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. ^_____^
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.
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