Guilt and Innocence: A daily primer

On Accusations and Tells

Another day of too much coffee and too little sleep. I don't really remember what I did yesterday. We played some poker and watched some more Sex and the City. It seems that my time here has gotten very repetitive, but that's what happens I suppose. All I really remember about yesterday was the lucid dream I had last night full of furniture rearranging, too much furniture, accusations, and screamed cuss words. How's that for premonitory?

I finally finished the Chuck bulletin board and now I'm just counting the days until it's vandalized by the jerks who live on our floor.

I've decided I need to stop cussing. Or at least, I need to stop cussing all the time and save those words for when I'm really angry. It's not becoming, and cussing is mostly something I do out of laziness. Maybe I'll give up cussing for lent. Even though I'm not Catholic, us Unitarians like to partake in the "Best Of" collection of Holidays. Christmas, Lent, Summer Solstice, and Yom Kippur here I come. Sometimes I miss my church, as haphazard as it is.

I have a tendency to let the weekends die here, so I'm going to go try biting off some of my to-do list.

Naked Roads: May Not Be Suitable for Children

Alas, I jest. Well, not about naked roads. Those are a reality of life. Or, at least, they are in Europe. What is all this nonsense I'm talking about? Why, it's my latest column in the good, old Maneater:

Naked Roads

Read at your own risk. May involve Traffic pornagraphy. (No, It's really good clean fun.) Also, for those of you who actually go to Mizzou, get your lazy butts out from in front of this computer screen and go pick up a copy of the Maneater, because print media is still cool.

An Almost Cleansing

I was thinking to day that this week without my laptop could be considered a sort of fasting, a ridding of myself from technological influences. Well, I was thinking this until I remembered that I've been coming down to the computer lab in the basement once or twice a day. And I used Barry's computer last night to work on my bulletin board shrine to Chuck Palahniuk. So, I guess I will just have to accept that I will not be having any religious experiences and soon swear off computers. C'est la vie.

Yesterday was our celebration of Katie's birthday . We went to Fellini's, a small Albanian-Italian restaurant, and the to the screening of The Godfather, Katie's favorite movie, at the Missouri theater. I enjoyed the movie even more the second time through. Since I wasn't struggling just to understand who was who and what the plot was, I could just sit back and enjoy it. Afterwards we came back to Twain and played a nice long game of Texas Hold 'Em. I'm trying to get someone else as hooked on gambling (even if it's not for money) as I am. It was a good night, even if I spent about five times as much money as I can afford to be spending. But since I got to wear my sexy 5th Avenue New York shoes, I think it was worth it.

Still, in some ways this semester feels light years away from last semester. I still hang out with the same people. I have different classes, but I still have mostly the same little group in all of those classes. Regardless, I feel as if there has been a shift. Something's changed, just ever so slightly. It's not necessarily a negative shift, but I can't place it and that's disconcerting to me. However, I don't suppose I can change it if I don't know what it is.

Granny Smith Apples

So, it seems I'm not going to have my laptop back for somewhere around a week since Tiger Tech has sent it off to Apple. Also, I'm expecting this means no hard drive, which is a little bit hard to deal with.

I can't believe this is happening. It seems like some sort of cruel irony. After all, after I watched that episode of Sex and the City where Carrie's computer just dies all of a sudden I swore to myself that I was going to back up everything right away. Did I? Of course not. In typical me fashion I procrastinated doing so and my computer is now dead and presumably I've lost everything. Which for me means a lot of writing I would like to have. Some of it is duplicates from home, but some may just be gone forever. I've also lost a lot of music, but that's replaceable for the most part.

The moral of the story here is that no computer is perfect and I probably should have known better.

Comfortable Fur

I think I have a nocturnal gene tucked somewhere into my genome.

I spend all day tired, but by the time night rolls around I'm wide awake. Even if I managed to make it throughout the day without napping or ingesting caffeine, I'll still find myself here, wide awake.

I think not having my computer to waste time surfing the net with has stepped up my level of productivity. Yes, it's a bit of a pain to go down to the basement every time I need to use a computer, but maybe this break will be good for me. Regardless, I hope "Tiger Tech" can figure out the problem soon and return my dear computer back to me. Preferably without erasing my hard drive.

Also, I miss having my dog around. For some reason I just get enthusiastically attached to my little Shih Tzus. In fact, missing my dog so much is one of the few reasons I am seriously considering moving off campus. I don't mind the dorms, which are especially convenient for me since I don't have a car, but I miss having a dog. I guess I'm still going to have to wait for another year, since I plan on staying in Mark Twain next year. I'd need a car if I got a dog, anyway. I'd have to be able to get it to the groomer and the vet. Truthfully, I think I just want a dog because I miss having always reliable company.

Dogs are among the few who will keep you company when you can't sleep through the silence of the night.

Strabucks Density Ratio

Many of you who live with me have heard me complain about the complete lack of Starbucks locations in the Midwest.

Well, thanks to theStarbucks Locator, I have determined that to home in Colorado there are fifteen Starbucks locations within five miles of my house. In Columbia, there is a whopping one location, the one my roomate recently discovered in the Hy-Vee.

I don't understand this entirely. I know the Midwest just hasn't caught on to the coffee craze, but I live in a college town. College students live off coffee. It's our life juice and right up there with beer and pizza.

Also, I'm suprised at how successful Starbucks has been in the Denver-metro area. No one pegs Coloradans as heavy coffee drinkers, but obviously enough people are to support fifteen stores in five miles of suburban area.

The Premiere Column

I completely spaced on mentioning this, but for those fo you who are either too lazy to go get yourselves a copy of The Maneater, who are not currently in the Columbia, MO area, my first column is now online for your reading pleasure.

The Maneater - ‘Normal’ news can benefit from Stewart’s style

I don't think it's one of my best, truthfully, but I had to start from somewhere.

Book #4: Hard Times

Finally, I've finished Book #4, the Dickens' Classic Hard Times. Don't worry yourself if you haven't heard of it, I hadn't either. In addition to being Book #4 for the purposes of the 50 book challenge, Hard Times was also the first book I had to read for Modern Era, my humanities class. I think I'm off to a good start for that infamous book-a-week class.

I've always had somewhat of a dysfunctional relationship with Charles Dickens. I remember, when I was somewhere around the age of seven, I was determined to read Oliver Twist, but being only seven the book was completely impossible. I didn't encounter Dickens again until my eighth grade language arts class where, instead of getting to read A Tale of Two Cities like I wanted to, I was forced to endure Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Maybe that's where my incessant dislike of Austen began. Finally, I read a small bit of Great Expectations for my freshman English class in high school. I never finished it, though I can't say it was completely miserable.

Considering that tedious history, I was not exactly thrilled about having to face yet another Charles Dickens novel, but Hard Times turned out to be quite the surprise. While it took a few pages to get into, I ended up rather liking the novel. As books for humanities go, it was simple and straight forward and I liked the story, the implications, and the symbolism.

For a class, this one gets a thumbs up.

She Sleeps Not

These weeks, these days and these nights have been long lately.

I haven't been able to sleep at all lately. I read until absurd hours of the night, and it is so lonely. I forgot the way the silence of the night can be crushing and weigh so much upon your shoulders until you break.

Or, in my case, my computer does. My lovely, never-failed-me-before-powerbook has refused to start, so I'm writing this on a loud clanking computer in the basement of the dorm. What I wouldn't give for sleep or company.

I should have been having a good time lately. There has been sex and the city marathons, lots of movie watching, hanging out in Barry's room, hanging out in the new-and-improved suitemates room, but despite all these festivities something is nagging me. Maybe it's my strained finances, my upset computer, or the way everything just shifted at the semester, but whatever it is is keeping me awake late at night.

Consequently, I start to doze off in American Government, a class I'm supposed to like, and get admonished by the professor in front of five hundred people.

I've gone dancing and went to yoga, both of which were fun (though the aftermath of the yoga was a little painful), but sometimes I wonder what I've done to myself. Who is this girl who wears earrings, goes to the rec center, and goes dancing?

College is a strange place. I can't tell if I'm losing myself or finding myself, but sometimes these things are hard to discern at two in the morning.

Squashed Philosophers

Squashed Philosophers

If I has found this site before I took Early Modern World I think I would have saved myself a ridiculous amount of time and headaches. It's still useful this semester, but every philosophical work from humanities last semester is on there.

How bittersweet.

Forget the Ides of March...

Link: January 24th determined to be the worst day of the year.

And I thought today felt like a kind of crappy day. Now, I just can't wait until Monday.

An Interesting Essay on Oedipus

I'm keeping this link around for comic relief once humanities really gets going.

However, I really wonder if someone really turned this in. If so, I'm jealous. I could never have pulled off a D- with a paper like that.

Anxious much?

Well, I have survived the first day of classes, and even though everyone kept telling me I was going to die with seventeen hours of classes, this schedule really doesn't seem like it will be that bad.

Which is a good thing because my stress level is ridiculously high at the moment.

I think most of the stress is coming because I am in a place I really don't want to be financially. I simply don't have any money that can be spent right now and I don't think this stress is going to subside until I find a job and get a paycheck.

I have so little spending money right now that I barely have enough money to go out for a friend's birthday tomorrow night, but I just don't know how to explain to people that I am really, severely broke. I'm not even sure how I got into this position, other than the fact that I had to spend $300 going home for the holidays.

On top of this I'm trying to figure out what to do about getting in-state residency, what to write for my weekly column, and my computer has been acting up slightly.

All very minor things, but my friends, I am ready for breakdown and it's the first day of classes.

Greetings from a Future Groggy Monster

It's really, really early, by my standards and I am really, really bored.

I knew my bed at school was not nearly as comfortable as my one at home, but I wasn't expecting such a hard adjustment. Regardless, I have yet to really fall asleep, so I've just given up. And I was so exhausted last night, too.

Unfortunately, there is nothing to do at quarter to seven in the morning.

Being back has kind of thrown me. I love my friends here, but I miss my friends from Colorado. I actually just miss Colorado as a place. I miss my soft bed that I can actually fall asleep in. I miss my mountain skylines.

Of course, the great thing about Columbia is the instant social connection. The way we can just sit in the hall and talk for hours about nothing.

I feel so torn.

Anticipation and Trepidation

I had a nice reunion with some of the old Newspaper staff at Peaberry's coffee today.

It was just Mrs. Kramer, Beth, Sherry, Mike, Taryn, and I, but it was nice to see all the newspaper people I hadn't seen since I graduated. (Or since they graduated, in the case of Taryn and Mike.) It seems like everyone has had a falling out with their friends from high school which made me slightly apprehensive since, unless a secret revolt has been forming behind my back, all of my friends still seem to get along just as well as we did before we went to school.

However, even though catching up was fun, I really can't wait to get back to Mizzou and back to classes. I actually miss having a daily routine. I'm excited for my classes and I am so ready for this semester. Or at least I will be as soon as I come up with a topic for my first column and find a job.

Regardless, I really can't remember being this ready for school to start again in a long, long time. I pulled out some old journals from seventh grade this evening and the anxiety with which I wrote everything is exhausting. Every single day seemed to be an uphill battle for me then, and as much as I would like to blame that on poor recording skills, I remember it feeling that way as well.

The truth is that anxiety didn't subside until a couple months into this semester. Finally, aside from a few minor breakdowns, I seemed to have worked out an existence where I am not on the edge all the time.

Of course, I have filled up my plate for this upcoming semester, so we'll see if we're just in the eye of the storm or if I have finally found my equilibrium.

Book #3: Jesus' Son

I have finished book #3: Jesus' Son: Stories by Denis Johnson.

I think I mentioned already that this was yet another book with recommendations by Palhniuk himself. Originally, I was planning to say that, like Sarah this one fell a bit short of expectations, but the last story in the book made me take it all back.

Denis Johnson is an amazing writer. Amazing. The final story in this collection completely blew me away. Truthfully, I wish I had been reading a novel rather than short stories which is why initially I was disappointed. Every time I would get into a story it would end. Regardless, I recommend this whole-heartedly if only for the final story.

And now it's on to Transpotting and all its dialectical glory.

Meeting the Pigs

It's not often I get to see the back-seat of a cop car. Actually, before tonight I couldn't say that I'd ever seen the back-seat of a cop care. Not much leg room back there. I really don't know how they fit those huge burly criminals in there. Of course, I can't imagine they're much concerned with comfort.

Mwema and I had gone up to Boulder to visit Drew at CU and, of course, watch some more sex and the city. We met some people, watched the second disc of season three, and stopped by Allan's room at about midnight to visit him. We conversed with him about his old dating history and his drinking experiences and then we were headed home.

We were driving down Sheridan when Mwema saw a cop and, because she didn't want a speeding ticket, darted down a side street. In retrospect this was probably not the greatest idea, but at the time I seemed to find it hilarious, because that's what people do when they're nervous. They laugh.

Anyway, we parked in a church parking lot and turned the car off, hoping naively, I suppose, that we'd lost the cop. Of course we hadn't and he spent some time just shining that obnoxious light into the car for awhile. Finally he came up to the car and asked Mwema for her license, insurance, and registration. At some point another two cop cars had arrived, because they were convinced we were harboring some criminal and they had run. Another cop came and asked for my identification. After some more time of just sitting, they asked me to step out and a relatively small cop with what seemed like a napoleon complex searched me while muttering about us bullshitting them.

They asked me some other question about why we had turned, and I told them the truth, that Mwema had simply been nervous about speeding. Then they escorted me to the back of one of the cars where I got my first inspection of a police car.

Throughout this whole thing, especially as it carried on, I kept having visions of being dragged to a police station and I would have been more freaked out but I knew there was nothing they could do to me. I wasn't drunk (and truthfully I was just waiting for some one to ask me to walk in a straight line, but they never did) and I had broken absolutely no laws. Really, they can't arrest you for being neurotic.

Of course, I had to explain why, at the age of eighteen, I didn't have a driver's license. Because that's probably a point of suspicion, too. Absurd! An eighteen-year-old who can't drive! Why she must be an illegal alien, and...oh, wait she's caucasian. Ah, yes, an illegal alien from Ireland maybe. Well, yes she does have that red hair...

Finally, after at least a half hour, maybe forty-five minutes of this process, they wrote Mwema a ticket for having no insurance (I guess they needed something to prove this whole escapade wasn't a lark) and we continued, at speed limit, on our way.

Somehow we get turned around on the Sixth Avenue frontage road and end up going North on Wadsworth. We drove to Colfax, simply to avoid making ourselves any more noticeable since a cop was following us down Wadsworth. The cop follows us down Colfax and finally gets in front of us before Mwema turns onto Garrison which we both nearly miss since I think at this point we were a bit addled. Then, I watched the cop turn around on Colfax to follow us back to Garrison. Of course, not more than two blocks down Garrison he starts to flash his lights at us.

We pull into another church parking lot and asks if we're lost. He asks something else and then asks if I'm okay, since I think I'd probably been staring out the window in complete disbelief. Mwema tells him that we'd just been stopped, showed him the ticket, and, thankfully, he let us continue on our way with a warning to "Drive slowly and safely." No shit sherlock.

That was my night of encounters with metro area law enforcement. I would like to chalk the whole thing up to one bad turn and a coincidence, but there is this nagging part of me that wonders if everything would have been different if Mwema had been white. Would she have gotten stopped both times? Would the police have persisted for so long the first time? If she had been nineteen and white, would anyone have cared?

I can't be sure. Truthfully, we probably did look like insane criminals when we turned off of Sheridan, but it doesn't quite settle right with me. Especially since we were stopped twice in one night. I just wonder. People can say all they want about being politically correct and the rejection of racial profiling, but sometimes it's a little bit hard to buy.

Another Chance for Dean

Governor Dean announced his candidacy for DNC chair, today.

His announcement letter.

I know a lot of people think Dean is too outrageous, too liberal, and too energetic, but I think tis is what the sad beaten and battered Democratic party means. Dean is one of the few politicians that will stand up for anything anymore and I like that about him. He's the rare democrat who doesn't back down and doesn't take his words back.

However, I think his chances of getting the nomination are slim. Most of the party just isn't ready to take a chance on him.

Am I the only one who feels a bit aprehensive about this?

Court Won't Block KKK From Highway Cleanup

Okay, yes legally they have to allow this, but sometimes I wonder about the state of our country when blatant hate groups are allowed to advertise on the sides of public roads.

Like Missouri really needs more bad publicity.

Book #2: Stupid White Men

Book #2: Stupid White Men by Michael Moore.

Please let me explain myself. I picked this book up at Costco because a friend had mentioned how bad it was and I was curious. I wondered what a book by Michael Moore would be like. And I payed dearly for my choice.

I am sorry for reading this. Sorry for wasting two hours on it. Sorry for the brain cells I lost. Sorry for the Progressive causes Moore drastically misrepresents. Sorry for the conservatives who believe that this is the voice of the liberal majority.

Some conservative wrote a book in response to this one called Michael Moore is a Stupid White Man and while I can't say I agree with that book, I agree with the title whole-heartedly.

This book drove me up a wall. Sometimes I'd agree with the points he was making but he would have to worst, possibly comic solutions and I just wanted to scream. The book was too comedic to be take serious and too serious to be funny. It just fails on all accounts. And please, for those conservatives who may have read this, this is not how a majority of liberals feel. Or if it is I need a new party.

I actually fairly enjoyed Moore's films. Sure they had their problems, but they were okay. However, after reading this book I refuse to see another one. Ever. I refuse to give this maniac another penny.

Don't read this. Don't buy this. Don't even look in its direction. If you absolutely must read it to experience the idiocy for yourself, please don't buy it and give Moore any more royalties. I'll give the damn thing to you if I'm not too tempted to burn it first.

Thankfully, I have Book #3 Jesus' Son by Denis Johnson to go on to. It's another one recommended by Chuck so there's hope.

Jon Stewart the King of Broadcast News?

Link: Could Jon Stewart have encouraged broadcast news to turn away from pundits?.

This is a very speculative editorial, but it got me thinking. If Jon Stewart is the only one who is even vaguely telling journalists what "partisan hacks" they're being, journalism is in an even worse state than I previously thought.

People Watching

I've always been a mild fan of people watching. It was always the highlight of my expeditions to Denver West. And, now, apparently it can distract so that college graduation can ensue: The Non-expert: People Watcher.

The 50 Book Challenge

A few of the weblogs I read have incorporated something called a 50 book challenge into their lives. This is where they read 50 books in a year and talk about them in their blog. Some rules can be found here.

Since I write about all the books I read anyway, I've decided to take this up. I will retroactively call Sarah number one since I did read it after the new year. Number two is in progress, but I'm not talking about it yet because I'm ashamed to say I'm reading it. And, no, don't worry it's not Playboy.

However, I've yet to decide if I'll count books read for humanities in this count or not. We'll see.

Strange Mail

I've survived another drive into Wyoming with no sleep. I just got back from Laramie and visiting a bunch of my Mom's family. My grandparents seem so old and frail, now. It's a bit disorienting watching them decrease in health. When my Gramma died it was fairly sudden and I never saw her when she wasn't in reasonable health.

We had dinner with my Aunt Linda and Uncle Jan and it was actually a bit disappointing because I remember my Uncle Jan always being able to tell me interesting things about the world, but now it seems as if I'm always a step ahead of him.

We also visited my Uncle Rob and his family. I always feel so awkward there because my cousins want to play, but I'm just not good with kids. My sister's a natural at it and all I can do is sit around and talk with my aunt and uncle. I have no maternal instinct at all, it seems.

Anyway, when I arrived home I had two curious pieces of mail waiting for me. One was an approximately six-month late letter in response to my graduation from a friend of my Mom's in New Orleans. The letter came with a fifteen dollar check and I'll take an unexpected fifteen dollars anytime.

The other letter from the Honors College and is much stranger, in my opinion. It was a letter from Dr. Polansky saying that Comas had commended me on my exceptional work in humanities. To which I say, WHAT?! That class was the death of me and I don't understand. I'd be flattered, but I don't trust him. However, this I think proves that there is no logic to anything Comas has ever done. I'm glad to be rid of that class.

In other news, I went out with Ryan yesterday before I had to head off to Laramie to see the relations and we ended up with free coffee. We'd gone to Starbucks because I had a gift card and no money, and some new radio station was handing out coffee as what they called a "random Jack of kindness." I guess they're hoping the good karma will bring listeners as well.

I came home and my parents were headed to Best Buy so I decided to tag along so I could see if they had Garden State for a reasonable price. Instead, I ended up noticing that they had select movies up for a 3 for $20 deal and found Castaway, Donnie Darko, and Edward Scissorhands. I've never even seen Edward Scissorhands, but for $20 I figured I'd take a chance. For the cherry on top, my parents ended up paying for them. However, I still really want to buy Garden State sometime.

Well, I think that's enough tedium for now.

Sarah : A Novel

Sarah by J.T. LeRoy is an odd novel.

First, I found it odd because despite its subject matter (mostly male prostitution at truck stops), its cover boasts the book as a national bestseller. Even an uber-liberal like myself wouldn't expect a novel dealing with that subject matter to earn the title of national bestseller. Of course, if it did I would expect it to be amazing.

Also, since this is another book that comes with praise from Chuck Palahniuk himself, I would expect it to be amazing.

However, while both these facts are true about Sarah, the novel just isn't amazing. It's a cute little story of the losing and homecoming of a young male cross-dressing truck-stop prostitute. Yes, I mean a cute tale, despite the subject matter.

The problem with this novel seems to be that despite the harrowing subject matter the story isn't harrowing. The characters, not even Sarah, are not characters you sympathize with. The novel is well crafted and the writing is superbly structured, but it's not compelling. It doesn't mirror the true horror of the situations it describes. Its flat.

Hopefully, we can blame this on amateurism, because there is definitely potential here, and from what I remember I believe LeRoy published this story at the age of twenty, which leaves a lot of room for growth.

The Art of the Late Night Diner

Most days this break I haven't felt a need to be home. It's been nice, but it hasn't been this thing I am so afraid to leave, but there are some nights when I just love my friends and I love being here.

After what seemed like years at Josh's spent sitting on coaches while everyone else played Risk 2210 (think Risk with more insane complications) Mwema and I had grown bored. It was mostly our own fault, probably, for choosing to abstain from what ended up being the chosen feature of the gathering, but to remedy this we decided to call Drew and go rent the first disc of the third season of Sex and the City. Yes, this might be addictive behavior, but who could resist?

So we went to my house to watch it, and Joe came over and after a while of me trying to keep everyone at a reasonable volume so as not to wake my parents who were sleeping upstairs we went to Denny's.

We ordered some fries and some coffee and stayed there for hours and I loved it. We talked about sex. We talked about gender. We talked about politics. We talked about religion. We talked about everything under the sun. We laughed and helped a little more to perfect the wonderful art of sitting at Diners late at night.

What's maybe even more curious is that somewhere in this I think I may have unearthed a possible future career goal. Joe and I were discussing the Daily Show and I mentioned that maybe what I most want to do is turn John Stewart's commentary into a sort of print column. Something with some more true journalistic intent maybe, that could explain important issues in a manner that would catch people's attention. This is the sort of moment of insight that I live for. The sort of thing that can only be obtained in the company of friends.

This is the sort of thing that makes me a bit reluctant to go back to Missouri in nine days.

Buying Playboy for the Articles, Part Deux

Well, for those of you who know my secret about buying Playboy for the articles, it looks like I'll be doing it again.

From The Cult:
Punch Drunk - Webber and Flint - Face pushed out of shape, lips split so deep that have four instead of two - travel the country in drag, charging people to slug them. More inspirational fiction by Chuck Palahniuk.

Don't worry. I don't have a clue what any of that means either, except that it seems I will be picking up the February issue of playboy which hits the stands January 7th.

Look! Apocolypse is Cool!

This is a completely self-indulgent link, but I need to make a point. Once upon a time I tried to convince my newspaper staff that doing an article on apocolpyse would be interesting and cool, but they all told me I was crazy and that furthermore there was not enough to write about apocolypse.

Oh, were they wrong.

Apparently there is a publication called REVELATION that is devoted solely to the end-times. So there disagreeable Spectator staff.

The Flexible Gender

From Ryan's coversation with a friend from Drum Corps:

aTVcasualty: so today I saw one of my friends from high school for the first time in a couple of years and had lunch and caught up
aTVcasualty: its just that my friend was a different sex in high school

Wow. I consider myself a tolerant person, but can we hold of at least a few years before we start going for the sex changes? I'm not sure I can handle that one just yet. I mean I don't see any problems with it, if you feel that's right, but I'm not sure I can handle anyone changing THAT much just yet.

I mean not that anyone I personally know is heading for sex changes...I think...

The Feminine Side Emerges from Hibernation

Two and a half weeks ago a month seemed so ridiculously long, but now the end of Winter Break seems to be creeping up quite quickly. Of course, I feel no justice in saying I wish it to be longer, but truthfully, I'm getting a little attached to being home again. This back and forth is so disorienting; I can't tell up form down or east from west. (Okay, actually I can tell east from west when I'm here. That's what the Rockies are for. )

Anyway today turned into a fun, completely unintentional girls' day out. Mwema, Drew, and I headed for the mall to buy some flavored massage oil for Drew's plan of action which I will not bother to detail here. I ended up with a bottle myself, but I have a feeling it's going to spend a lot of time in the back of a drawer before it sees any play.

Then we went to Bath and Body Works Sale that Jessica mentioned to me in a drunken haze one night, so I could do some belated Christmas shopping. I picked up the remains of the autumn pumpkin scent, which sadly was only hand soap, but I'll take pumpkin scented hand soap any day. (If this sounds odd, you obviously have not smelt the Bath and Body works Pumpkin scent, it smells like chai and is amazing.)

I also made sure to spend my Borders gift certificates on some McSweeney's literature. I bought Eggers' new book How We Are Hungry and the compilation effort The Future Dictionary of America (Or Funny Bitter Liberalism).

Then after a wonderful lunch of crab rangoons and sesame tofu at Szechuan, we headed back to my place to watch the second season of Sex and the City on my wonderful onDemand cable. I had forgotten how much I just love having my best female friends around me. It seems like it ahsn't been jsut the three of us since way back in the days of middle school, but like a fine wine, we've aged well.

Now, I feel the need to admit to a recently developed infatuation with sex and the city. This was a surprise to me as I don't tend to care about fashion or sex very often, but after awhile I began to see a lot of myself reflected in various characters. Miranda's cynicism, Carrie's self-destructive relationships and so on. Also, while this is a not a new development, I love Manhattan. I dream of moving there and I can never watch enough movies or television shows that take place there.

Also, I think my long-repressed feminine side has been trying to creep out lately. First there was the eyeliner, but truthfully I love the way that make me look more severe than feminine, but than there was the makeup every morning, lip gloss as well. The pinks and the purples that crept back into the wardrobe, and, now, finally, there are the earrings.

It all began when my mother gave me a pair of hoops for Christmas. Since, with the exception of a borrowed pair of pearls worn for Prom, I hadn't worn earrings regularly since I was ten or eleven, and even then I only wore the same pair of Emerald studs every day, I wondered about the state of the holes in my ears. So, I grabbed a pair of pink rhinestone studs just to make sure my ears were still in working order. There was some resistance, but after I finally had the studs in, I decided I liked them and wore them to Scott's New Year's Eve Party that night and now I'm addicted. I want to wear them all the time and I want more and more of them.

And just to further affirm that I may be turning into a full-fledged feminine creature, I'm going to the gym tomorrow with Drew, so I can learn its ups and downs without humiliating myself in front of people I actually go to school with.

In Galveston, a glimpse of heartbreak in Asia

Okay, I promise after this no more links to commentary on the tragedies in Asia.

Littwin: In Galveston, a glimpse of heartbreak in Asia.

But, as the roommate can attest to, when I can't quite deal with something I tend to drown myself in news coverage of it. (See Presidential Election 2004.)

However, Mike Littwin has always been one of my favorite local columnists. I actually met him at a High School Journalism conference once while my co-editor laughed as I gushed over his articles. This sort of piece is why I like Littwin. He can cover the whole scope of human emotion. He can be funny one week and deadly serious the next. It's that ambidextrity that I love about him.

The Ice at the Bottom of the World : Stories

The Ice at the Bottom of the World by Mark Richards was recommended by Chuck Palahniuk as an example of the power of sounds and something Palahniuk calls "the burnt tongue." For those of you in search for more common praise the book also comes with the 19990 PEN/Ernest Hemingway Foundation Award.

Very early in my reading I was reminded of The Canterburry Tales, and while for many of you that may be a reason to write of this book right now, let me explain myself. Each story in this book takes on a surprisingly distinctive voice, so much so that I didn't feel like there was one author for this collection, but that there must have been many to achieve such variety in voice. In that sense I was reminded of the tale told by each character in The Canterburry Tales.

Most of the stories aren't really about anything. Some of them like "Fishboy" seem more to be experiments in language than a true story, but the book feels like sitting in a restaurant listening to the conversations of the people around you eating dinner. The stories are deeply personal and that seems to be what makes them work.

I think I agree with Chuck about this one, it is definitely worth a look.

A New Year, A New Virus

I made it two days into 2005 to be greeted with a head cold. Now, I know a head cold is not so bad as the range of illnesses go. Or in fact as the range of suffering goes, but I just don't handle being sick well.

It's not so much that I'm a wimp about as it is that I just hate feeling so helpless and uncomfortable. Admittedly, I'm grateful to be sick now rather than in two weeks when I'm trying to survive classes and what not, but I just can't stand being relegated to involuntarily sleeping thirteen hours a day. However, on the flip side of having nothing to do, there is nothing but West Wing marathons on Bravo to keep me occupied at all. Perhaps if I had something to do, I would spend a little less time wallowing in my own misery.

Prior to being overcome by the plague, Joe, Mwema, Darcie and I went to Josh's house for a Quentin Tarantino marathon, being Reservoir Dogs and Kill Bill Vol. 2. Actually, I was only present for Kill Bill Vol. 2, as Taryn and Tyler kidnapped me during Reservoir Dogs to go visit Jenn, whom I haven't seen since graduation and has somehow managed to stay at Casa Bonita without killing herself. It was nice to see her, and we had a nice discussion about how everyone at our respective schools tends to miss our humor sometimes and just find us to be incredibly weird. Of course, this may have been the case at Lakewood, we just may not have been paying attention.

Also, it was nice to reconnect with my other Palahniuk fanatic, as no one else seems to understand Chuck's glory.

Well, the body is demanding more sleep. Bien soir, mes amies.

A Time to Mourn

The New York Times: A Time to Mourn.

I think this opinion piece does a good job of vocalizing all the thoughts I've had about the events in Asia. This has been one of those occurences that stirs me so badly that I cannot find the words I need, and look for them elsewhere.

Welcome to 2005, please approach with caution

Another New Year's Eve passed at Scott's house.

It was fun, minus the impromptu dance party. Brendan and I had our moments of anti-socialness, but other than that and sleeping on hard tile floor, it was fun. The group dynamic there is a little weird, since half of us have left for college and never see the other half. It was fun to see Kasey who I miss laughing with.

Also, I apologize to anyone who recieved strange phone calls last night; Brendan stole my phone and raided my phone book and called basically everyone whose name he didn't recognize.

He leaves for Wisconsin tomorrow, and I, as usual, insist on pretending that good-byes don't exist. It's much easier for me, as always, to act like I will see everyone in a few days because I just really haven't figured out another way to act.

Dan also heads back to Great Lakes tomorrow before finally transferring to Florida for his A school. He seems so much happier than he did at the end of senior year and I'm glad for him. The Navvy seems like it was a good deal for him.

Anyway, I have a confession to make: I don't care for New Year's much. It seems to me, like it's a insignificant change that is built up for nothing. The New Year doesn't change much, comes at a weird time, and always seems to end up being disappointing because it's not a new beginning, not in a true sense.

Also, I hate the parade of Roses. Scott loves to watch it, so far the past two years I have been subjected to two hours of the inaneness of the HGTV announcers. I just don't care. It's a disgusting use of millions and millions of flowers, and it's just not that entertaining, I swear.

I keep toying with resolutions this year... drink less coffee, be more fit, read more, write more, slack less and while I think I need to make some, I feel so muddled all of a sudden. The longer I'm home, the more I think about the differences between here and there, and I wonder if I'm always myself. I wonder what my true self is anymore. This switching, it feels like I;m in a grand production and there's costume changes, scene changes, every few minutes and it's too distracting for me to really know what any of the lines coming out of my mouth mean.

Which, basically, means I don't know what I want to be doing with myself right now.