So I really am done with this blog: it's a beautiful archive of my emo college days, and often will I look back upon it and its horrible poetry, raving, etc. and chuckle. This is so much better than writing in a journal.
Let's move on, shall we?
Tally ho.
Monday, May 15, 2006
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Sayonara and goodnight.
Holy crap...this is the last blog post of the official college career, and I'm typing it standing up...because I've already taken my chair down to my car.
(Okay, I give up. I'm really tired from moving, so I'm pulling the crap chair out of the closet where I've hidden it all year.)
What a year...what an era...
I think I've learned a fantastic amount during my four years here, and very little of that has to do with actual class. I've met a hundred awesome people and from them I've learned a hundred lessons about what life is, and what life isn't. I can carry on conversations, and I can lie, and I can put myself on a pedestal, tear it down, and then put you there instead. I now understand what money is for: buying someone dinner. I have friends who volunteered to help me move a couch. Two years ago, that wouldn't have been the case. There are people who say they will miss me, and it's not just that they say it, because people say anything: I know my friends will actually, really truly miss me when I'm gone. That means more to me than anything.
And what can I say about the world's greatest roommate? Let's edit the James Blunt song: "Goodbye my roommate, goodbye my friend, you have been the one, you have been the one for me..." I like to complain about Jamie, but I really have no better friend (or character study). At least half of the things I say and do remind me of Jamie, because we've done everything together. Jamie is immortal - and I don't just mean in the vampire way. (wink wink) I'll probably wake up in the morning, and wonder why I haven't heard yet what dream she had the night before. It'll probably be months before that wears off. And I don't know if I'll ever stop seeing things and thinking "Jamie would like that." Some people are just immortal. Here's to my captain: a thousand quotes we can't remember, a thousand songs we can, a mountain of chinese food, and guessing the meaning of life when we should probably be sleeping. A billion dreams that mean everything and nothing, far too many posters, vampires and very bad men, "relearning how to breathe," nihongo, Trigun parties, looking hot for no reason at all, and the Dancing Firefly School of Taijiya Ninja. There is no Jamie replacement.
Don't worry. I'll be back. Because I'll miss you guys, too. I can come back and hang with the cool kids on the weekends. Tuscaloosa ain't so far away from Huntsville.
...I'm considering ending this blog. It's a nearly-perfect record of my four years in college, and I wonder if this is the perfect place to end it? Perhaps it's time to start something new...with me, it's always a good time to start something new...
word: phantom
mood: reminiscent
song: Coldplay - The Scientist
"Tell me you love me, come back and haunt me, I want to rush to the start...nobody said it was easy, oh, it's such a shame for us to part, nobody said it was easy, no one ever said it would be so hard, I'm going back to the start..."
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Unabashed terror.
Now, you've probably heard me tell you at some point that I cannot watch any kind of scary movie. You've probably tried to convince me to watch one at some point. "Oh, but this one's a good one," you'll say, to which I consistently reply, "Let me say again. I. Can't. Handle. Scary. Movies."
You don't really believe me at first because I just don't seem like the kind of person who would have that problem. I blame it on my overactive imagination, and still you give me dubious looks. I've seen it over and over. It's okay. Be dubious all you like. But you damn well better not force a scary movie on me.
Because it's worse than I thought. When I said "can't handle" I didn't know what an adverse reaction I'd have. See, I haven't watched any substantial piece of a scary movie for, at least, five years or so.
Jamie accidentally took me to see one Thursday night. God save me.
It wasn't even a "good" scary movie, like with plot, character, anything like that. (Slither, by the way.) But none of that really matters to Anna because Anna has real problems with creature films, particularly creatures mutating and taking over humans and impregnating/stabbing something into you that alters you in some way that makes you not...you anymore. Roundly, this is Anna's absolute worst nightmare. Astonishing that I can handle slasher-type themes much better. Still won't watch, but human beings on a rampage, I can get over. It's the stuff that CAN'T and WON'T happen that freaks me out. I kid you not, I spent half the movie with my hands over my eyes, and all but the first fifteen minutes shaking uncontrollably. Might have even cried a little bit. I was literally sore the next day from shaking.
My poor warped little psyche. It's got the world all backwards - thinks reality isn't real, and the imaginary is. It makes sense to get scared of psycho killers, that could actually happen, but alien body snatchers...?
So. Next time I tell you "no" to an all-night Scream marathon, take me seriously, would you?
word: conflagration
mood: reluctant to study for the Japanese final
song: Rufus Wainwright - The Tower of Learning
"All the sights of Paris pale inside your iris, tip the Eiffel Tower with one glance, stained glass cathedrals with one glint..."
You don't really believe me at first because I just don't seem like the kind of person who would have that problem. I blame it on my overactive imagination, and still you give me dubious looks. I've seen it over and over. It's okay. Be dubious all you like. But you damn well better not force a scary movie on me.
Because it's worse than I thought. When I said "can't handle" I didn't know what an adverse reaction I'd have. See, I haven't watched any substantial piece of a scary movie for, at least, five years or so.
Jamie accidentally took me to see one Thursday night. God save me.
It wasn't even a "good" scary movie, like with plot, character, anything like that. (Slither, by the way.) But none of that really matters to Anna because Anna has real problems with creature films, particularly creatures mutating and taking over humans and impregnating/stabbing something into you that alters you in some way that makes you not...you anymore. Roundly, this is Anna's absolute worst nightmare. Astonishing that I can handle slasher-type themes much better. Still won't watch, but human beings on a rampage, I can get over. It's the stuff that CAN'T and WON'T happen that freaks me out. I kid you not, I spent half the movie with my hands over my eyes, and all but the first fifteen minutes shaking uncontrollably. Might have even cried a little bit. I was literally sore the next day from shaking.
My poor warped little psyche. It's got the world all backwards - thinks reality isn't real, and the imaginary is. It makes sense to get scared of psycho killers, that could actually happen, but alien body snatchers...?
So. Next time I tell you "no" to an all-night Scream marathon, take me seriously, would you?
word: conflagration
mood: reluctant to study for the Japanese final
song: Rufus Wainwright - The Tower of Learning
"All the sights of Paris pale inside your iris, tip the Eiffel Tower with one glance, stained glass cathedrals with one glint..."
Wednesday, May 3, 2006
History of The Last Paper.
How amazing. I just wrote The Last Paper. And yes, I did it in the style exemplary of my college career.
Technically, it was due at 11am, but the professor had already said if we had it in his box by mid-afternoon it would be fine. Now, as of Monday I had not even read half of the book of which I was to write this thing, yet I had to clear a topic with him by the end of class Monday. Which I somehow did, I came up with a good one, AND helped someone else formulate a quick one on the spot. (I hope hers turned out well.) How do I do these things?
Well. Then the plan was to have the book finished by Tuesday morning sometime, and then write at least three or four pages that night.
...bah. Tuesday I slept way late, then I was attacked by Olivia who needed a shopping buddy to get a dress for the Blount thing tonight. By the time I got back to the room, I had enough time to read a couple chapters before I went to Film class at six. I stayed through the lecture, but skipped out on the film because I wanted to get back to the room to finish the book. Lo and behold, Jamie says Hugh had called and wanted to go to Bento's, and Niki was going too. Good God! I hadn't seen Niki all semester, I owed Hugh dinner, and I'd been craving Bento's all week. Sign from heaven...? So I went, because I'd already decided a couple weeks ago that this last bit of college is devoted primarily to the people I will leave behind. Assignments can take a backseat.
Anyway it was 10ish when I finally got back to the room again, and I read until 1am, finishing the book, swearing by all that has caffeine to write the whole paper in the morning.
Which I did this morning. I was in the Morgan lab by 8:30. And despite losing my first page of typing due to ridiculous idling signout tendencies (always, always save when not at your own computer), with the help of a double shot cappucchino I wrote the entirety of The Last Paper (5 solid pages) by 1pm, and turned it into my prof.
So HA. I WIN.
(don't try this at home, kids. very few people can do this successfully. I just happen to be a paper-writing fiend.)
NO MORE PAPERS EVER! CONFETTI!!!
word: fatality
mood: TRIUMPH
song: Yellowcard - Grey
"It's all gone grey..."
Technically, it was due at 11am, but the professor had already said if we had it in his box by mid-afternoon it would be fine. Now, as of Monday I had not even read half of the book of which I was to write this thing, yet I had to clear a topic with him by the end of class Monday. Which I somehow did, I came up with a good one, AND helped someone else formulate a quick one on the spot. (I hope hers turned out well.) How do I do these things?
Well. Then the plan was to have the book finished by Tuesday morning sometime, and then write at least three or four pages that night.
...bah. Tuesday I slept way late, then I was attacked by Olivia who needed a shopping buddy to get a dress for the Blount thing tonight. By the time I got back to the room, I had enough time to read a couple chapters before I went to Film class at six. I stayed through the lecture, but skipped out on the film because I wanted to get back to the room to finish the book. Lo and behold, Jamie says Hugh had called and wanted to go to Bento's, and Niki was going too. Good God! I hadn't seen Niki all semester, I owed Hugh dinner, and I'd been craving Bento's all week. Sign from heaven...? So I went, because I'd already decided a couple weeks ago that this last bit of college is devoted primarily to the people I will leave behind. Assignments can take a backseat.
Anyway it was 10ish when I finally got back to the room again, and I read until 1am, finishing the book, swearing by all that has caffeine to write the whole paper in the morning.
Which I did this morning. I was in the Morgan lab by 8:30. And despite losing my first page of typing due to ridiculous idling signout tendencies (always, always save when not at your own computer), with the help of a double shot cappucchino I wrote the entirety of The Last Paper (5 solid pages) by 1pm, and turned it into my prof.
So HA. I WIN.
(don't try this at home, kids. very few people can do this successfully. I just happen to be a paper-writing fiend.)
NO MORE PAPERS EVER! CONFETTI!!!
word: fatality
mood: TRIUMPH
song: Yellowcard - Grey
"It's all gone grey..."
Monday, May 1, 2006
The secret of life is:
wait for it...
I must say, the local Indian restaurant in Tuscaloosa, Maharajah, is pretty fantastic. It takes a few tries to find what you like (since I know nothing about Indian food) but when you do find those magical favorite foods, wow. Usually when I go out ot eat, I end up consuming a bird's portion (something about eating in public...?) but not last night. Oh yum.
Yeah, I have kind of a strange appetite - amount of food eaten is directly proportional to deliciousness x comfort level. So the food can be amazing, but if I'm really nervous I pick at it. Which is why I tend to only eat large, regular meals at my house. And I practically starve myself in Tuscaloosa. Too bad I found out so late that the Indian food is so good that it overcomes all but the most extreme discomfort - well, it helped that I had good company last night, too. ^.^
Yesterday my parents came and helped remove a large amount of my stuff. In order to do so, Jamie heroically tackled her demons (mass of stuff) and now the room looks pretty damn spectacular, if I do say so myself. Granted, a couple baskets of clothes are in Tim's room, so it's a little deceiving, but whatever. I'm impressed by the sheer speed in which she did it all.
Folks, the secret of life is never running out of hot water. Ever. Trust me on this one.
word: kamikaze
mood: pioneering
song: Radiohead - Lucky
"It's gonna be a glorious day, I feel my luck could change..."
I must say, the local Indian restaurant in Tuscaloosa, Maharajah, is pretty fantastic. It takes a few tries to find what you like (since I know nothing about Indian food) but when you do find those magical favorite foods, wow. Usually when I go out ot eat, I end up consuming a bird's portion (something about eating in public...?) but not last night. Oh yum.
Yeah, I have kind of a strange appetite - amount of food eaten is directly proportional to deliciousness x comfort level. So the food can be amazing, but if I'm really nervous I pick at it. Which is why I tend to only eat large, regular meals at my house. And I practically starve myself in Tuscaloosa. Too bad I found out so late that the Indian food is so good that it overcomes all but the most extreme discomfort - well, it helped that I had good company last night, too. ^.^
Yesterday my parents came and helped remove a large amount of my stuff. In order to do so, Jamie heroically tackled her demons (mass of stuff) and now the room looks pretty damn spectacular, if I do say so myself. Granted, a couple baskets of clothes are in Tim's room, so it's a little deceiving, but whatever. I'm impressed by the sheer speed in which she did it all.
Folks, the secret of life is never running out of hot water. Ever. Trust me on this one.
word: kamikaze
mood: pioneering
song: Radiohead - Lucky
"It's gonna be a glorious day, I feel my luck could change..."
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Tripartite.
Here's what I hate about Faulkner: not only is he a pain to read, he affects how I write. If you weren't already dead, Faulkner, I swear...
Sukebe Senpai origins a la Faulkner. (wow, I just spoke in three languages...)
Nionna
They would pound into the earth their tiny hands, tiny and well-calloused, expected to work while the cages held. They were all tiny and well-calloused. Carrots, beans, corn, tomatoes, behind the asylum. The cages, rows of clean little beds in a long, clean white room. These cages, they’d hold for a few days, a week, until their bellies lost that bean-husk feeling, then there was always an easy route away. They were not missed.
No one had their fingers. They were hardly ever caught; and when they were, it was back to the cages for another cycle. They built their logic on this pattern. When there was food, you worked for it. When there was not, you found it yourself. You found the stuff that bought you food. Risk was not risk; risk was cause and effect. They did not know they were risking anything at all. They built their own logic and code of morality. They were perfect.
Nionna did not know she was perfect until long after the older ones had disappeared. Hands held over many years, long kingdoms in the mind of a child, different hands held as the cycle drove onward, cycling out and cycling in. She could no longer remember their names. Then at last she was the old one and her hand was taken away too.
Essix
As long as they weren’t in the same house it was fine. It was fine. So cold, so beautiful, so hard and shiny, don’t touch, don’t let that bitch talk to my son that way and in the afternoons he would hide in his closet until they left. Whichever one it was. Whichever closet it was. He or she, the red house, the white house, it was the same. Four small walls around him, clothes that smelled like himself, holding comforting. Look, baby, I got you this big stuffed tiger, isn’t it fine? It was fine. I told you not to leave your fucking toys in the hallway he wondered what it must be like, to live at school, to live somewhere not so shiny? A fight, he’d tell the other identically dressed students, with their pressed uniforms and detailed badges. The bruise, the cut, he’d picked a fight with one of the public-schooled types. You little piece of shit They believed him, decided he was dangerous, that mysterious, silent, dangerous. Several years later, girls would pull him around corners to find out what dangerous tasted like. But early on, don’t tell her you’re mine, you got that? Don’t call me Dad there was only his closet, there was the hope that the screaming wouldn’t wake him this time Mommy’s going out tonight, okay? It was fine. And as soon as he could, he denied any of it had ever existed.
Braxton
Maggie lied to him every single day, and in the beginning he didn’t know. He didn’t know where she worked while he went to school, only that his clothes were always clean, he had a lunch, and she did not put on her lipstick, so careful, until she had kissed him goodbye. She smiled at him and he did not know the difference. Maybe she really was happy, watching him go his own way every morning. Just a little bit older and he was certain she was lying to him. “You’re old enough to stay home by yourself, now,” she’d say, smiling, “I trust you.” She made his chest swell. She believed in him. Was she lying about that too? “Night shift,” were the words. “They’ve moved me to night shift,” and by then he’d learned what all children learn too early at a school full of other children. Maggie coming in so early in the morning, not knowing he saw her, not knowing he’d waited to see that she was lying, had lied every single day, what else had she lied about? One day it came out, “I bet you’re not even my sister, I bet you lied about that too” and Maggie cried, and said he wouldn’t understand. Braxton spent the rest of his life wishing he were brave enough to apologize – the rest of his life determined never to need to be brave, Maggie was brave and he knew that later; some things she had not lied about.
word: exclusive
mood: restless and impatient again
song: A Perfect Circle - Madgalena
"So pure, so rare, to witness such an earthly goddess, that I lost my self control..."
Sukebe Senpai origins a la Faulkner. (wow, I just spoke in three languages...)
Nionna
They would pound into the earth their tiny hands, tiny and well-calloused, expected to work while the cages held. They were all tiny and well-calloused. Carrots, beans, corn, tomatoes, behind the asylum. The cages, rows of clean little beds in a long, clean white room. These cages, they’d hold for a few days, a week, until their bellies lost that bean-husk feeling, then there was always an easy route away. They were not missed.
No one had their fingers. They were hardly ever caught; and when they were, it was back to the cages for another cycle. They built their logic on this pattern. When there was food, you worked for it. When there was not, you found it yourself. You found the stuff that bought you food. Risk was not risk; risk was cause and effect. They did not know they were risking anything at all. They built their own logic and code of morality. They were perfect.
Nionna did not know she was perfect until long after the older ones had disappeared. Hands held over many years, long kingdoms in the mind of a child, different hands held as the cycle drove onward, cycling out and cycling in. She could no longer remember their names. Then at last she was the old one and her hand was taken away too.
Essix
As long as they weren’t in the same house it was fine. It was fine. So cold, so beautiful, so hard and shiny, don’t touch, don’t let that bitch talk to my son that way and in the afternoons he would hide in his closet until they left. Whichever one it was. Whichever closet it was. He or she, the red house, the white house, it was the same. Four small walls around him, clothes that smelled like himself, holding comforting. Look, baby, I got you this big stuffed tiger, isn’t it fine? It was fine. I told you not to leave your fucking toys in the hallway he wondered what it must be like, to live at school, to live somewhere not so shiny? A fight, he’d tell the other identically dressed students, with their pressed uniforms and detailed badges. The bruise, the cut, he’d picked a fight with one of the public-schooled types. You little piece of shit They believed him, decided he was dangerous, that mysterious, silent, dangerous. Several years later, girls would pull him around corners to find out what dangerous tasted like. But early on, don’t tell her you’re mine, you got that? Don’t call me Dad there was only his closet, there was the hope that the screaming wouldn’t wake him this time Mommy’s going out tonight, okay? It was fine. And as soon as he could, he denied any of it had ever existed.
Braxton
Maggie lied to him every single day, and in the beginning he didn’t know. He didn’t know where she worked while he went to school, only that his clothes were always clean, he had a lunch, and she did not put on her lipstick, so careful, until she had kissed him goodbye. She smiled at him and he did not know the difference. Maybe she really was happy, watching him go his own way every morning. Just a little bit older and he was certain she was lying to him. “You’re old enough to stay home by yourself, now,” she’d say, smiling, “I trust you.” She made his chest swell. She believed in him. Was she lying about that too? “Night shift,” were the words. “They’ve moved me to night shift,” and by then he’d learned what all children learn too early at a school full of other children. Maggie coming in so early in the morning, not knowing he saw her, not knowing he’d waited to see that she was lying, had lied every single day, what else had she lied about? One day it came out, “I bet you’re not even my sister, I bet you lied about that too” and Maggie cried, and said he wouldn’t understand. Braxton spent the rest of his life wishing he were brave enough to apologize – the rest of his life determined never to need to be brave, Maggie was brave and he knew that later; some things she had not lied about.
word: exclusive
mood: restless and impatient again
song: A Perfect Circle - Madgalena
"So pure, so rare, to witness such an earthly goddess, that I lost my self control..."
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Eugugoly.
The brit/book, she is finished. Last night I filled the final holes in my moleskine, and the result is a tome of epic proportions...well, spanning a longer time period than I would have originally thought. R.I.P. brit/book, July 2005 - April 2006. Survived by one infant moleskine, EIKOU.
And you thought I didn't know what a eugugoly was. (High five for Ben Stiller.)
Elsewhere, GOD I LOVE CHINESE FOOD.
I invented a lovely boy on the last page of the brit/book, and I like him so much I'm having trouble deciding whether to give him up to the *ahem* all-consuming story, or keep him all for meself. Eh, if I know meself, I'll probably end up surrendering him. He reminds me of Mouse from The Matrix. Muahahaha.
MY DORM ROOM IS MADE OF ICE CUBES. IT IS SO COLD THAT I AM GETTING A HEADACHE FROM A CLENCHED JAW, CAUSED BY INVOLUNTARY MUSCLE SPASMS.
Thus saying, I am off to write about utter despair in Antarctica. How apropos.
word: rouge
mood: suddenly inspired
song: Jars of Clay - Portrait Of An Apology
"I try to explain the way that the frame doesn't quite fit the image..."
And you thought I didn't know what a eugugoly was. (High five for Ben Stiller.)
Elsewhere, GOD I LOVE CHINESE FOOD.
I invented a lovely boy on the last page of the brit/book, and I like him so much I'm having trouble deciding whether to give him up to the *ahem* all-consuming story, or keep him all for meself. Eh, if I know meself, I'll probably end up surrendering him. He reminds me of Mouse from The Matrix. Muahahaha.
MY DORM ROOM IS MADE OF ICE CUBES. IT IS SO COLD THAT I AM GETTING A HEADACHE FROM A CLENCHED JAW, CAUSED BY INVOLUNTARY MUSCLE SPASMS.
Thus saying, I am off to write about utter despair in Antarctica. How apropos.
word: rouge
mood: suddenly inspired
song: Jars of Clay - Portrait Of An Apology
"I try to explain the way that the frame doesn't quite fit the image..."
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Soon.
Ohh wonderful glorious finale that rides so close upon my heels! *ahem*
I'll stop pretending to be poetic. Less than three weeks, folks. My final final is on the 12th - that's two weeks from Friday. Wowwwww!
Jamie and I went around the consignment shops, today and yesterday, finding her a cocktail dress for Blount Formal. I like consignment shops and thrift stores very much. There was this couch at the last one we went into that I liked very much, but where the heck would I put a couch...?
I got about 3, maybe 3 1/2 hours of sleep last night. Got a latte at 8 to keep me from topling over during Greek and Roman myth. I now walk around in a state of something akin to panic, with nothing to panic about. Which leads me to analyze everything to find something to panic about, even though it's clearly just sleep loss and caffeine, and it just kind of swirls downward from there. Let's hear it for tea. Tea is calm.
word: quintessential
mood: a-sploding
song: Over The Rhine - Goodbye
"Help me tell the truth; you see, that's all I'm trying to do is tell the truth, I'm not that shy...this is not goodbye..."
I'll stop pretending to be poetic. Less than three weeks, folks. My final final is on the 12th - that's two weeks from Friday. Wowwwww!
Jamie and I went around the consignment shops, today and yesterday, finding her a cocktail dress for Blount Formal. I like consignment shops and thrift stores very much. There was this couch at the last one we went into that I liked very much, but where the heck would I put a couch...?
I got about 3, maybe 3 1/2 hours of sleep last night. Got a latte at 8 to keep me from topling over during Greek and Roman myth. I now walk around in a state of something akin to panic, with nothing to panic about. Which leads me to analyze everything to find something to panic about, even though it's clearly just sleep loss and caffeine, and it just kind of swirls downward from there. Let's hear it for tea. Tea is calm.
word: quintessential
mood: a-sploding
song: Over The Rhine - Goodbye
"Help me tell the truth; you see, that's all I'm trying to do is tell the truth, I'm not that shy...this is not goodbye..."
