't talk you're not being awkward because you're still engaged in something, and there isn't a horrible silence lying about the room. Plus, at least in the case of Castlevania, characters speak often, in English, and slowly, and the dialogue is read aloud for you by the voice actors, so it's almost like a picture book, which is good for Sean and his English. In my case, since the dialogue was slow and relatively simplistic, I could easily translate it into (shitty) Mandarin.
"Your girlfriend Sara is in the castle!"
"Ni di nupengyou Sara shi zai bu lui ni mian!"
You learn item vocabulary as effectively as if you were looking at flashcards; you see something that's obviously a whip, and it says "Whip," so that Sean can learn the word in English. As for me, if I see something on screen and don't know the word in Mandarin, he tells me what it is. It's pretty damn effective. The same goes for actions; swinging, climbing, jumping, hitting, searching, buying items, dropping items, running, dodging, looking at places on maps, opening doors.. they all conduce themselves to simple sentences in Mandarin, as well as desperately trying to translate the instruction manual from English into Mandarin as Sean was getting Leon Belmont beat into a bloody pulp by various supernatural enemies.
"The heart is in in the middle of the room." = "Jege xin shi zai fang zhong"
"You've already passed this place once." = "Ni yijing sheng guo jhege difang yichi."
"You have no more mana" = "Ni mei you mofa"
("Mofa shi 'mp'?" ["Magic is 'mp'?"]
"Dui" ["Correct"] )
"Your whip cannot penetrate his armour. You must use fire magic" = "Ni tiao bien bu keleng da chuen ta di tong jia. Ni yiding yiao yong huo di mofa."
I'm fucking amazed.
Video games bring you such priceless moments as:
-----
"Ni di dian niao tu hua shi tsong Warcraft san ma?" ("Is your computer wallpaper [lit: computer picture, which is best as I can do] from Warcraft 3?"
"Ni wan guo Warcraft 3????!!!" ("You play Warcraft 3??")
Angie's Bizarre, Bizzare Subconscious
I had this dream last night, where Jeremy had an evil clone whose name was Mike, who lived with us at Jeremy's dorm. Except in my dream the dorm looked like my room. Being that it was Jeremy's evil clone, Mike looked exactly like Jeremy except that he was a few years younger, a bit more effeminate, and of course, more evil looking. Also, he was a vampire. And he was hyperactive, and bounced all over the place. "Why do we keep him around?" I asked Jeremy, but I don't think I got an answer. Mike tried to bite me to turn me into a vampire, which I did not allow, but I did let him kiss me because it was nice.
I had this dream last night, where Jeremy had an evil clone whose name was Mike, who lived with us at Jeremy's dorm. Except in my dream the dorm looked like my room. Being that it was Jeremy's evil clone, Mike looked exactly like Jeremy except that he was a few years younger, a bit more effeminate, and of course, more evil looking. Also, he was a vampire. And he was hyperactive, and bounced all over the place. "Why do we keep him around?" I asked Jeremy, but I don't think I got an answer. Mike tried to bite me to turn me into a vampire, which I did not allow, but I did let him kiss me because it was nice.
Saturday, January 03, 2004
I'm boring
why is YOUR livejournal annoying?
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Fools! I never eat mashed potatoes with ketchup!
Friday, January 02, 2004
Did I tell you about the dream I had about Jeremy a few nights ago? No?
So I had this dream. I was with this a very good-looking Chinese boy. He started rubbing my inner thigh, and I said, "No, you can't do that" and he started kissing me, and I said, "No, you can't do that, I'm Jeremy's girl." And my eyes were closed, and he was kissing me, and I didn't know what to do because to be honest, it was a very nice kiss, but it wasn't right (morally, not technically). I was calling out Jeremy's name and thinking, as this boy kissed me, that nobody kisses like that except for Jeremy and nobody except for Jeremy makes me feel that way. Dream logic dictated that if only Jeremy can have that effect on me, and such an effect was being effected, then Jeremy must be the one doing it. When I opened my eyes in the dream, it was Jeremy, and there was no one else, so that I could love him and only him ardently with all my heart.
My earliest dream about Jeremy was way back when, maybe September or October. I had a dream that I was in a white dress with a big hoop skirt and ruffles from the Victorian era, and my hair was done up in ringlets and coifed. I was in an upper-class restaurant, where there were many other stately Victorian couples, ladies in evening dresses and men in black suits, and the tables had cream-colored tableclothes and small ornamental lamps as centerpieces. I was seated at one of them, by myself, trying to look proper, but I was, for some reason, very very horny and thinking about Jeremy.
What this tells me about my Freudian subconscious, I can't imagine. I think it wants me to suppress my urges to make out in crowded elevators.
My second dream was Jeremy saying, "I don't want to have sex with you because you're fat and ugly. As a matter of fact, you're just plain revolting. I don't know why I even went out with you in the first place."
My third dream, the only one which doesn't have some strange element in it, was me and Jeremy in some sunny place, and even though it was nighttime it was still sunny. Then I was snuggling in bed with him nice and warm in the middle of the night, and I said, "Jeremy?" and he said, "I love you," and I went to back to sleep, but apparently that part was real (confirmed in the morning), and my dream had run smoothly into that brief waking so that I had not known the difference.
So I had this dream. I was with this a very good-looking Chinese boy. He started rubbing my inner thigh, and I said, "No, you can't do that" and he started kissing me, and I said, "No, you can't do that, I'm Jeremy's girl." And my eyes were closed, and he was kissing me, and I didn't know what to do because to be honest, it was a very nice kiss, but it wasn't right (morally, not technically). I was calling out Jeremy's name and thinking, as this boy kissed me, that nobody kisses like that except for Jeremy and nobody except for Jeremy makes me feel that way. Dream logic dictated that if only Jeremy can have that effect on me, and such an effect was being effected, then Jeremy must be the one doing it. When I opened my eyes in the dream, it was Jeremy, and there was no one else, so that I could love him and only him ardently with all my heart.
My earliest dream about Jeremy was way back when, maybe September or October. I had a dream that I was in a white dress with a big hoop skirt and ruffles from the Victorian era, and my hair was done up in ringlets and coifed. I was in an upper-class restaurant, where there were many other stately Victorian couples, ladies in evening dresses and men in black suits, and the tables had cream-colored tableclothes and small ornamental lamps as centerpieces. I was seated at one of them, by myself, trying to look proper, but I was, for some reason, very very horny and thinking about Jeremy.
What this tells me about my Freudian subconscious, I can't imagine. I think it wants me to suppress my urges to make out in crowded elevators.
My second dream was Jeremy saying, "I don't want to have sex with you because you're fat and ugly. As a matter of fact, you're just plain revolting. I don't know why I even went out with you in the first place."
My third dream, the only one which doesn't have some strange element in it, was me and Jeremy in some sunny place, and even though it was nighttime it was still sunny. Then I was snuggling in bed with him nice and warm in the middle of the night, and I said, "Jeremy?" and he said, "I love you," and I went to back to sleep, but apparently that part was real (confirmed in the morning), and my dream had run smoothly into that brief waking so that I had not known the difference.
Thursday, January 01, 2004
Auld Lang Something
So last year, by which I mean last night, I went to Stella's townhouse for dinner, which was some very nice Chinese takeout; Cantonese cuisine as it ought to be. We, by which I mean the usual crew of me, my parents, my sisters, and my brothers in-law, spent the time playing music for Nathan from "Baby's First CD Player" and a manually cranked jack-in-the-box ("This is real labor!" Maggie said about cranking it). But it paid off; Nathan seemed to be entranced and so was relatively well behaved. I taped up some ripped up pop-up books* and felt curiously fulfilled by such an activity of mending, and we watched the Iron Chefs marathon. We also got belated Christmas gifts; my parents got many alcoholic beverages, and I got a pretty silver necklace with a pendant shaped like the letter A, and a phone card, which I don't really need (as I have free nighttime and weekend minutes). It was a nice gesture anyhow.
Nathan went to bed around 11. I guess once a couple has babies nobody stays up till midnight on New Year's Eve anymore. We left, and my parents dropped me off at Josh's party (with a box of pie left over from dinner) in time for me to squish into the pile around Josh's fireplace at 11:30 or so. Malex had for some reason gotten a haircut within the last day, and Nick had gotten a fancy digital camera, but I had them both beat for shock value because I had pictures of Jeremy. Meg said about the Jeremy and dachsund pictures that "the dog is cuter than the boy." No pie for her. It's the dachsund that makes all the girls go, "Awwwww!!" I showed Nick one pic and he fell off the couch because Jeremy evidently looks eerily like him, an opinion also voiced once by Andrew D and Theresa H when they actually met Jeremy in person. Also, Nick led, in the tradition of high school English class, a sullen discussion group, about the great memories of 2003. (It did get more animated later, to be fair). Josh saved us around 11:50, and herded us into the basement to see the ball drop in Times Square on tv. We, by which I mean the usual crew of people who go to Josh's parties*, had a 2003 birthday cake (with the candles being shaped like numbers) and passed around the bubbly, by which I mean cider because we're too young for champagne. We counted down from ten as the ball dropped and the 2004 sign lit up, and sang Auld Lang Syne as random people kissed each other on national television, and by sing I mean hummed, because nobody knew the words except for me, and me rather incorrectly. I called random people (read: Janis, who I got through to, and Kay, whose phone was busy, and not Jeremy because I still don't have his number, HINT HINT) on my cell and wished them happy new year, and then Malex drove me home around three in the morning before he got too tired to drive. We almost died anyway, because after midnight all the traffic lights cease to function. I think this is madness to the point of homicidal neglect because whoever does this ought to know there are tons of drivers on the road after midnight coming home from New Year's parties, and these said drivers are usually all drunk.
New Year's Day was spent reading Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, the writing style of which would be disgustingly Romantic if it weren't for that whole undead monster thing, and watching Gone With the Wind, which is romantic in a good way, and is a good date movie (HINT HINT). As a side note though, if I were to be a slave (and I don't intend to be, but this is a hypothetical situation) I would definitely not want to be Scarlet O'Hara's slave, because she is a psycho bitch. But to be fair to her, she's an equal opportunity psycho bitch to people both black and white. If you really want to have a good time, and by good time I mean not at all, you can play the Scarlet O'Hara drinking game where you swallow a mouthful of booze everytime Scarlet slaps someone. Also I find both Ashley Wilkes and Rhett Butler singularly unappealing.
We (me, my parents) also went to John and Sharon's house for dinner, which was lamb instead of the usual steak, and on the way home, at the Hebrew Academy parking lot, my dad let me drive, in the dark, and in the rain. But it's always good to try new things on New Year's Day, by which I mean, I hope you had a Happy New Year too.
*I promise never to use "up" so many times in one sentence again, ever.
*I'm listing everyone from the party here because I know people like seeing their names mentioned in other people's blogs. Here goes: Josh the Host, Ruchita the Co-Host, Malex, Nick, Jen, Meg, Dena, Puffy, Ben E, Lizzie, Alison, Ranwa (who I think lost some weight but am too embarrassed to ask about), some random people I didn't know and didn't care to introduce myself to, and, inexpicably (since she neither hung out with us in high school nor at the party), Christine C. Hank, according to Malex, had come earlier, but left.
So last year, by which I mean last night, I went to Stella's townhouse for dinner, which was some very nice Chinese takeout; Cantonese cuisine as it ought to be. We, by which I mean the usual crew of me, my parents, my sisters, and my brothers in-law, spent the time playing music for Nathan from "Baby's First CD Player" and a manually cranked jack-in-the-box ("This is real labor!" Maggie said about cranking it). But it paid off; Nathan seemed to be entranced and so was relatively well behaved. I taped up some ripped up pop-up books* and felt curiously fulfilled by such an activity of mending, and we watched the Iron Chefs marathon. We also got belated Christmas gifts; my parents got many alcoholic beverages, and I got a pretty silver necklace with a pendant shaped like the letter A, and a phone card, which I don't really need (as I have free nighttime and weekend minutes). It was a nice gesture anyhow.
Nathan went to bed around 11. I guess once a couple has babies nobody stays up till midnight on New Year's Eve anymore. We left, and my parents dropped me off at Josh's party (with a box of pie left over from dinner) in time for me to squish into the pile around Josh's fireplace at 11:30 or so. Malex had for some reason gotten a haircut within the last day, and Nick had gotten a fancy digital camera, but I had them both beat for shock value because I had pictures of Jeremy. Meg said about the Jeremy and dachsund pictures that "the dog is cuter than the boy." No pie for her. It's the dachsund that makes all the girls go, "Awwwww!!" I showed Nick one pic and he fell off the couch because Jeremy evidently looks eerily like him, an opinion also voiced once by Andrew D and Theresa H when they actually met Jeremy in person. Also, Nick led, in the tradition of high school English class, a sullen discussion group, about the great memories of 2003. (It did get more animated later, to be fair). Josh saved us around 11:50, and herded us into the basement to see the ball drop in Times Square on tv. We, by which I mean the usual crew of people who go to Josh's parties*, had a 2003 birthday cake (with the candles being shaped like numbers) and passed around the bubbly, by which I mean cider because we're too young for champagne. We counted down from ten as the ball dropped and the 2004 sign lit up, and sang Auld Lang Syne as random people kissed each other on national television, and by sing I mean hummed, because nobody knew the words except for me, and me rather incorrectly. I called random people (read: Janis, who I got through to, and Kay, whose phone was busy, and not Jeremy because I still don't have his number, HINT HINT) on my cell and wished them happy new year, and then Malex drove me home around three in the morning before he got too tired to drive. We almost died anyway, because after midnight all the traffic lights cease to function. I think this is madness to the point of homicidal neglect because whoever does this ought to know there are tons of drivers on the road after midnight coming home from New Year's parties, and these said drivers are usually all drunk.
New Year's Day was spent reading Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, the writing style of which would be disgustingly Romantic if it weren't for that whole undead monster thing, and watching Gone With the Wind, which is romantic in a good way, and is a good date movie (HINT HINT). As a side note though, if I were to be a slave (and I don't intend to be, but this is a hypothetical situation) I would definitely not want to be Scarlet O'Hara's slave, because she is a psycho bitch. But to be fair to her, she's an equal opportunity psycho bitch to people both black and white. If you really want to have a good time, and by good time I mean not at all, you can play the Scarlet O'Hara drinking game where you swallow a mouthful of booze everytime Scarlet slaps someone. Also I find both Ashley Wilkes and Rhett Butler singularly unappealing.
We (me, my parents) also went to John and Sharon's house for dinner, which was lamb instead of the usual steak, and on the way home, at the Hebrew Academy parking lot, my dad let me drive, in the dark, and in the rain. But it's always good to try new things on New Year's Day, by which I mean, I hope you had a Happy New Year too.
*I promise never to use "up" so many times in one sentence again, ever.
*I'm listing everyone from the party here because I know people like seeing their names mentioned in other people's blogs. Here goes: Josh the Host, Ruchita the Co-Host, Malex, Nick, Jen, Meg, Dena, Puffy, Ben E, Lizzie, Alison, Ranwa (who I think lost some weight but am too embarrassed to ask about), some random people I didn't know and didn't care to introduce myself to, and, inexpicably (since she neither hung out with us in high school nor at the party), Christine C. Hank, according to Malex, had come earlier, but left.
Wednesday, December 31, 2003
Yesterday I went to the Rio with Malex, Janis, Jessica and Lindsay (who is new, to me, anyway). We had dinner at some expensive and tasty, yet kind of questionable, Mexican place, where me and Lindsay traded dinners. We are both kindred spirits who always, always order bad things when we choose randomly from menus at restaurants we've not been to, and then regret not getting what Someone Else got. Yet I feel bad each and every time about being a Copycat and saying, "I'll just get what Janis (or insert name here) is getting," so I guess I will just keep on ordering bad food for all of eternity.
We went to watch Peter Pan, which was a waste of $9.00, despite Zifei's recommendation. It wasn't bad, I just don't think I should've had to pay for it; $9.00 can pay for lots of yummy food (even if it's the same food everyone else is getting). I thought the theme of the movie was good, which, so that I won't sound corny, I will just steal directly from Zifei's animation website:
"Just saw the film today. Thought it was great. For once it showed the true tragic young Peter Pan instead of the always happy old guy. I really liked how they followed the original novel in that Wendy tempts Peter with her love to grow up yet Peter still turns away from it at the end. I mean, in the end, the audience has to be feeling sorry for Pan 'cause he can never ever enjoying the feeling of growing up, and he knows it. Overall A. "
Yeah, that's what Zifei says. I agree with that bit. Probably the one of the few good things about growing up (having done a fair bit of it, and more than I should like in many ways, in the last few years) is being able to fall in love. The movie was also very pretty. But execution-wise, I think a lot of the dramatic effects used were over the top which detracted from the film, and the motivations of the adult characters made no sense. It's a funny thing about suspension of disbelief; I can follow flying ships and fairies well enough, but irrational and undeveloped characters is another thing.
Also, it was disturbing. Me and Malex laughed like crazy at all the unintentional sexual innuendos (Paraphrasing Wendy: "I'm leaving you, Peter, because you aren't grown up. You aren't a complete man.") and we weren't the only ones in the audience to do so. That aside, the guy who played Peter who is probably all of... thirteen?... was disturbingly hot. Everyone agreed on that, even Malex. And I don't think I'm being a pervert because it was a crucial casting decision to star an older boy, a boy who is on the verge of adolescence and is old enough (according to Malex) to have wet dreams, because he's old enough to start have darker desires but too young to actually pursue them. It's a rather disturbing artistic decision which I think was intentional, to emphasize the choice he has to make (whether to grow up or not, because he's already halfway there). Also, he had the mannerisms of an older, teenage or adult actor, which emphasize boldness, assertiveness and self-confidence, which are generally sexy traits, instead of the active rambunctious of a little kid. Like when he draws a pair of twin rapiers from a sheath at each side dramatically (kwa-shing!). That's an action hero thing. That's badass and rather sexy. You shouldn't make Peter Pan sexy, dude, that's weird.
And there's the strange Oedipal feelings between him and Wendy: "Can you be my mother?" because love and womanhood and motherhood are all rolled into one, so it's almost like he's incapable of making a distinction between romantic love and maternal love. The Lost Boys' quest for having a nurturer figure is somewhat creepy in an almost shamanistic, high priestess kind of way. And there's a quasi-pedophilic Captain Hook (maybe too much Michael Jackson on the brain, but it cannot be denied).
And the undertones of horrific violence were there too. Kids have always been disturbing in how innocently and selfishly cruel they are, and that kind of cruelty does make it in this film (not entirely discouraged by the book of course). Tinkerbell, our wonderful and happy fairy friend: "Let's connive to have Wendy shot with arrows because I'm jealous she's getting so much attention." And that scene where Peter is about to stab this Lost Boy in the throat for "killing" Wendy. It was portrayed as an intended execution, which means they must have developed a primative criminal system and social heirarchy, ala Lord of the Flies, like elementary school recess ("You're not allowed in my club!") with knives and arrows. Also I found the concept of Peter cutting off people's hands and egging the Lost Boys on to fight pirates disturbing too. Of course this is a family movie, so we don't see any kids disemboweled or impaling pirates on cutlasses but it's just a creepy concept. They must be some incredibly trauamatized kids (Malex likened them to orphans from Somalia). After reading Lord of the Flies, a place run by kids seems like a horribly dystopian place; at least a place run by adults, while being equally and arbitrarily cruel, has the pretense of civilization.
Also, the fencing sucked.
We went to watch Peter Pan, which was a waste of $9.00, despite Zifei's recommendation. It wasn't bad, I just don't think I should've had to pay for it; $9.00 can pay for lots of yummy food (even if it's the same food everyone else is getting). I thought the theme of the movie was good, which, so that I won't sound corny, I will just steal directly from Zifei's animation website:
"Just saw the film today. Thought it was great. For once it showed the true tragic young Peter Pan instead of the always happy old guy. I really liked how they followed the original novel in that Wendy tempts Peter with her love to grow up yet Peter still turns away from it at the end. I mean, in the end, the audience has to be feeling sorry for Pan 'cause he can never ever enjoying the feeling of growing up, and he knows it. Overall A. "
Yeah, that's what Zifei says. I agree with that bit. Probably the one of the few good things about growing up (having done a fair bit of it, and more than I should like in many ways, in the last few years) is being able to fall in love. The movie was also very pretty. But execution-wise, I think a lot of the dramatic effects used were over the top which detracted from the film, and the motivations of the adult characters made no sense. It's a funny thing about suspension of disbelief; I can follow flying ships and fairies well enough, but irrational and undeveloped characters is another thing.
Also, it was disturbing. Me and Malex laughed like crazy at all the unintentional sexual innuendos (Paraphrasing Wendy: "I'm leaving you, Peter, because you aren't grown up. You aren't a complete man.") and we weren't the only ones in the audience to do so. That aside, the guy who played Peter who is probably all of... thirteen?... was disturbingly hot. Everyone agreed on that, even Malex. And I don't think I'm being a pervert because it was a crucial casting decision to star an older boy, a boy who is on the verge of adolescence and is old enough (according to Malex) to have wet dreams, because he's old enough to start have darker desires but too young to actually pursue them. It's a rather disturbing artistic decision which I think was intentional, to emphasize the choice he has to make (whether to grow up or not, because he's already halfway there). Also, he had the mannerisms of an older, teenage or adult actor, which emphasize boldness, assertiveness and self-confidence, which are generally sexy traits, instead of the active rambunctious of a little kid. Like when he draws a pair of twin rapiers from a sheath at each side dramatically (kwa-shing!). That's an action hero thing. That's badass and rather sexy. You shouldn't make Peter Pan sexy, dude, that's weird.
And there's the strange Oedipal feelings between him and Wendy: "Can you be my mother?" because love and womanhood and motherhood are all rolled into one, so it's almost like he's incapable of making a distinction between romantic love and maternal love. The Lost Boys' quest for having a nurturer figure is somewhat creepy in an almost shamanistic, high priestess kind of way. And there's a quasi-pedophilic Captain Hook (maybe too much Michael Jackson on the brain, but it cannot be denied).
And the undertones of horrific violence were there too. Kids have always been disturbing in how innocently and selfishly cruel they are, and that kind of cruelty does make it in this film (not entirely discouraged by the book of course). Tinkerbell, our wonderful and happy fairy friend: "Let's connive to have Wendy shot with arrows because I'm jealous she's getting so much attention." And that scene where Peter is about to stab this Lost Boy in the throat for "killing" Wendy. It was portrayed as an intended execution, which means they must have developed a primative criminal system and social heirarchy, ala Lord of the Flies, like elementary school recess ("You're not allowed in my club!") with knives and arrows. Also I found the concept of Peter cutting off people's hands and egging the Lost Boys on to fight pirates disturbing too. Of course this is a family movie, so we don't see any kids disemboweled or impaling pirates on cutlasses but it's just a creepy concept. They must be some incredibly trauamatized kids (Malex likened them to orphans from Somalia). After reading Lord of the Flies, a place run by kids seems like a horribly dystopian place; at least a place run by adults, while being equally and arbitrarily cruel, has the pretense of civilization.
Also, the fencing sucked.
Monday, December 29, 2003
So yesterday I went with my parents to visit Kevin (I thought he was named Calvin but apparently he isn't) at the Charbroil Grill (which he runs). We got there at like 7 and stayed until around 12. It made me cranky because it converts into a nightclub at 10:00 or so, which means that it is very loud, very smokey, has lots of annoyingly flashy lights, and is full of young, professional thirty-somethings. Being that I couldn't hold a conversation over the noise, was feeling rather wet and squishy and fat and bloated from my period, don't smoke (though I did take two drags from my dad's cigar, which confirmed my view that tobacco is a horrible, ghastly weed), am too young to drink, and keep thinking about Jeremy every time some woman at the bar leans affectionately against her man or wraps an arm around his shoulder, how am I supposed to not be pissed off after five hours?
My dad was like, "You can dance with me!" I declined. I like dancing with my dad at weddings, but I don't dance with anyone who has a combover and wears a knit vest, big glasses, and highwaters, at a nightclub. Which left me almost feeling bored enough to ask a stranger to dance. It's not that thirty-year olds are too old and square for me. Thirty somethings are still young, energetic and edgy. There are slews of famous movie stars, musicians and athletes in their thirties and forties. But thirty somethings are completely different creatures from people in their late teens and early twenties (admittedly, mostly for the better). The women are classier and have grown out of body glitter, trashy clothes, bleached hair, and raccoon-like eye shadow phases. Nobody ass-grinds or makes out in dark corners. They aren't as wild, you know? Which is good, but... though it's legal, there's something weird about a girl who is out with her parents, wears blue jeans and plays Dungeons and Dragons meeting in a bar a guy who lives in a suburban townhouse, pays his own mortage, makes $70,000 a year, has a car and cell phone, and is twice her age. He may even be married and have teenage children of his own. At the very best, I'm still the age of his kid sister. I've had teachers (the younger ones) in their thirties. My older siblings are in their thirties. My friends, dates, and dance partners are not typically in their thirties, you follow?
I can imagine a conversation with a thirty year old man going like this: "So... Angie... what do you do?" "Um, I go to school." "That's nice.... *silence*... Would you like a drink?" "I would, but I'd get arrested." ... (blah blah blah, conversation about topics which the other person finds completely uninteresting) ... "It was nice meeting you, can I get your number?" "Yeah, here. Hang up if it's my mom." "O..kay. See you on Saturday?" "Yeah, but can you drive me? I don't have my driver's license yet.. and you have to bring me back before twelve or else my parents will be pissed."
>___<
My dad was like, "You can dance with me!" I declined. I like dancing with my dad at weddings, but I don't dance with anyone who has a combover and wears a knit vest, big glasses, and highwaters, at a nightclub. Which left me almost feeling bored enough to ask a stranger to dance. It's not that thirty-year olds are too old and square for me. Thirty somethings are still young, energetic and edgy. There are slews of famous movie stars, musicians and athletes in their thirties and forties. But thirty somethings are completely different creatures from people in their late teens and early twenties (admittedly, mostly for the better). The women are classier and have grown out of body glitter, trashy clothes, bleached hair, and raccoon-like eye shadow phases. Nobody ass-grinds or makes out in dark corners. They aren't as wild, you know? Which is good, but... though it's legal, there's something weird about a girl who is out with her parents, wears blue jeans and plays Dungeons and Dragons meeting in a bar a guy who lives in a suburban townhouse, pays his own mortage, makes $70,000 a year, has a car and cell phone, and is twice her age. He may even be married and have teenage children of his own. At the very best, I'm still the age of his kid sister. I've had teachers (the younger ones) in their thirties. My older siblings are in their thirties. My friends, dates, and dance partners are not typically in their thirties, you follow?
I can imagine a conversation with a thirty year old man going like this: "So... Angie... what do you do?" "Um, I go to school." "That's nice.... *silence*... Would you like a drink?" "I would, but I'd get arrested." ... (blah blah blah, conversation about topics which the other person finds completely uninteresting) ... "It was nice meeting you, can I get your number?" "Yeah, here. Hang up if it's my mom." "O..kay. See you on Saturday?" "Yeah, but can you drive me? I don't have my driver's license yet.. and you have to bring me back before twelve or else my parents will be pissed."
>___<
Saturday, December 27, 2003
T came over today to give me my Christmas present(s) which was wrapped (wow) with the ribbon drawn on it in marker. There was a decoy present of a bag of unshelled sunflower seeds (nice), and then my real present hidden under it, which was Final Fantasy Tactics (better!). She also gave me a box of white Christmas lights for my (well, Jeremy's) dorm. Also, she returned stuff she borrowed, which I think as an aside is kind of funny.
I'm so happy. ^____^
Merry Christmas, two days late!
I'm so happy. ^____^
Merry Christmas, two days late!
Friday, December 26, 2003
Lux Mundi
His hair, strangely, looks worst right after it has been combed. It is jet at night, but in the honey golden light of day the sun shines through it and turns, in a hazy nimbus about his forehead, chestnut-amber, and in the heat of day unstraightens in suggestion of a wave. It looks best when totally unnoticed and pushed backwards in the shower sticking up like a little mohawk after fingers are run through it (wet mahoghany) and when in the short lifespan of a few moments he wraps a towel around his hair to dry it, rakishly tilted one end falling past his back or shoulder, he is tall and straight and shirtless striding out of Kipling's jungles. He wears collared shirts that button down and frame the hollow of his neck that I like dropping kisses into, and the parallel seams of his fencing jacket form a chevron that follows the clean diagonal of his upper body. I poke his bellybutton. He's an innie. He has two pinched marks above the bridge of his nose where the feet of his heavy glasses sit which never fully go away and purple rings under his eyes that never leave even after he has slept or showered except at night when the world shows black or white or grey and the bruises blend in with the pale moonlight and shadows of his skin but are still there under the darkness' great equity. I remember what he looks like when he frowns but not when he smiles. His lips curve upwards at the edges naturally all the time so sometimes it looks like he's sneering as he speaks when he's not but sometimes he is. When he makes threats he becomes exponentially more articulate. When he makes love he becomes exponentially more inarticulate. His lips curve around my fingers when I feed him grapes. His eyelids have a crease in them. In the shower little rivulets form whorls in his body hair like grasses flattened in a stream bed and I revel in the strength of his arms and place a thumb and index finger around and pinch his biceps. He likes when I kiss his jaw below his ear and his neck above his Adam's apple; sometimes it's prickly. He is six inches taller than me so that I must stand on tiptoe to rest my chin on his shoulder or comfortably throw my arms around his neck but I must stoop a bit to hug him. His fingernails are comically squarish and his fingers are flat and each a joint's length longer than mine, so that when I push my hands against his, palm to palm, mine feel small but fit just right.
His hair, strangely, looks worst right after it has been combed. It is jet at night, but in the honey golden light of day the sun shines through it and turns, in a hazy nimbus about his forehead, chestnut-amber, and in the heat of day unstraightens in suggestion of a wave. It looks best when totally unnoticed and pushed backwards in the shower sticking up like a little mohawk after fingers are run through it (wet mahoghany) and when in the short lifespan of a few moments he wraps a towel around his hair to dry it, rakishly tilted one end falling past his back or shoulder, he is tall and straight and shirtless striding out of Kipling's jungles. He wears collared shirts that button down and frame the hollow of his neck that I like dropping kisses into, and the parallel seams of his fencing jacket form a chevron that follows the clean diagonal of his upper body. I poke his bellybutton. He's an innie. He has two pinched marks above the bridge of his nose where the feet of his heavy glasses sit which never fully go away and purple rings under his eyes that never leave even after he has slept or showered except at night when the world shows black or white or grey and the bruises blend in with the pale moonlight and shadows of his skin but are still there under the darkness' great equity. I remember what he looks like when he frowns but not when he smiles. His lips curve upwards at the edges naturally all the time so sometimes it looks like he's sneering as he speaks when he's not but sometimes he is. When he makes threats he becomes exponentially more articulate. When he makes love he becomes exponentially more inarticulate. His lips curve around my fingers when I feed him grapes. His eyelids have a crease in them. In the shower little rivulets form whorls in his body hair like grasses flattened in a stream bed and I revel in the strength of his arms and place a thumb and index finger around and pinch his biceps. He likes when I kiss his jaw below his ear and his neck above his Adam's apple; sometimes it's prickly. He is six inches taller than me so that I must stand on tiptoe to rest my chin on his shoulder or comfortably throw my arms around his neck but I must stoop a bit to hug him. His fingernails are comically squarish and his fingers are flat and each a joint's length longer than mine, so that when I push my hands against his, palm to palm, mine feel small but fit just right.
Christmas wasn't particularly special. Stella and Jonathan came over on Christmas Eve with Nathan rather unexpectedly, so my mom had to accomodate them by cooking more, which she started rather late because she got into a totally pointless argument with Jonathan about driver's license requirements (on my behalf). After dinner was cooked Nathan wouldn't stop crying, so after Stella fit in a few ceremonial bites, they left. So we were left with all this extra food but no one to eat it (except for me)(and my parents). My dad commented, "Other people's kids are always more annoying, aren't they?" and I concurred. Nathan is three months old now and incredibly cute, though we joke about him being cone-headed (my mom semi-seriously joked that you have to place him down in different positions when he sleeps so that his skull will grow evenly). I have a Christmas card of him looking cherubic stuck to the fridge with a magnet, but in reality he cries entirely too much; Stella says the doctors said he has a good set of lungs. No kidding.
I vow (sometimes successfully) not to go online on Christmas, so I spent Christmas rereading Lord of the Rings, though of course not all of it. This is better than going online because I can pursue fairly good conversations with my family while I'm reading, and relax over tea. I did this last year too, inspired by the Fellowship Extended DVD (and of course this year by the T2T DVD and RotK), so I think I may make this an annual tradition. I have a longer break this year, until the 27th of January so I might actually re-read the whole book, who knows? My attention span, not time, is the limit. At certain parts of the book lines from the movie (sometimes one and the same) would echo in my head and sometimes I would find myself humming themes from the soundtracks. Tolkien really does write beautifully, but it can be annoying how many times I have to pull out the dictionary only to find that certain words aren't in it. Tolkein actually wrote parts of the Oxford English dictionary... damn dictionary writers shouldn't write novels! Grrr! ^___^
I had dim sum for lunch (because on Christmas only Chinese places are open) with my mom and dad and Mark, one of my dad's friends from China with no family here to keep him company over Christmas or whatever, as it always seems to be with my dad's friends. We bumped into Shirley, my ex-piano teacher, and her family there, which is what I dislike about going to Oriental East; you always see random Chinese people who you know but don't really feel like talking to. My dad wondered if he could go visit Rosita, his depressed and sometimes suicidal ex-wife who is the cause of most our family issues, but my mom wouldn't allow it and that was that.
Later on T and Mehmet came over so that I could give T her Christmas present (and birthday present because it turns out I'd never given her one), which was money to buy a hoodie with, but since Mehmet had already given her a hoodie she'll just have to buy something else. My dad yelled at me for not introducing Mehmet to him. Chastised, I did so, and just for courtesy I also introduced Mark to Mehmet, to Mark a friend's daughter's friend's boyfriend. Both Mehmet and Mark found it strange and awkward because they really, really could've gone through life perfectly happily without ever having talked to one another. It really made people's lives a little worse, as opposed to a little more pleasant, as such introductions turn out to be examples of exalting the form of etiquette over function.
We spent the night eating from the hotpot and watching Finding Nemo. My dad isn't really a fan of animated movies, but he loves fish (our entire basement is fish tanks). He was rather enthusiastic about it and I was pleasantly surprised.
I vow (sometimes successfully) not to go online on Christmas, so I spent Christmas rereading Lord of the Rings, though of course not all of it. This is better than going online because I can pursue fairly good conversations with my family while I'm reading, and relax over tea. I did this last year too, inspired by the Fellowship Extended DVD (and of course this year by the T2T DVD and RotK), so I think I may make this an annual tradition. I have a longer break this year, until the 27th of January so I might actually re-read the whole book, who knows? My attention span, not time, is the limit. At certain parts of the book lines from the movie (sometimes one and the same) would echo in my head and sometimes I would find myself humming themes from the soundtracks. Tolkien really does write beautifully, but it can be annoying how many times I have to pull out the dictionary only to find that certain words aren't in it. Tolkein actually wrote parts of the Oxford English dictionary... damn dictionary writers shouldn't write novels! Grrr! ^___^
I had dim sum for lunch (because on Christmas only Chinese places are open) with my mom and dad and Mark, one of my dad's friends from China with no family here to keep him company over Christmas or whatever, as it always seems to be with my dad's friends. We bumped into Shirley, my ex-piano teacher, and her family there, which is what I dislike about going to Oriental East; you always see random Chinese people who you know but don't really feel like talking to. My dad wondered if he could go visit Rosita, his depressed and sometimes suicidal ex-wife who is the cause of most our family issues, but my mom wouldn't allow it and that was that.
Later on T and Mehmet came over so that I could give T her Christmas present (and birthday present because it turns out I'd never given her one), which was money to buy a hoodie with, but since Mehmet had already given her a hoodie she'll just have to buy something else. My dad yelled at me for not introducing Mehmet to him. Chastised, I did so, and just for courtesy I also introduced Mark to Mehmet, to Mark a friend's daughter's friend's boyfriend. Both Mehmet and Mark found it strange and awkward because they really, really could've gone through life perfectly happily without ever having talked to one another. It really made people's lives a little worse, as opposed to a little more pleasant, as such introductions turn out to be examples of exalting the form of etiquette over function.
We spent the night eating from the hotpot and watching Finding Nemo. My dad isn't really a fan of animated movies, but he loves fish (our entire basement is fish tanks). He was rather enthusiastic about it and I was pleasantly surprised.
Tuesday, December 23, 2003
Wherein Angie Experiments with Drugs
In the evening after RotK, I went with T and Mehmet to Georgetown to do holiday shopping. Because of the prices of anything, we didn't get much shopping done, but it was fun looking around. Georgetown has a very nice small town feel that's almost colonial. I think, this year, that I've been happiest when I'm shopping. I never buy anything, but there are so many new things to see.
We found, in Georgetown, a restaurant called The Prince, which is a Middle Eastern restaurant chain of sorts that T and Mehmet are familiar with. The atmosphere was rather bad; it was something of a swanky place, given a kind of underwater European nightclub look by having the whole room dark and dimly lit in watery greens, blues and purples. This reminded T to seek out a similar (less swanky) restaurant called the Oasis in Alexandria, so we drove there, past the White House and the National Christmas Tree and National Mennorah*. Across the Key Bridge someone had taken the time and effort to get every single highrise building to line its roof in white Christmas lights. The entire skyline was silhouetted as if someone had drawn the shape of buildings in the sky with light.
The Oasis is mainly visited for its shishah, a type of flavored tobacco smoked in Egyptian waterpipes, like hookah I suppose. It has one smokey, sweet-smelling room, with sturdy fretwork tables and benches, and metal traceried lanterns hanging from chains above, and to either side, painted walls with sand dunes and camels and minarets and the Nile, and the eyes of a veiled woman peering out a window. Chatter, the clicking of dominoes, and all around, young people of dubious legal age (many seem suspiciously high schoolish; all the cool kids) and one or two genuine Arabs (sometimes school aged, sometimes not). The menu is in English and Arabic, and one flap, piously Islamic, reads, "Absolutely no gambling or alcohol!" White Christmas lights are strung around the ceiling. The restaurant was constantly busy.
Mehmet didn't want to be known as the Bad Guy Who Introduces Me to Smoking, so he made me swear, quite solemnly, "Promise me that after this you will never ever touch a cigarette." I promised, and with that we rented a smoking pot thing. It looks like a metal brazier that comes up to about table height; on the very top is a lump of glowing coal which heats tobacco in a compartment under it. The smoke is drawn down, through a glass bulb filled with water, and into a tube from which you inhale. Anecdotally the water filters out many of the toxins in the smoke. This story is probably not true but it made me feel better so I don't care.
I didn't really know what to do with the tube. I inhaled, kind of went "Huh?" and exhaled, coughing. ("Cute!" T declared about my inexperience.) But actually it's rather easy; you inhale, and exhale, slowly. T and Mehmet can both make smoke rings like Gandalf, but I never could really manage it. T had said that her first time smoking had involved the burning sensation of what is essentially hot smoke pouring down your throat and into your lungs, but waterpipes are different. It only felt to me like pleasantly inhaling a mist, or the vapor of a tea, sweet-smelling and tasting. T said I should pretend it was my 18th birthday, since I'd never indulged in the tobacco part of turning 18, but since they never checked ID anyways it didn't make me feel special.
We ate, without forks originally because they'd given us pita and expected us to eat with our hands, but we requested utensils and got them. We smoked and ate and played a game of dominoes, and after the coal died, went home.
We got thoroughly lost on the way back, going in circles and driving along Massachusetts Avenue at least twice, and got an unintentional nighttime tour of DC. "Look, the Lincoln Monument! Union Station! The National Postal Museum! The Natural History Museum! The Washington Monument! The Capital building!" Mehmet had a big headache by the end of it, driving, but I think I had fun, having had a very satisfying night.
*I'd never known there was one. It looks ghastly, and Mehmet said disparaging things about Israeli national interests. Trees are naturally as big as they grow to be, but mennorahs aren't meant to be twenty feet tall and electrically lit.
In the evening after RotK, I went with T and Mehmet to Georgetown to do holiday shopping. Because of the prices of anything, we didn't get much shopping done, but it was fun looking around. Georgetown has a very nice small town feel that's almost colonial. I think, this year, that I've been happiest when I'm shopping. I never buy anything, but there are so many new things to see.
We found, in Georgetown, a restaurant called The Prince, which is a Middle Eastern restaurant chain of sorts that T and Mehmet are familiar with. The atmosphere was rather bad; it was something of a swanky place, given a kind of underwater European nightclub look by having the whole room dark and dimly lit in watery greens, blues and purples. This reminded T to seek out a similar (less swanky) restaurant called the Oasis in Alexandria, so we drove there, past the White House and the National Christmas Tree and National Mennorah*. Across the Key Bridge someone had taken the time and effort to get every single highrise building to line its roof in white Christmas lights. The entire skyline was silhouetted as if someone had drawn the shape of buildings in the sky with light.
The Oasis is mainly visited for its shishah, a type of flavored tobacco smoked in Egyptian waterpipes, like hookah I suppose. It has one smokey, sweet-smelling room, with sturdy fretwork tables and benches, and metal traceried lanterns hanging from chains above, and to either side, painted walls with sand dunes and camels and minarets and the Nile, and the eyes of a veiled woman peering out a window. Chatter, the clicking of dominoes, and all around, young people of dubious legal age (many seem suspiciously high schoolish; all the cool kids) and one or two genuine Arabs (sometimes school aged, sometimes not). The menu is in English and Arabic, and one flap, piously Islamic, reads, "Absolutely no gambling or alcohol!" White Christmas lights are strung around the ceiling. The restaurant was constantly busy.
Mehmet didn't want to be known as the Bad Guy Who Introduces Me to Smoking, so he made me swear, quite solemnly, "Promise me that after this you will never ever touch a cigarette." I promised, and with that we rented a smoking pot thing. It looks like a metal brazier that comes up to about table height; on the very top is a lump of glowing coal which heats tobacco in a compartment under it. The smoke is drawn down, through a glass bulb filled with water, and into a tube from which you inhale. Anecdotally the water filters out many of the toxins in the smoke. This story is probably not true but it made me feel better so I don't care.
I didn't really know what to do with the tube. I inhaled, kind of went "Huh?" and exhaled, coughing. ("Cute!" T declared about my inexperience.) But actually it's rather easy; you inhale, and exhale, slowly. T and Mehmet can both make smoke rings like Gandalf, but I never could really manage it. T had said that her first time smoking had involved the burning sensation of what is essentially hot smoke pouring down your throat and into your lungs, but waterpipes are different. It only felt to me like pleasantly inhaling a mist, or the vapor of a tea, sweet-smelling and tasting. T said I should pretend it was my 18th birthday, since I'd never indulged in the tobacco part of turning 18, but since they never checked ID anyways it didn't make me feel special.
We ate, without forks originally because they'd given us pita and expected us to eat with our hands, but we requested utensils and got them. We smoked and ate and played a game of dominoes, and after the coal died, went home.
We got thoroughly lost on the way back, going in circles and driving along Massachusetts Avenue at least twice, and got an unintentional nighttime tour of DC. "Look, the Lincoln Monument! Union Station! The National Postal Museum! The Natural History Museum! The Washington Monument! The Capital building!" Mehmet had a big headache by the end of it, driving, but I think I had fun, having had a very satisfying night.
*I'd never known there was one. It looks ghastly, and Mehmet said disparaging things about Israeli national interests. Trees are naturally as big as they grow to be, but mennorahs aren't meant to be twenty feet tall and electrically lit.
RotK Redux
So yesterday, I went to lunch at Lebanese Taverna with T and Mehmet. I have decided that the food there is bad.
Then we went to see Return of the King at the Uptown, which for those of you who don't know, is a big single-screen theater in DC which has balcony seating, like in the old days. They don't make theaters like that now, just multiplexes, so it's like an annual pilgrimage for us locals to go to the Uptown to watch whatever big nerd movie that's out. T asked where I'd seen RotK before, and I told her at Muvico at Arundel Mills, and she was for some reason impressed; I think it has quite a reputation. *
It could just be that I was watching RotK for the second time, in some fairly crappy seats at the back of the balcony, but the Uptown was not as impressive as usual. Still, it was fun because of the size of the crowd. It was very applause-happy, and we clapped in all the right places and then in some rather questionable ones; we clapped for Viggo in the Hidalgo trailer, and as in the first time I saw RotK, people clapped for Denethor's death, which is a big difference from the books because it's not a death you're supposed to applaud, you know? But John Noble did make himself so exquisitely despicable. Some poor fool clapped at the end of the Rivendell scene after the fade to black, only to face laughter from the entire theater when he and the entire audience realized that, of course, the movie wasn't over yet.
Comments overheard during RotK:
"He's finally washed his hair!" -Person sitting next to me regarding Aragorn at the end.
Mehmet and T spent a lot of the time cuddling*/making slashy comments regarding Frodo and Sam, and groaning when I said, cheerfully, "It's not over!" I enjoyed misleading T because she never read the books; I got her to think that Frodo would jump in after the ring. Well, she came up with the idea herself, but I rather encouraged it.
Mehmet said that out of three hours and forty minutes, forty minutes of RotK is the ending. When we left, we had a hilarious time walking past the long line of people waiting to get in for the next showing and saying things like, "Why did they have to kill Frodo? That's just wrong!" Don't think anyone bought it though.
I was impressed that I didn't have to pee for the whole time, but of course I was dehydrated because I'd hardly drank anything during lunch beforehand.
PS:
I feel the need to add this to the list of things to not do during a RotK showing: throw popcorn kernels at the screen during the Cracks of Doom sequence.
*Jose and Kay will be glad to hear (or confirm) that Muvico gives the Uptown a run for its money. It has reclining seats and a mural of the Nile at sunset (or sunrise) painted on the walls. The lobby has these big plaster columns, the halls have electric torches and the doors have brass fan-shaped handles that remind me of those jeweled collars pharoahs wear. So we have some pretty nice theaters close by UMBC, it turns out, though we don't often appreciate it.
*Watching other people cuddle is a bit annoying. Being that this is something I myself inflict upon innocent bystanders whenever Jeremy is around, I figure that I'm obligated to put up with it from other people.
So yesterday, I went to lunch at Lebanese Taverna with T and Mehmet. I have decided that the food there is bad.
Then we went to see Return of the King at the Uptown, which for those of you who don't know, is a big single-screen theater in DC which has balcony seating, like in the old days. They don't make theaters like that now, just multiplexes, so it's like an annual pilgrimage for us locals to go to the Uptown to watch whatever big nerd movie that's out. T asked where I'd seen RotK before, and I told her at Muvico at Arundel Mills, and she was for some reason impressed; I think it has quite a reputation. *
It could just be that I was watching RotK for the second time, in some fairly crappy seats at the back of the balcony, but the Uptown was not as impressive as usual. Still, it was fun because of the size of the crowd. It was very applause-happy, and we clapped in all the right places and then in some rather questionable ones; we clapped for Viggo in the Hidalgo trailer, and as in the first time I saw RotK, people clapped for Denethor's death, which is a big difference from the books because it's not a death you're supposed to applaud, you know? But John Noble did make himself so exquisitely despicable. Some poor fool clapped at the end of the Rivendell scene after the fade to black, only to face laughter from the entire theater when he and the entire audience realized that, of course, the movie wasn't over yet.
Comments overheard during RotK:
"He's finally washed his hair!" -Person sitting next to me regarding Aragorn at the end.
Mehmet and T spent a lot of the time cuddling*/making slashy comments regarding Frodo and Sam, and groaning when I said, cheerfully, "It's not over!" I enjoyed misleading T because she never read the books; I got her to think that Frodo would jump in after the ring. Well, she came up with the idea herself, but I rather encouraged it.
Mehmet said that out of three hours and forty minutes, forty minutes of RotK is the ending. When we left, we had a hilarious time walking past the long line of people waiting to get in for the next showing and saying things like, "Why did they have to kill Frodo? That's just wrong!" Don't think anyone bought it though.
I was impressed that I didn't have to pee for the whole time, but of course I was dehydrated because I'd hardly drank anything during lunch beforehand.
PS:
I feel the need to add this to the list of things to not do during a RotK showing: throw popcorn kernels at the screen during the Cracks of Doom sequence.
*Jose and Kay will be glad to hear (or confirm) that Muvico gives the Uptown a run for its money. It has reclining seats and a mural of the Nile at sunset (or sunrise) painted on the walls. The lobby has these big plaster columns, the halls have electric torches and the doors have brass fan-shaped handles that remind me of those jeweled collars pharoahs wear. So we have some pretty nice theaters close by UMBC, it turns out, though we don't often appreciate it.
*Watching other people cuddle is a bit annoying. Being that this is something I myself inflict upon innocent bystanders whenever Jeremy is around, I figure that I'm obligated to put up with it from other people.
Saturday, December 20, 2003
Things Not to Do At Return of the King
(Stolen from The Two Towers MUD discussion boards, courtesy Langor, whoever the hell he is.)
For those of you planning on seeing the third LOTR movie at the theatre here are some survival tips.
1. Stand up halfway through the movie and yell loudly, "Wait... where the hell is Harry Potter?"
2. Block the entrance to the theatre while screaming: "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!". After the movie, say "Lucas could have done it better."
3. At some point during the movie, stand up and shout: "I must go! Middle Earth needs me!" and run and try to jump into the screen.
After bouncing off, return quietly to your seat.
4. Play a drinking game where you have to take a sip every time someone says: "The Ring."
5. Point and laugh whenever someone dies.
6. Ask the nearest ring-nut if he thinks Gandalf went to Hogwarts.
7. Finish off every one of Elrond's lines with "Mr. Anderson."
8. When Aragorn is crowned king, stand up and at the top of your lungs sing, "And I did it.... MY way...!"
9. At the end, complain that Gollum was offensive to Ethiopians.
10. Talk like Gollum all through the movie. At the end, bite off someone's finger and fall down the stairs.
11. When Shelob appears, pinch the guy in front of you on the back of the neck.
12. Dress up as old ladies and re-enact "The Battle of Helms Deep" Monty Python style.
13. When Denethor lights the fire, shout "Barbecue!"
14. Ask people around you who they think is the next "Terminator" sent from the Middle Earth of the future to assassinate Frodo Baggins.
15. In TTT when the Ents decide to march to war, stand up and shout "RUN FOREST, RUN!"
16. Every time someone kills an Orc, yell: "That's what I'm Tolkien about!" See how long it takes before you get kicked out of the theatre.
17. During a wide shot of a battle, inquire, "Where's Wally?"
18. Talk loudly about how you heard that there is a single frame of a nude Elf hidden somewhere in the movie.
19. Start an Orc sing-a-long.
20. Come to the premiere dressed as Frankenfurter and wander around looking terribly confused.
(Stolen from The Two Towers MUD discussion boards, courtesy Langor, whoever the hell he is.)
For those of you planning on seeing the third LOTR movie at the theatre here are some survival tips.
1. Stand up halfway through the movie and yell loudly, "Wait... where the hell is Harry Potter?"
2. Block the entrance to the theatre while screaming: "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!". After the movie, say "Lucas could have done it better."
3. At some point during the movie, stand up and shout: "I must go! Middle Earth needs me!" and run and try to jump into the screen.
After bouncing off, return quietly to your seat.
4. Play a drinking game where you have to take a sip every time someone says: "The Ring."
5. Point and laugh whenever someone dies.
6. Ask the nearest ring-nut if he thinks Gandalf went to Hogwarts.
7. Finish off every one of Elrond's lines with "Mr. Anderson."
8. When Aragorn is crowned king, stand up and at the top of your lungs sing, "And I did it.... MY way...!"
9. At the end, complain that Gollum was offensive to Ethiopians.
10. Talk like Gollum all through the movie. At the end, bite off someone's finger and fall down the stairs.
11. When Shelob appears, pinch the guy in front of you on the back of the neck.
12. Dress up as old ladies and re-enact "The Battle of Helms Deep" Monty Python style.
13. When Denethor lights the fire, shout "Barbecue!"
14. Ask people around you who they think is the next "Terminator" sent from the Middle Earth of the future to assassinate Frodo Baggins.
15. In TTT when the Ents decide to march to war, stand up and shout "RUN FOREST, RUN!"
16. Every time someone kills an Orc, yell: "That's what I'm Tolkien about!" See how long it takes before you get kicked out of the theatre.
17. During a wide shot of a battle, inquire, "Where's Wally?"
18. Talk loudly about how you heard that there is a single frame of a nude Elf hidden somewhere in the movie.
19. Start an Orc sing-a-long.
20. Come to the premiere dressed as Frankenfurter and wander around looking terribly confused.
Thursday, December 18, 2003
Dear Jeremy,
My love for you is as immovable as a fat kid on a seesaw. It burns like the eye of Sauron at Barad-Dur*, a magnesium strip exposed to a friction force, and vampire blood in World of Darkness, all at once. It is undying like a Shambling Mound with a Shocker Lizard familiar*. The world is just you and I (in Otiluke's Resilient Sphere). I fail my will save. I love you.
*Except if a wizard cast levitate to ten feet above the shambling mound, cast shape change, turned into a 250 by 250 foot platinum cube, and fell.
*As in, the tower in Mordor, not Andrew D's dorm, y'all.
My love for you is as immovable as a fat kid on a seesaw. It burns like the eye of Sauron at Barad-Dur*, a magnesium strip exposed to a friction force, and vampire blood in World of Darkness, all at once. It is undying like a Shambling Mound with a Shocker Lizard familiar*. The world is just you and I (in Otiluke's Resilient Sphere). I fail my will save. I love you.
*Except if a wizard cast levitate to ten feet above the shambling mound, cast shape change, turned into a 250 by 250 foot platinum cube, and fell.
*As in, the tower in Mordor, not Andrew D's dorm, y'all.
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