Addendum
I don't mind coming in on my roommate having sex so much as the fact that it's never with the same person.
Thursday, April 22, 2004
Sunday, April 18, 2004
On Friday, went to Bal'more with Jeremy. I thought he was going to take me out to cheer me up from the random depression I'd been in for the last week. But no, he apparently had needed to go fetch the Exalted Players Guide from the Inner Harbor Barnes and Noble. Silly pie. He should learn how to BS.
The sun had come out after basically two weeks of unremitting rain, and made things shiny again. (Malex, I hate you for being in Southern California and not dealing with East Coast weather. :P) We went to Fort McHenry, which we found out later was called Federal Hill, very steep and imposing from up close, with grassy slopes that rise steeper than 30 degress. The top of the hill, with the oversized Star Spangled Banner drooping in windlessness like a disappointed bird, is flat and surmounted by a toothy ring of cannons. It's very freaky, especially to someone like Jeremy with no depth perception, because the slope of the hill disappears behind the ridge formed where the flat and the incline meet, so it looks as if past a certain point the ground just gives way to thin air. But from the top you can see everything, downtown across the harbor with sailboats like little triangular paper cutouts, those crew teams in their slim maritime needles slipping through the blue, and fireboats uncharacteristically jaunty in red and white and thick smoke mushrooming charmingly from the pier. The skyline casts a clean silhouette of sunlight on metal and sky mirrored in glass, and in other directions away from the city, so far in the distance as to be painted against the horizon, roll the hazy blues of hilly piedmont.
For a while you might even say that the city is fair, until you are, in the course of a day, begged at for money by ten (we kept count) people. One man asked us for money for coffee... across the street from a tavern. God, I don't know why I make eye contact with anyone anymore, because as soon as you take your eyes off the sidewalk and look someone in the eye they ask you for spare change. Jeremy told me he does make eye contact, but has mastered a look of such contempt and vitriol that most people just find it better not to approach him for anything. Only one person was with an organized charity. I suppose you could count eleven people total if you count the little girl who tried to sell us chocolates, and twelve if you count the drunk who yelled at Jeremy belligerently and incoherently, but didn't ask for money. The drunk was bellowing "Lifeguard!" at Jeremy (who was wearing his lifeguard t-shirt) and I thought he maybe needed medical attention, but he kind of fell back once Jeremy marched me past, towed very firmly by the arm. He probably was just drunk and didn't need a lifeguard at all (we saw him again on the way back). After all, if I really had some sort of emergency and honest intentions, I wouldn't have been cowed by having someone glare at me. But I also wonder, if I were homeless and had a medical emergency, if I would have any kind of conviction regarding my right to be helped. Most of us would consider a medical emergency a life or death situation, but I think homeless people are so used to being in life or death situations and being ignored (not having money for food every day is a continuous life or death situation in its own way) that maybe they've stopped expecting passerbys to even care about the most terrible of tragedies.
In any case, we didn't give them money.
We walked to historic Fells Point, with brick streets and small shops that sold genuinely interesting gifts items. We had tea at a small, if expensive, Egyptian cafe called The Nile, with frescoes from the Book of the Dead (said Jeremy) where Anubis weighs the souls of the dead, and hieroglyphs painted along the walls. On the other wall was an Egyptian hunting scene with archers and trappers and a woman on a papyrus boat amongst the cool reeds of the Nile, inhabited by comical fish and a graceful flock of herons in flight. This segued, next to stairs to the upper (private) floor, into a mural of veiled women and men in headdress captioned in Arabic. I thought they got their genres mixed. In any case, there is nothing quite like the texture of late afternoon sunlight on a hardwood floor, so the atmosphere was fine by me, and it was a rather relaxed affair revolving around mint tea, jallab (date juice with the subtle hint of rosewater as an aftertaste), a bizarre, honey-coated dessert that looked like a giant wheaties (kunafa), and a cinnamon buttered, almond cake with oranges (basbousa). Later, we went back to B&N, and wandered around because I swore I'd seen a theater around there somewhere, except I must not've (there's a theater along North Charles Street but none downtown). In the coming of the evening, we found a cozy, winding walkway through a series of waterfall-fountains, where the niche behind a curtain of water provided a little bit of privacy.
The sun had come out after basically two weeks of unremitting rain, and made things shiny again. (Malex, I hate you for being in Southern California and not dealing with East Coast weather. :P) We went to Fort McHenry, which we found out later was called Federal Hill, very steep and imposing from up close, with grassy slopes that rise steeper than 30 degress. The top of the hill, with the oversized Star Spangled Banner drooping in windlessness like a disappointed bird, is flat and surmounted by a toothy ring of cannons. It's very freaky, especially to someone like Jeremy with no depth perception, because the slope of the hill disappears behind the ridge formed where the flat and the incline meet, so it looks as if past a certain point the ground just gives way to thin air. But from the top you can see everything, downtown across the harbor with sailboats like little triangular paper cutouts, those crew teams in their slim maritime needles slipping through the blue, and fireboats uncharacteristically jaunty in red and white and thick smoke mushrooming charmingly from the pier. The skyline casts a clean silhouette of sunlight on metal and sky mirrored in glass, and in other directions away from the city, so far in the distance as to be painted against the horizon, roll the hazy blues of hilly piedmont.
For a while you might even say that the city is fair, until you are, in the course of a day, begged at for money by ten (we kept count) people. One man asked us for money for coffee... across the street from a tavern. God, I don't know why I make eye contact with anyone anymore, because as soon as you take your eyes off the sidewalk and look someone in the eye they ask you for spare change. Jeremy told me he does make eye contact, but has mastered a look of such contempt and vitriol that most people just find it better not to approach him for anything. Only one person was with an organized charity. I suppose you could count eleven people total if you count the little girl who tried to sell us chocolates, and twelve if you count the drunk who yelled at Jeremy belligerently and incoherently, but didn't ask for money. The drunk was bellowing "Lifeguard!" at Jeremy (who was wearing his lifeguard t-shirt) and I thought he maybe needed medical attention, but he kind of fell back once Jeremy marched me past, towed very firmly by the arm. He probably was just drunk and didn't need a lifeguard at all (we saw him again on the way back). After all, if I really had some sort of emergency and honest intentions, I wouldn't have been cowed by having someone glare at me. But I also wonder, if I were homeless and had a medical emergency, if I would have any kind of conviction regarding my right to be helped. Most of us would consider a medical emergency a life or death situation, but I think homeless people are so used to being in life or death situations and being ignored (not having money for food every day is a continuous life or death situation in its own way) that maybe they've stopped expecting passerbys to even care about the most terrible of tragedies.
In any case, we didn't give them money.
We walked to historic Fells Point, with brick streets and small shops that sold genuinely interesting gifts items. We had tea at a small, if expensive, Egyptian cafe called The Nile, with frescoes from the Book of the Dead (said Jeremy) where Anubis weighs the souls of the dead, and hieroglyphs painted along the walls. On the other wall was an Egyptian hunting scene with archers and trappers and a woman on a papyrus boat amongst the cool reeds of the Nile, inhabited by comical fish and a graceful flock of herons in flight. This segued, next to stairs to the upper (private) floor, into a mural of veiled women and men in headdress captioned in Arabic. I thought they got their genres mixed. In any case, there is nothing quite like the texture of late afternoon sunlight on a hardwood floor, so the atmosphere was fine by me, and it was a rather relaxed affair revolving around mint tea, jallab (date juice with the subtle hint of rosewater as an aftertaste), a bizarre, honey-coated dessert that looked like a giant wheaties (kunafa), and a cinnamon buttered, almond cake with oranges (basbousa). Later, we went back to B&N, and wandered around because I swore I'd seen a theater around there somewhere, except I must not've (there's a theater along North Charles Street but none downtown). In the coming of the evening, we found a cozy, winding walkway through a series of waterfall-fountains, where the niche behind a curtain of water provided a little bit of privacy.
Thursday, April 15, 2004
Went to a formal, multi-course dinner at the Skylight Lounge and learned which forks to use for what food.
"How long will it take you to get ready?" Jeremy asked me.
I said, "Not too long, I just need to change."
Fifteen minutes later, I had shaved my legs, changed, put on my shoes and pantyhose (via a very inefficient process of pulling it while jumping up and down) and was watching Jeremy strive in mortal combat with a necktie ("Argh, it's ALIVE!!! Og kill!!!!") while turning a very elemental shade of red. And he was asking me how long I'd take?
But he looks very cute and squared away while he's playing Mormon.
We were late, but that turned out to be fortuitous because we missed that first half hour of the dinner where people are suppose to "mingle," and we all hate mingling.
Note: Silly white people! You invented gunpowder as a weapon of war, you are (outside of Japan) the richest people in the world with the best health care systems, you have industrial development that's the envy of all countries.... but you still eat rice with forks! What the hell is that? Did someone wake up one day and say, "Gee, look at this eating utensil that is comprised of a series of a parallel tines. Let's eat miniscule, granular objects with it." Morons. Rice is for spoons.
See... when you're too busy conquering people, all the blood in your brain flows to your weapon hand.
"How long will it take you to get ready?" Jeremy asked me.
I said, "Not too long, I just need to change."
Fifteen minutes later, I had shaved my legs, changed, put on my shoes and pantyhose (via a very inefficient process of pulling it while jumping up and down) and was watching Jeremy strive in mortal combat with a necktie ("Argh, it's ALIVE!!! Og kill!!!!") while turning a very elemental shade of red. And he was asking me how long I'd take?
But he looks very cute and squared away while he's playing Mormon.
We were late, but that turned out to be fortuitous because we missed that first half hour of the dinner where people are suppose to "mingle," and we all hate mingling.
Note: Silly white people! You invented gunpowder as a weapon of war, you are (outside of Japan) the richest people in the world with the best health care systems, you have industrial development that's the envy of all countries.... but you still eat rice with forks! What the hell is that? Did someone wake up one day and say, "Gee, look at this eating utensil that is comprised of a series of a parallel tines. Let's eat miniscule, granular objects with it." Morons. Rice is for spoons.
See... when you're too busy conquering people, all the blood in your brain flows to your weapon hand.
Tuesday, April 13, 2004
Monday, April 12, 2004
Hey, it's Libertarian, er.. "Liberty" Week at UMBC, where we have an orgy of fun-filled Libertarian activities.
Tonight we had political satirist Bob Somerby, and an audience of all of fifteen people.
And next Sunday is the trip to the shooting range!
Tonight we had political satirist Bob Somerby, and an audience of all of fifteen people.
And next Sunday is the trip to the shooting range!
Sunday, April 11, 2004
Oh, Poop.
I've been sick since Friday morning.
I have a fever, upset stomach and diarrhea, which are okay by themselves except that they all ganged up together and formed themselves a roleplaying party. ("I'm the mage!")
Being typically incompetent, UMBC's health services aren't open on weekends. You'd think that if they had to be cheap they could at least staff the health services with pre-med students desperate for money and experience. (Kay, who is a pre-med, "prescribed" me some of his leftover medicine for nausea. I know this is illegal. I don't care.) You might say, "Oh, it's Easter," but Jesus, Health Services is never open on any weekend. They're open from 8am-5pm on Monday through Thursdays, and they close early on Fridays.
But if you want to think about this philosophically, last Easter over high school spring break, I had a high fever and a cough caused by respiratory allergies for three days (strangely enough, after a college visit to UMBC). When I got up from puttering around in bed swathed in blankets drinking lots of water I noticed that the magnolia tree right by my front porch was in blossom and some of the petals were falling down, and I started crying. Well, being sick was basically my spring break but when I got back to school it seemed like everything was different somehow, like it was clean and made new, as if you could feel the place and times changing around you. (This could also be a result of the real academic year drawing to a close as we got into AP and IB Testing Season, and everyone getting their college acceptance notes, and beginning to disappear into the ether of a Real Life, and the days getting longer, and the snow finally going home.) My blog entries from last year around that time don't quite capture what I felt (and neither does this one), if simply because I am not good enough with words. I used to spend hours outside listening to the silence alternating with the wind in the trees, and watch how each blade of grass turned a translucent green-gold in the reborn sun, and hiking on top of hills so that I could see the straight trunks and the newly lush leaves of the trees under and around me.
----
Sunday, April 20, 2003
I am painfully happy for the beauty of the world. I think heaven must be a sunny walk. Why does the world have to change? I must go on living (school, job, marriage, kids) to be happy, but I'm happy already, so why won't the world stay as it is, with the wind and shadows in the grass? It feels like the end of everything, though I know there are no beginnings and no ends, simply living on as one lived before, and the world continues as before.
Anyone can have ambitions, but being content is God's gift. Let me be content then, at least for a while.
Monday, April 21, 2003
"So coming back from a journey, or after an illness, before habits had spun themselves across the surface, one felt that same unreality, which was so startling; felt something emerge. Life was most vivid then." -To the Lighthouse
I am happy now because there's not anywhere else in the world I'd rather be or anything else in the world I'd rather be doing. I spend most of my life either looking forward or backwards, but I've spent today all mellow and at peace waiting for something to happen.
Tuesday, April 22, 2003
There's no greater joy in the world than a good, long, two-hour walk with birdsong and tall trees. It was very strange.. I felt like I'd turn a corner and see something.. I don't know what, like some lost world I once belonged to, a place where I should be and half remembered.
Thursday, April 24, 2003
I have re-discovered a passion for walking, which I suppose is much healthier than my winter passion for S&M and German men.
Walking makes me really really happy. It's so peaceful every day, I don't give a damn about anything, and for that hour and a half, I have everything in life I wish to have. Today, a boy on a bike, maybe around twelve years old, smiled so warmly at me as he went by that it was like the sun came out (I mean, the sun was already out but it was like a second sun came out), and later on, he was with a bunch of friends in the street laughing as they raced each other on bikes and scooters and on foot. And how can such exuberance help but be contagious? And the Good Humor truck came out, the epitome of childhood happiness, and the boy's friend on the bike rode after it, and life was good.
----
Maybe it'll be something of the same this year. Here's hoping.
So happy Easter, y'all.
I've been sick since Friday morning.
I have a fever, upset stomach and diarrhea, which are okay by themselves except that they all ganged up together and formed themselves a roleplaying party. ("I'm the mage!")
Being typically incompetent, UMBC's health services aren't open on weekends. You'd think that if they had to be cheap they could at least staff the health services with pre-med students desperate for money and experience. (Kay, who is a pre-med, "prescribed" me some of his leftover medicine for nausea. I know this is illegal. I don't care.) You might say, "Oh, it's Easter," but Jesus, Health Services is never open on any weekend. They're open from 8am-5pm on Monday through Thursdays, and they close early on Fridays.
But if you want to think about this philosophically, last Easter over high school spring break, I had a high fever and a cough caused by respiratory allergies for three days (strangely enough, after a college visit to UMBC). When I got up from puttering around in bed swathed in blankets drinking lots of water I noticed that the magnolia tree right by my front porch was in blossom and some of the petals were falling down, and I started crying. Well, being sick was basically my spring break but when I got back to school it seemed like everything was different somehow, like it was clean and made new, as if you could feel the place and times changing around you. (This could also be a result of the real academic year drawing to a close as we got into AP and IB Testing Season, and everyone getting their college acceptance notes, and beginning to disappear into the ether of a Real Life, and the days getting longer, and the snow finally going home.) My blog entries from last year around that time don't quite capture what I felt (and neither does this one), if simply because I am not good enough with words. I used to spend hours outside listening to the silence alternating with the wind in the trees, and watch how each blade of grass turned a translucent green-gold in the reborn sun, and hiking on top of hills so that I could see the straight trunks and the newly lush leaves of the trees under and around me.
----
Sunday, April 20, 2003
I am painfully happy for the beauty of the world. I think heaven must be a sunny walk. Why does the world have to change? I must go on living (school, job, marriage, kids) to be happy, but I'm happy already, so why won't the world stay as it is, with the wind and shadows in the grass? It feels like the end of everything, though I know there are no beginnings and no ends, simply living on as one lived before, and the world continues as before.
Anyone can have ambitions, but being content is God's gift. Let me be content then, at least for a while.
Monday, April 21, 2003
"So coming back from a journey, or after an illness, before habits had spun themselves across the surface, one felt that same unreality, which was so startling; felt something emerge. Life was most vivid then." -To the Lighthouse
I am happy now because there's not anywhere else in the world I'd rather be or anything else in the world I'd rather be doing. I spend most of my life either looking forward or backwards, but I've spent today all mellow and at peace waiting for something to happen.
Tuesday, April 22, 2003
There's no greater joy in the world than a good, long, two-hour walk with birdsong and tall trees. It was very strange.. I felt like I'd turn a corner and see something.. I don't know what, like some lost world I once belonged to, a place where I should be and half remembered.
Thursday, April 24, 2003
I have re-discovered a passion for walking, which I suppose is much healthier than my winter passion for S&M and German men.
Walking makes me really really happy. It's so peaceful every day, I don't give a damn about anything, and for that hour and a half, I have everything in life I wish to have. Today, a boy on a bike, maybe around twelve years old, smiled so warmly at me as he went by that it was like the sun came out (I mean, the sun was already out but it was like a second sun came out), and later on, he was with a bunch of friends in the street laughing as they raced each other on bikes and scooters and on foot. And how can such exuberance help but be contagious? And the Good Humor truck came out, the epitome of childhood happiness, and the boy's friend on the bike rode after it, and life was good.
----
Maybe it'll be something of the same this year. Here's hoping.
So happy Easter, y'all.
Thursday, April 08, 2004
Speculations Upon the Nature of Eden: a Movement in Three Parts
The Walters Art Gallery in Baltimore has the Della Robbia sculpture from Renaissance Florence featured quite prominently as a dramatic device in "The Birth of Venus" (the recently published novel, not the Botticelli painting), the one where the snake that tempts Adam has a woman's head. I went to see it last Thursday, with Jeremy, but it was something of a disappointment.
---
On Saturday, I went to New York City for a wedding in a ratty, Azn part of Flushing. I personally didn't find it to be that great a wedding; why anyone would have a combination traditional Chinese/nightclub themed wedding afterparty I don't understand. (Presumably the actual ceremony had more decorum; I wasn't there.) You can go to a nightclub for $5 any time you want, but you only get married (hopefully) once in your life. If you ask me, in my fluffy pink thought bubbles where logic and laws of physics do not apply, I'd get married with ribbons woven through my hair, on a wooded island in a glassy lake accessible only by swan-shaped boats and fairy dust, and because my husband will be handsome, rich, intelligent, kind, and perfect in all ways, his smile would bring out the sun itself, so it'd never rain, (it may mist at worst, but that's atmospheric). Or, I'd get married in an Italian villa and ride away in a horse-drawn carriage festooned in garlands. At some point there will be soap bubbles, and ballroom dancing of the kind in which your satin dress rustles across the floor (and it doesn't matter that I can't dance, I'd take lessons six months before, with my husband, who, because he is perfect, is already an amazingly talented, yet infinitely patient, lord of the dance). And then I'd be in a loving relationship, become independently wealthy, well-rounded, good-natured, travel the world beloved by all for my meritorious contributions to society, and live a life of effortless luxury. And then after I die people will look at my gravestone and think, "Damn, she was cool."
Or something like that.
In the event that the above, by some horrendous tragedy, shall not come to pass, I should at least like to declare an edict that there will be no moronic fratboy-esque games at my wedding after-party, with flashing lights and a DJ yelling things in one of those car advertisement voices: "Now everyone on the left side cheer! What's that??? Louder! I can't hear you!!!"
There will be no Eminem or Ludacris at my wedding.
---
If I ever think about getting married, or raising children, or living somewhere or going places in my hazy pastel daydreams of the future, I inevitably find myself inserting Jeremy into the place of what previously was just some nebulous, idealized male figure. That doesn't mean though that I have anything planned, or even marginally intended. I think Jeremy finds it a bit hurtful that I make no long-term statements. It's not that I can't see myself with him in five years or so, it's just that I refuse to say anything, almost like avoiding a jinx. The thought of committment doesn't, say, make me recoil with a jolt of horror, it's simply that I fear to trust to hope as the armor against heartbreak.
The Walters Art Gallery in Baltimore has the Della Robbia sculpture from Renaissance Florence featured quite prominently as a dramatic device in "The Birth of Venus" (the recently published novel, not the Botticelli painting), the one where the snake that tempts Adam has a woman's head. I went to see it last Thursday, with Jeremy, but it was something of a disappointment.
---
On Saturday, I went to New York City for a wedding in a ratty, Azn part of Flushing. I personally didn't find it to be that great a wedding; why anyone would have a combination traditional Chinese/nightclub themed wedding afterparty I don't understand. (Presumably the actual ceremony had more decorum; I wasn't there.) You can go to a nightclub for $5 any time you want, but you only get married (hopefully) once in your life. If you ask me, in my fluffy pink thought bubbles where logic and laws of physics do not apply, I'd get married with ribbons woven through my hair, on a wooded island in a glassy lake accessible only by swan-shaped boats and fairy dust, and because my husband will be handsome, rich, intelligent, kind, and perfect in all ways, his smile would bring out the sun itself, so it'd never rain, (it may mist at worst, but that's atmospheric). Or, I'd get married in an Italian villa and ride away in a horse-drawn carriage festooned in garlands. At some point there will be soap bubbles, and ballroom dancing of the kind in which your satin dress rustles across the floor (and it doesn't matter that I can't dance, I'd take lessons six months before, with my husband, who, because he is perfect, is already an amazingly talented, yet infinitely patient, lord of the dance). And then I'd be in a loving relationship, become independently wealthy, well-rounded, good-natured, travel the world beloved by all for my meritorious contributions to society, and live a life of effortless luxury. And then after I die people will look at my gravestone and think, "Damn, she was cool."
Or something like that.
In the event that the above, by some horrendous tragedy, shall not come to pass, I should at least like to declare an edict that there will be no moronic fratboy-esque games at my wedding after-party, with flashing lights and a DJ yelling things in one of those car advertisement voices: "Now everyone on the left side cheer! What's that??? Louder! I can't hear you!!!"
There will be no Eminem or Ludacris at my wedding.
---
If I ever think about getting married, or raising children, or living somewhere or going places in my hazy pastel daydreams of the future, I inevitably find myself inserting Jeremy into the place of what previously was just some nebulous, idealized male figure. That doesn't mean though that I have anything planned, or even marginally intended. I think Jeremy finds it a bit hurtful that I make no long-term statements. It's not that I can't see myself with him in five years or so, it's just that I refuse to say anything, almost like avoiding a jinx. The thought of committment doesn't, say, make me recoil with a jolt of horror, it's simply that I fear to trust to hope as the armor against heartbreak.
Monday, March 29, 2004
Journals from Spain
(I found these on an old clipboard. They are only a three day record of a 10 day trip in 7th grade. Please forgive the bad writing. All mispellings, bad Spanish, bad grammar, inadequate descriptions, and aspects of my personality as a twelve year-old are, as they say in the computer business, features, not bugs. All linked photos are not mine, but included to enrich my otherwise inadequate text. The paragraphs in italics are my account of the journey on the plane, which I noted for some reason. It is terribly irrelevent in retrospect and is included for completeness' sake only. You may skip if you so wish.)
---
Day 1: Madrid
Remind me never to fly Spanair again. I usually find flying pleasant, but this was not the case. It might have helped if my overhead light and air vent had been working. In the middle of the night, it was unbearably hot, and I couldn't get to sleep. My headphones didn't work so I couldn't watch the movies.
I decided to take my watch off because the strap was making me hot. I put it on the arm rest, but it kept falling off. Finally, I attached it to the hook that holds the table in place. I went to the door to look out the window, like I usually do, but there was no window. I went to the W.C. to change and took off my shirt, but I had nothing to change into, so put it on again.
However, I did get little blue slippers that were fun to slide around in. At fist I had no idea what they were. I thought they were night caps or something. I asked one of the flight attendants, who like much of the crew, didn't speak a word of English. Regadless, I didn't get far. I found out they were slippers after seeing someone slide around in them. It was still very hot, so I went to the front of the plane and back. Just because you like to know these things, here is the food I ate on the plane: fish with rice and veggies (eggplants!), crackers with cheese, cheesecake, and some grey round stuff that tasted disgusting. I fell asleep soon after.
When I woke up, we were prepared to land. We could see the sun rising throuh the window. When we landed, we had to go down the stairs, instead of through a gate so I got to see the sun rise. It was 12 degrees C, probably the perfect termperature, and my first view of Madrid was of a sunrise over the hills. (Despite the fact that my ears hurt.) After customs, and upon exiting the airport, we waited for the bus. It dawned upon me that Madrid looked very much like Hong Kong, with the same climate and vegetation. After heading to our hotels, we toured Madrid. There seemed to be an unusual nmber of motorcyclists willing to run me down. There were too many cars smokers, and beggars, which made it hard to breathe. We went into a little bakery to seek refuge and breakfast. "Er, pan for favor?" asked Jacob, the same boy on the plane sliding around in slippers. "You want this?" the person asked in English. It was very funny and we got away from speaking more Spanish.
We went to the Royal Palace. In front of it, were several mounted guards. (Personally, I wonder if they like their jobs.) After awhile, the rode away, and I was able to get a close up photo. They were chased by a bunch of kids who wanted autographs. Later, they changed the standing guard. After a series of military salutes, they finally changed.
We had to meet behind the Royal Palace and between a church which I do not know the name of, at 12:00. In that area, was a statue of Felipe II This statue was flanked by 4 obelisks, which were flanked by 4 balls. Behind the statue was a gate, from which one could see Toledo, a neighboring city. This place is my favorite in Madrid because when you lie down, the stone is cool, the sun is warm, and every hour, the nearby church tolls its bells.
Passing the front of the palace again, we saw a guard on a motorcycle with a machine gun in camaflage uniform. He looked strange next to the ceremonial guard with their blue uniforms and bayonets. The modern guard seem to be everywhere.
We headed to the park, where there was a maze made out of bushes. The bushes were short and could easily be seen over, but it was fun chasing people around. I get tired easily, so I sat by the fountain and splashed the water. Nearby were many statues of Greek and Roman people that I have never heard of. Madrid looks and smells like Hong Kong except that Madrid has Greco-Roman influences. The park is my second favorite place. (It always seems that I always take the most pictures of my favorite place.) We ate lunch at Museo de Jamon (literally, Museum of Ham). I ate limon helado, or lemon ice-cream. It was ice cream inside a lemon. (Try new things. I wonder what orange ice-cream is.) We then went back to the palace. Christine got rubbings. We went back to our hotel for siesta, then went to dinner. It was very greasy chicken. I think the Pepsi made me hyper, because I am REALLY HAPPY AND HAPPY AND HAPPY AND TIRED.. zzzzzz...
Day 2: Villa Nueva de Canada.
I met my host family today. My "sister", Lucia Monserrat, had made me a Welcome sign. She also gave me a little blue teddy bear that plays music when you squeeze it's paw.
We went to Segovia, the city where she and her mother were born. It has a castle and a (scribbled in the margin of the page: "811-7310 Don Angel".. I have no idea what this is) cathedral, and was built by the Romans. It even has an aquaduct running through it. I bought a book in Segovia. We had lunch at a small cafe. I had orange ice cream this time. It tasted like lemon ice-cream, except orange. After lunch, we went to another part of Segovia and saw the fountains near another royal palace. It was winter, so the fountains were off, but I bought some post cards which I probably will never bother to send home. Wen we got home, my family had a stange conversation with Teresa, Lucia's friend, and I hopped into her car and got driven to Maria's house. There, we dropped off Teresa's brother to play soccer in the middle of the road with his friends and I was introduced to Maria. Her American is my friend, Anne. We walked to the house of Julianna, and her "sister" Anne. We played soccer in the middle of the road and were occassionally scattered by a passing car or motorcycle. Many people would sit on the front steps and talk. We went home after dark and ate dinner at about 10:00. We watched a soccer game, then I went to sleep.
Day 3: Home Stay.
I had cereal for breakfast. I didn't know that eating cereal could be so hard. For example, which goes in first, the milk or the cereal? How much milk or cereal do I put in? What do I do with this little packet chcolage? I learned after a while. Afterwards, we went to the Prados Museum of Art in Madrid with Blanaca, another friend of Lucia's, and Christine. I got 2 brochures; 1 on Goya, 1 on Velazquez, and 1 on the Museum itself. Then, we went to Toledo. It has two beautiful cathedrals. In one, I saw a painting, the burial of Count Orgaz. It is the only painting that a certain artist is admired for. I forgot his name, but the painting is so famous that I'll find it soon. After lunch, we went to an observatory on the outskirts of Toledo near the top of a mountain. I took a couple pictures from there. The parents were having coffee, so we played hide and seek and hiked to the top of the mountain. I took a picture from the top. I am going to school tommorow, so I have to go to sleep early. Bye.
Day 4: Homestay
---
The journal ends. Dammit! I wish I'd written more. Or at least taken more pictures, but I, like Rob, who was also in Spain, am camera shy.
(I found these on an old clipboard. They are only a three day record of a 10 day trip in 7th grade. Please forgive the bad writing. All mispellings, bad Spanish, bad grammar, inadequate descriptions, and aspects of my personality as a twelve year-old are, as they say in the computer business, features, not bugs. All linked photos are not mine, but included to enrich my otherwise inadequate text. The paragraphs in italics are my account of the journey on the plane, which I noted for some reason. It is terribly irrelevent in retrospect and is included for completeness' sake only. You may skip if you so wish.)
---
Day 1: Madrid
Remind me never to fly Spanair again. I usually find flying pleasant, but this was not the case. It might have helped if my overhead light and air vent had been working. In the middle of the night, it was unbearably hot, and I couldn't get to sleep. My headphones didn't work so I couldn't watch the movies.
I decided to take my watch off because the strap was making me hot. I put it on the arm rest, but it kept falling off. Finally, I attached it to the hook that holds the table in place. I went to the door to look out the window, like I usually do, but there was no window. I went to the W.C. to change and took off my shirt, but I had nothing to change into, so put it on again.
However, I did get little blue slippers that were fun to slide around in. At fist I had no idea what they were. I thought they were night caps or something. I asked one of the flight attendants, who like much of the crew, didn't speak a word of English. Regadless, I didn't get far. I found out they were slippers after seeing someone slide around in them. It was still very hot, so I went to the front of the plane and back. Just because you like to know these things, here is the food I ate on the plane: fish with rice and veggies (eggplants!), crackers with cheese, cheesecake, and some grey round stuff that tasted disgusting. I fell asleep soon after.
When I woke up, we were prepared to land. We could see the sun rising throuh the window. When we landed, we had to go down the stairs, instead of through a gate so I got to see the sun rise. It was 12 degrees C, probably the perfect termperature, and my first view of Madrid was of a sunrise over the hills. (Despite the fact that my ears hurt.) After customs, and upon exiting the airport, we waited for the bus. It dawned upon me that Madrid looked very much like Hong Kong, with the same climate and vegetation. After heading to our hotels, we toured Madrid. There seemed to be an unusual nmber of motorcyclists willing to run me down. There were too many cars smokers, and beggars, which made it hard to breathe. We went into a little bakery to seek refuge and breakfast. "Er, pan for favor?" asked Jacob, the same boy on the plane sliding around in slippers. "You want this?" the person asked in English. It was very funny and we got away from speaking more Spanish.
We went to the Royal Palace. In front of it, were several mounted guards. (Personally, I wonder if they like their jobs.) After awhile, the rode away, and I was able to get a close up photo. They were chased by a bunch of kids who wanted autographs. Later, they changed the standing guard. After a series of military salutes, they finally changed.
We had to meet behind the Royal Palace and between a church which I do not know the name of, at 12:00. In that area, was a statue of Felipe II This statue was flanked by 4 obelisks, which were flanked by 4 balls. Behind the statue was a gate, from which one could see Toledo, a neighboring city. This place is my favorite in Madrid because when you lie down, the stone is cool, the sun is warm, and every hour, the nearby church tolls its bells.
Passing the front of the palace again, we saw a guard on a motorcycle with a machine gun in camaflage uniform. He looked strange next to the ceremonial guard with their blue uniforms and bayonets. The modern guard seem to be everywhere.
We headed to the park, where there was a maze made out of bushes. The bushes were short and could easily be seen over, but it was fun chasing people around. I get tired easily, so I sat by the fountain and splashed the water. Nearby were many statues of Greek and Roman people that I have never heard of. Madrid looks and smells like Hong Kong except that Madrid has Greco-Roman influences. The park is my second favorite place. (It always seems that I always take the most pictures of my favorite place.) We ate lunch at Museo de Jamon (literally, Museum of Ham). I ate limon helado, or lemon ice-cream. It was ice cream inside a lemon. (Try new things. I wonder what orange ice-cream is.) We then went back to the palace. Christine got rubbings. We went back to our hotel for siesta, then went to dinner. It was very greasy chicken. I think the Pepsi made me hyper, because I am REALLY HAPPY AND HAPPY AND HAPPY AND TIRED.. zzzzzz...
Day 2: Villa Nueva de Canada.
I met my host family today. My "sister", Lucia Monserrat, had made me a Welcome sign. She also gave me a little blue teddy bear that plays music when you squeeze it's paw.
We went to Segovia, the city where she and her mother were born. It has a castle and a (scribbled in the margin of the page: "811-7310 Don Angel".. I have no idea what this is) cathedral, and was built by the Romans. It even has an aquaduct running through it. I bought a book in Segovia. We had lunch at a small cafe. I had orange ice cream this time. It tasted like lemon ice-cream, except orange. After lunch, we went to another part of Segovia and saw the fountains near another royal palace. It was winter, so the fountains were off, but I bought some post cards which I probably will never bother to send home. Wen we got home, my family had a stange conversation with Teresa, Lucia's friend, and I hopped into her car and got driven to Maria's house. There, we dropped off Teresa's brother to play soccer in the middle of the road with his friends and I was introduced to Maria. Her American is my friend, Anne. We walked to the house of Julianna, and her "sister" Anne. We played soccer in the middle of the road and were occassionally scattered by a passing car or motorcycle. Many people would sit on the front steps and talk. We went home after dark and ate dinner at about 10:00. We watched a soccer game, then I went to sleep.
Day 3: Home Stay.
I had cereal for breakfast. I didn't know that eating cereal could be so hard. For example, which goes in first, the milk or the cereal? How much milk or cereal do I put in? What do I do with this little packet chcolage? I learned after a while. Afterwards, we went to the Prados Museum of Art in Madrid with Blanaca, another friend of Lucia's, and Christine. I got 2 brochures; 1 on Goya, 1 on Velazquez, and 1 on the Museum itself. Then, we went to Toledo. It has two beautiful cathedrals. In one, I saw a painting, the burial of Count Orgaz. It is the only painting that a certain artist is admired for. I forgot his name, but the painting is so famous that I'll find it soon. After lunch, we went to an observatory on the outskirts of Toledo near the top of a mountain. I took a couple pictures from there. The parents were having coffee, so we played hide and seek and hiked to the top of the mountain. I took a picture from the top. I am going to school tommorow, so I have to go to sleep early. Bye.
Day 4: Homestay
---
The journal ends. Dammit! I wish I'd written more. Or at least taken more pictures, but I, like Rob, who was also in Spain, am camera shy.
Saturday, March 27, 2004
Madness in the Dark
Lauren recommended to me an excellent Trigun fanfic. V. short but v. powerful. Spoilers.. duh. You know which one.
Lauren recommended to me an excellent Trigun fanfic. V. short but v. powerful. Spoilers.. duh. You know which one.
Friday, March 26, 2004
You PETA People Are Gonna Kill Me For This
Senate Passes Fetus Protection Bill
I'm vaguely pro-choice but I'm not against this at all. If you can get prosecuted for killing a cat, you should be prosecuted for killing an unborn child, for God's sake. This is a no-brainer. I don't consider it murder on the same degree as killing a full-grown person but it should still be a criminal offense. I mean, compared to offenses like parking tickets, pulling the tag off of mattresses and pirating music... After all, even if for the sake of argument a fetus doesn't have rights (which I think it has at least as much as any animal*), isn't the assault of a pregnant woman, as well as being an assault on her person, a violation of her right to choose? The criminal is essentially attempting to make an abortion for her, which anyone on either side of the argument can agree is a heinous deed.
*My opinion on animals is that they can be killed for the utilization of a resource, as a preservation of a cultural tradition, or to euthanize them. They should not be killed because someone enjoys the suffering, or if they are someone elses' property. However, the intention is more important than the act in this case. A butcher who kills not because he must provide meat, but because he enjoys watching the animals squirm, is to be condemned. A matador (whose vocation encompasses centuries of unique tradition and is the social glue of an entire community) who performs not because he likes killing, but for the love of grace and precision in his movements and respects the bull as an honorable enemy, is to be applauded.
Fetuses should be given at least this much protection, and for goodness sakes, a lot more. A sense of ethics, if not the government, should say that an unborn child should not be killed after it has developed a heart and brain, unless the mother is in grave danger or it is so deformed, handicapped or severely retarded that it would be a mercy to the child not to bring it to term.
Full human rights, for fully-formed human beings, go as follow: Among other things, they should not be killed for any reason except self-defense, should not be euthanized unless requested, and even then, probably not. I don't care if the guy is retarded or deformed or handicapped after he's born, you can't kill him. Can you really look a retarded person in the eye and say that all those years he's been alive were a waste, and then drill a hole in his head and vacuum out his brains? Didn't think so.
Therefore fetal rights lie somewhere in between, deserving of more than animals with no sentience or nor souls, but not a human with moral, spiritual, emotional and mental capabilities yet.
Senate Passes Fetus Protection Bill
I'm vaguely pro-choice but I'm not against this at all. If you can get prosecuted for killing a cat, you should be prosecuted for killing an unborn child, for God's sake. This is a no-brainer. I don't consider it murder on the same degree as killing a full-grown person but it should still be a criminal offense. I mean, compared to offenses like parking tickets, pulling the tag off of mattresses and pirating music... After all, even if for the sake of argument a fetus doesn't have rights (which I think it has at least as much as any animal*), isn't the assault of a pregnant woman, as well as being an assault on her person, a violation of her right to choose? The criminal is essentially attempting to make an abortion for her, which anyone on either side of the argument can agree is a heinous deed.
*My opinion on animals is that they can be killed for the utilization of a resource, as a preservation of a cultural tradition, or to euthanize them. They should not be killed because someone enjoys the suffering, or if they are someone elses' property. However, the intention is more important than the act in this case. A butcher who kills not because he must provide meat, but because he enjoys watching the animals squirm, is to be condemned. A matador (whose vocation encompasses centuries of unique tradition and is the social glue of an entire community) who performs not because he likes killing, but for the love of grace and precision in his movements and respects the bull as an honorable enemy, is to be applauded.
Fetuses should be given at least this much protection, and for goodness sakes, a lot more. A sense of ethics, if not the government, should say that an unborn child should not be killed after it has developed a heart and brain, unless the mother is in grave danger or it is so deformed, handicapped or severely retarded that it would be a mercy to the child not to bring it to term.
Full human rights, for fully-formed human beings, go as follow: Among other things, they should not be killed for any reason except self-defense, should not be euthanized unless requested, and even then, probably not. I don't care if the guy is retarded or deformed or handicapped after he's born, you can't kill him. Can you really look a retarded person in the eye and say that all those years he's been alive were a waste, and then drill a hole in his head and vacuum out his brains? Didn't think so.
Therefore fetal rights lie somewhere in between, deserving of more than animals with no sentience or nor souls, but not a human with moral, spiritual, emotional and mental capabilities yet.
Excerpts from Things My Girlfriend And I Have Argued About:
So, as I was saying, 'insomnia'. The thing with insomnia is you never know when to give in. Do you stay there, trying to get to sleep, or do you give in and say, 'Well - not going to get to sleep anyway, might as well get up and do something.' It's a tricky one and no mistake. When I get insomnia, I generally try all the standard things: I try to relax, I try to clear my mind, I try to think of something pleasant (often this turns out to involve Courteney Cox and, in the 'encouraging a condition where sleep is likely' stakes, backfires massively). If none of these works, I'll quietly get up, go downstairs and read Pinter until insomnia's spirit breaks. What I don't do is turn to Margret and, at intervals precisely judged to be 'just long enough to have allowed the other person to have got to sleep again', keep saying, 'I can't sleep' and, 'I can't sleep' and, 'Really, I just can't sleep' and, 'I'm still awake, I just can't sleep' and, 'Pheeeeeeeeeeeeee - I can't sleep' and, 'I don't know what it is; I'm tired, but I can't sleep' and, 'I can't sleep' and, 'I can't get to sleep' and, 'I'll be so tired in the morning - look at the time. But I can't sleep'. Because that's the kind of behaviour that can lead... to... someone... snapping.
I do this. I bounce up and down on the bed and pound the mattress in a tantrum with my wimpy little fists. "Jeremyyyy! I can't sleeeeep!" *whine, mope*
..
(When his roommate's not there, of course.)
So, as I was saying, 'insomnia'. The thing with insomnia is you never know when to give in. Do you stay there, trying to get to sleep, or do you give in and say, 'Well - not going to get to sleep anyway, might as well get up and do something.' It's a tricky one and no mistake. When I get insomnia, I generally try all the standard things: I try to relax, I try to clear my mind, I try to think of something pleasant (often this turns out to involve Courteney Cox and, in the 'encouraging a condition where sleep is likely' stakes, backfires massively). If none of these works, I'll quietly get up, go downstairs and read Pinter until insomnia's spirit breaks. What I don't do is turn to Margret and, at intervals precisely judged to be 'just long enough to have allowed the other person to have got to sleep again', keep saying, 'I can't sleep' and, 'I can't sleep' and, 'Really, I just can't sleep' and, 'I'm still awake, I just can't sleep' and, 'Pheeeeeeeeeeeeee - I can't sleep' and, 'I don't know what it is; I'm tired, but I can't sleep' and, 'I can't sleep' and, 'I can't get to sleep' and, 'I'll be so tired in the morning - look at the time. But I can't sleep'. Because that's the kind of behaviour that can lead... to... someone... snapping.
I do this. I bounce up and down on the bed and pound the mattress in a tantrum with my wimpy little fists. "Jeremyyyy! I can't sleeeeep!" *whine, mope*
..
(When his roommate's not there, of course.)
You Are No Longer Welcome In the Homer Reading Group
I know people like this. This is also, sadly, an aspect of roleplaying groups as well.
I know people like this. This is also, sadly, an aspect of roleplaying groups as well.
More excerpts from "The Birth of Venus" (which is an quite interesting with some really memorable dialogues. This is not one of them but I thought I should note):
"Then move your black snatch out of the way," he shouted, shoving her back. "Slut. We don't need women of the Devil's color on our streets. Watch your step or you'll be next for his knife."
"Not before your balls are hanging alongside the Medici crest," she muttered, as she started to push me out through the back of the crowd.
This is one of those things that are only funny to me. The Medici crest consists of a few pallae (pills), which are symbolized by a set of spheres or balls.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
"Then move your black snatch out of the way," he shouted, shoving her back. "Slut. We don't need women of the Devil's color on our streets. Watch your step or you'll be next for his knife."
"Not before your balls are hanging alongside the Medici crest," she muttered, as she started to push me out through the back of the crowd.
This is one of those things that are only funny to me. The Medici crest consists of a few pallae (pills), which are symbolized by a set of spheres or balls.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
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