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Me
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| From the Pretentious Annals of my Subconscious |
[Apr. 24th, 2008|12:20 am] |
Last night, I dreamt that I was searching fervently for copies of Nabokov books. I queued for hours at the front of what looked like a record shop until I got to ask the clerk, in French, not if he knew where I could find any Nabokov, but if he knew where I could find a copy of the Neutral Milk Hotel's first album (perhaps because it looked like a record store?). Somehow, he knew what I was really after anyway, and he sent me on a covert mission to the secret basement of the shop where there was a whole dusty English book warehouse. The books were arranged alphabetically by colour; don't ask what this means; I don't know. I had to evade capture on my way there, through a dusty labyrinth of stairs and dead-end doorways marked by emergency exit signs. I got there, and it looked like a fallout shelter-cum-mouldy library: the leftover set from a 1950s cold war movie. But, I was much distressed because when I found the 'N' section of this secret book fair, there wasn't any Nabokov at all. There was a copy of Thus Spoke Zarathustra in the 'N' section, but it was by marked as having been written by someone called Carter, which I found even more distressing than the lack of Nabokov. I mean, where I am in life if I can't even identify which titles were or were not actually written by Nietzsche? Obviously, I had to Wikipedia it upon waking to placate myself.
Analysis, in short: I really need to get out more.
Extended Analysis (including actual things that happen outside the realm of my dreams): to follow. |
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| F R E E D O M ! |
[May. 18th, 2007|04:09 pm] |
So, second year is now officially over, which means that I am half done Uni. I would probably have quite a bit to say about the significance of this if I weren't slightly tipsy from Pimm's pitchers, espresso martinis, and a church book sale. And yes, I do mean to imply that the discovery of 50p paperbacks made me a little bit drunk. |
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| "I will show you fear in a handful of dust." |
[Jan. 20th, 2007|12:20 am] |
Last night, over bottles of wine at a favourite bar, I recounted to some British friends tales of my "glory days" as a pretentious, idealistic wannabe-rebel of an early teenager. While I tend to discuss that period quite a lot in this space (though I don't really need to -- all you'd have to do is hit the 2001 button in my archives and you'd be drowning in my self-righteousness), it's really not something I like to brandish about with any regularity in conversation. This is mainly because I like to keep a pretense of sanity for the sake of my social life, and things like this don't say "mentally stable" to me so much as they say "too much time alone to obsess over musical theatre." While that is only one example of the numerous reasons I am glad that I am now not quite so extreme (read: vile) as the person I was then, tonight, I discovered one way in which that incarnation was superior to the current: poetry.
I don't know how or when it happened, but some time during the past five years, I grew frightened of poetry. I know for a fact that I used to enjoy poetry; I used to write it; my haughty little 14-year-old sod of a self used to read a Shakespearean sonnet every night before she went to sleep under her Ikea-produced mosquito net. Yet (most noticeably in this past school year during which I've been forced by curriculum to read an uncomfortable amount of poetry) I've come to the realization that now, the very thought of approaching a poem is inordinately daunting. I have a mental block where it comes to verse, and amongst other things, that makes me a very bad student of literature indeed. I've been easing back into it, but the word "poem" still makes me a bit queasy. Tonight, however, that changes. Tonight, my brash, self-satisfied, fearless inner-geek returns to me, and in the early hours of the morning, as we wade through The Waste Land, with every ounce of unabashed pretension we can muster, we proclaim 2007 our year of poetry. It very well may be cringeworthy, but it will definitely be more rhythmic than last year. |
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| Irish by Accident |
[Aug. 5th, 2006|10:34 pm] |
When I was here last, I spent much of my time reading James Joyce's Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Over a year later, I find myself in the very same condo, immersed again in Irish literature (though my current choice -- Roddy Doyle's Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha -- is much easier to stomach than what I remember of the former. I'm actually enjoying it a bit more than I had expected and it will probably be finished tonight in the three hours that exist after I give up hope on the dial-up internet, before I go to sleep).
There must be something about the humidity and abundance of mini-vans that compels me to read coming-of-age tales set in overcast climates where cars are rarer than under 50s are here. |
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| SPRING! Break for an American refugee in an English abode on Scottish land |
[Apr. 2nd, 2006|01:19 pm] |
[Okay. So, one of my many shortcomings as a "blogger" (and I'm not entirely sure I can be rightly considered as such) is that I don't do things in a timely fashion. Case in point: I should have posted half of this over a week ago, and the rest of it on Thursday, but I am a god of procrastination, and I only started writing this on Friday, so everyone, exercise your imaginations and pretend that it's Friday, that this is two separate entries and that I am the most awesome person ever.]
Term ended one week ago today (which means that I am one week out of my first year, how scary is that?)and that (also) means that I am on my first official Spring Break. During that week, we have had approximately two days of weather that could be considered mildly spring-esque (with the exception of yesterday, which hasn't happened yet because it's Friday). The first of those days was Sunday when I went on an impromptu journey to climb Arthur's Seat because (1) all the stores and museums were closed by the time I dragged myself out of bed, showered and dressed, and (2) it was so sunny and warm and spring-like that I couldn't think of an activity more appropriate than listening to Sufjan Stevens while climbing a mountain/hill/volcano-like entity. It was completely delightful, and I had every intention of writing something far more entertaining and coherent on it upon waking on Monday morning (which would have been timely enough, all things considered), but that proved not to be an option.
At approximately 11:00 on Monday morning, I awoke to the sound of many men tromping about the flat. "Painters. I'll just stay in bed until they're gone," I thought to myself as I sent an angry text message to a flat mate, and then rolled over to go back to sleep. A half hour later, however, it was too loud for me to sleep, and I would have felt increasingly stupid if I had stayed in my room until 3:30, only to emerge bedraggled in front of the workmen who would obviously all look at each other as if to say "where the fuck has she come from?" So, I threw on a skirt and went to brush my teeth, or perhaps take a shower. The catch, however, was that they weren't painters, confined to the living room where we'd have been out of each other's way; they were ripping up the carpet in the hall outside my room, and they had expected me just about as much as I had expected them. It was awkward. I therefore did the only thing it made sense to do: I went back to my room, put on my flip-flops, shoved some stuff into a bag and I fled the flat as if it were a civil war-stricken country.
Outside, it was RAINING! Not having expected the builders, I really had no plans, no umbrella and, effectively, nowhere to go. So, I went in search of a book shop where that I could buy a something that would make me look sufficiently pretentious while hiding out in Starbucks. I ended up with a copy of Lolita, because I hadn't read it and I couldn't remember the titles of anything I had been planning to read in the near future. I did eventually end up in Starbucks, drinking chai, reading like the pretentious motherfucker I pretend to be, and by that time I was soaked, in rain and mud equally, looking sufficiently haggard and horrible. Thankfully, after about two hours, Steph showed up in her car to rescue me. I spent the rest of the week exiled at her house in the delightful suburbs of Edinburgh where I was fed REAL food, watched lots of cable on the COUCHES and enjoyed the mountain view from the living room where I watched the rain and laughed to think that I was no longer stranded in it.
Wednesday, we had a REAL spring day. You could actually smell the spring in the air, and it was weird; I'm not sure if it was the fact that I was back in a suburban setting, or just the association of the scent, but I felt like I was back in Bensalem, or more accurately, back in childhood. Do you know that smell? It's fresh, and it's green, and it's breezy and you just know from a whiff of it that today is going to be good because it's spring and it has to be. It just felt very much like HOME here, and I mean that both ways. It was a good day; we went shopping at a strip mall for pirate outfits (we went out dressed up for Terri's birthday on Thursday for comedy value), and then we baked absurdly elaborate chocolate cakes all day long. I returned to the flat on Thursday morning, and the infamous orange floors were gone, but now there's this really RED carpet in their place; in the world of student accommodation decor, apparently, you just can't win.
I think that, in the future, last week will be considered as a turning point in the precedent for the treatment of asylum-seekers. |
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| Far too many Negroes in one house today.... |
[Jun. 14th, 2004|01:37 am] |
I've just realized that what my last name needs is an accent on the "e". From now on, I will be the terribly pretentious yet ghetto-fab Melissa R. Négro. I like that much better.
In other news, I only have to read 234 pages a day to finish Rising Up and Rising Down before leaving for Canada.
Also, I need a life, as is evident by the two preceding remarks, and will become even more obvious by this next one.
My list of things to buy for my expedition has nearly reached three pages. I am so excited!
That is all I have to say to you.
[Oh, and also, I realized today that my grandmother makes me rather like being American, somewhat -- or not like it so much as she makes me appreciate my identity as an American more so than I typically might. I'm not sure why that is so;it just is.] |
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| MIDDLESEX by Jeffery Eugenides and a throughly unproductive weekend |
[May. 23rd, 2004|05:46 pm] |
Today, I finished Middlesex, which is the most exciting development in my increasingly reclusive life since I crashed the vespa-like entity (oh so many days ago). I would not typically bother to update about such trivial matter as finishing a novel (well, actually, I might...I have...whatever) but, I am currently in the process of putting of starting my graduation presentation. So, here is what I think of Middlesex:
I liked it very much, though it was not enlightening or awe-inspiring as have been some of the things I read. As I came closer to its conclusion, it reminded me more and more of Grapes of Wrath -- but, not in a bad way. This is like the offspring of The Grapes of Wrath. It is the converging point of all the themes of my life that have been haunting me for the past half-year or so. It is very American -- yes, one of its themes does have to do with the AMERICAN DREAM, but I adore it. It is beautifully written, and it holds interest. I have grown to be quite enamored of its brilliance, of its glory. I like it like I like Nicholas Nickleby -- except maybe even a bit more than that. Its more than plot, its more than cultural references, but its not quite on the orgasmic understanding level of some other things -- yet it is more literary than those things. Or something. It puts things into perspective -- and for one (amoungst many) thing(s), it makes me hate America a little less (though it does not make me wish to remain here).
In conclusion, Middlesex is a very good book, I found it to be terribly intriguing and exceedingly well-written, and it has kept me from doing school work, so now I must go pretend to do said school work.
FIN.
7:43 PM EST EDIT: Strike all that I said above about it being amazing, but not thoroughly amazing -- about it not being as good or as enlightening as other things. I'm just slow. Here I am, several hours later, and I have finally had my epiphany. It connects so much more than I thought it did -- goes, in fact, all the way back to Oscar Wilde. So, I take it all back, and I end with this:
Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides is not only a very good book, it is an utterly amazing piece of literature and I only hope that someday I may create something with half of its merits. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 20th, 2004|09:49 pm] |
On Saturday, I learned the most delightful word:
HEBDOMADAL
It is a synonym for weekly, and as an adverb, it is HEBDOMADALLY. I like it very much -- it is so strange to say and to think about with all of the Ds and the Bs and the M. I cannot find its origins, though I wish I could. Someone probably just created it one day because "weekly" just was not sufficient. Maybe not though.
Life has been slow, but I've had a lot of work. I finally aquired my lisence (I probably mentioned that) but I still cannot drive. I have such difficulty interacting with traffic; it makes me not want to drive, though I do love how it feels -- when there are no other cars on the road, that is. I feel the need to read signs and observe the grass and inspect the faces of the passengers in the cars behind me through my rearview mirrors. I don't think that's really very safe -- I know its not. I almost hit this guy who was crossing the street yesterday. Oh well. I will learn in time if I don't die first.
I'm a bit stressed about all of the things I should be doing but I'm not. I really just want to go to college and be happy, not that college equates happiness, but its at least a change. Quebec will be good for change -- or at least for getting me out of the house. I think I would like to go to New York soon; I miss my city.
I finished Fortress of Solitude this past weekend. The first several hundred pages were a bit bland, but it really came together in the end. I am in awe of Jonathan Lethem's talent -- of everyone's talent. Even Steinbeck, whose novel I hate. His words are glorious -- the way he organizes his thoughts, the way he portrays the world of his characters is awesome (to use the original definition of the word).
To sum everything up:
I like
-words (specifically "Hebdomadal")
-books
-cities
-my vespa-like-entity
I dislike
-cars
-people in the street -- especially small children
-farms / the dustbowl / the subjectmatter of The Grapes of Wrath
-my laziness
FIN. |
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| At one point, there were a number of people who wished they were like Farrah Fawcett... |
[Aug. 25th, 2003|12:44 am] |
Yesterday, I discovered the importance of plot. It felt so good. I know, the statement is in and of itself absurd. Is plot not always important? I did not think it was, in fact I placed no value in its existence and wrote it off as nothing at all -- a waste of space reserved for trashy novels and fillers. And yet, I was sitting about reading Great Expectations (for, what else do I ever do) and I was struck with insight which was really quite unexpected.
Maybe I shouldn't say I learned of the importance of plot so much as I learned that it could be used well...or something else? I cannot put it into words right now as I am ever so distracted, but even if I could I doubt if it would be of much interest so I leave you with the revelation itself and not details of it. So, I have learned two things this summer and they are as follows:
1. The Importance of Plot
2. How to Take the Ferry
I also learned that I was allowed to go to Germany, but that is not really something one learns so much as a privilege one gains.
On a completely unrelated note, today I cleaned out the garage with mother. There is ample space for the housing of my Vespa(like entity) which is to be purchased on Saturday. I sincerely hope that the store has one available in red.
While cleaning out the garage, we found boxes of old photo albums from my mother's youth which reminded me a bit too much of my own photos for comfort.
And yet I do not know what to do with myself. I wish I had a personality...or I wish I could at least masquerade as a semi-intriguing person whilst I create one. I really need to get up and do something every once in a while. Yet my taste in company changes faster than my choice of country that I wish to visit most. I want to go far away for I think that it may help in my development of human characteristics. I want to shut myself up. I am so rash. My prospects are so uncertain now that it makes me want to scream so loudly that the roof crumbles to nothing due to the immense shrillness of my voice. I feel so spoiled and trivial. While both words describe me quite accurately I wish to be something else as well as those things all at once. I wish to have awful qualities and good ones so long as I have any at all...
The coming weeks bring opportunities for much change. I hope that I will make something of them.
For the time, that is all I have to say. |
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| I sound so faux-intellectual, I make myself sick. |
[Jul. 20th, 2003|11:47 pm] |
I have this odd desire for some classic literature but I don't think I have any. I'm about to go scour the depths of my house for something good; Oscar Wilde is just not enough for me today. If I can't find anything, book shopping tomorrow. |
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| Good reading for those who can keep their eyes open long enough to see and be decieved |
[Mar. 29th, 2003|12:26 am] |
I have just finished a truly delicious, awe-inspiring book - the first one this good since Velocity, maybe better (though I will never admit that because I am enamored of Eggers). It is the sort of book that I would like to write, the type that is above all awards that might be attributed to it. The layers make me happy and the intricacies are delightful as well as the prose. I have no fucking idea what I'm talking about, but what I have to say to you is this: White Teeth is a book by a fabulous woman called Zadie Smith. It is glorious and you should read it at once, before you burst into flames. |
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| The goat does not, will not disappear. |
[Feb. 27th, 2003|11:08 pm] |
I just hit my top-right-front-tooth with a mug from which I was drinking. I wonder how many times it will take, gently but persistently tapping at that tooth before it falls out. I suppose the answer will never come to me; that is okay.
Life is uneventful. I barely ever go out, which I don't mind at first, then read Oscar Wilde and take pride in it, then stop reading, feel as though I need to get out of the house, and begin to pace. I fear I am becoming quite as dull as I appear, which doesn't suit me well at all. To add to the madness, I have been reading a good deal about chimpanzees. This is not entirely optional as it was a project assigned to me, but I read a bit more than I had to, and a bit more than I should have liked.
I suppose none of this is relevant. I might like for it to be, but it is not. Maybe it is not "this" that I would like to attain relevancy, but rather I would like to know something worthwhile, which would, in turn, not be "this." There is just this large, infinitesimal blur that is my life, and I am growing weary of it. Time for change, always time for change, but I will never change - at least not at this point. The prelude continues on effortlessly and painfully as I am swept along. |
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| "The first duty in life is to be as artifical as possible..." |
[Jan. 20th, 2003|08:00 pm] |
Today I finished The History of Luminous Motion by Scott Bradfield. I purchased it on Saturday and read most of it on Sunday. It was by no means delicious or awe-inspiring, but I had been in the mood to read a novel, so I went with it. IT was interesting - it was a narrative told through the eyes of an 8-year-old boy. Some of the issues it dealt with were, to me, not believable 8-year-old boy troubles, but I am both straight-edged and Naive, so what do I know? It worked though - the fact that I didn't trust most of it's information - it added to what it was. The subject matter itself had very little to do with the things I tend to read about, but it was likable just the same. I felt as if I were back inside House of Leaves - or at least part of it. This is mostly because the Characters introduced in this novel really felt like part of a HOL past. It was simplified though - without all of the layers and attention to typography. It brought up many good points though about living in your own mind and living at all. I think that what I really got from it was a sense that everything is in cycles to which we are attached...for me, that was the underlying meaning and point. I could be way off. It doesn't matter, though. I read it, and I enjoyed it (somewhat) and now, i can do what I like with the ideas and concepts presented to me during my journey through its pages.
Today I also went to get my contacts...ish. I didn't do very well which makes me laugh. I would think that putting contacts in is not very complicated, but I have no control over my upper eyelids, and even less control over the eyelashes attached to them. After an hour of staring at myself in a mirror trying to stick the contact in my eye, I couldn't do it (which is quite pathetic and amusing all at once. I will be mocked for this - if not by others, then by myself.) I'm going back Thursday, and I will get it. I will learn to control my silly eyelids. It was on my eye, and then I pushed it back out. SO silly...
Saturday ELizabeth woke me up a little before nine. We were going to the center of the city on the coldest day of the year (oh no!). There was a whole ordeal with the train and cars, etc. Very exciting and entertaining. We eventually met her friend Craig in the city. We did usual city things. ELizabeth got a Lomo camera, therefore joined the cult. Fun was had. I made purchases.
Sunday nothing much happened. Today I already explained in part.
Friday there was school and I was dead tired. I don't believe I did anything Friday night, though that is not surprising.
Thursday. I don't really recall what went on that day. I suppose it doesn't really matter.
Wednesday. Same. We may have handed out newspapers, though that may have happened Tuesday. There was Brew ha ha coffee and sleepiness.
Tuesday. WE attempted to hand out newspapers, but due to our brew ha ha excursion, we were too late.
Monday. We attempted to hand out newspapers, but were surprised at how early people got to school.
Sunday. ____________________________________.
Saturday (last) I went to New York with Stephanie and her father. I may go in to more detail later, but I'm really quite bored with updating.
At one point during last week, I was walking home when I heard rustling in the shrubbery to my left. I then heard birds chirping. I felt like I was right in the middle of nature until I realized that the hill on which my feet rested was probably man made, and that the shrubbery from which the bird came was attached to a barbed wire fence. It was a good moment. |
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| Counting hours proves nothing, but it was entertaining nonetheless. |
[Nov. 14th, 2002|11:20 pm] |
It has been a very strange day. I was in school, which was not surprising. Lunch wasn't disastrously loud...but, this has nothing to do with anything. I went bowling (which I don't believe I will continue to do) and it wasn't awful, but it also wasn't worth it. And, I was reading a book...but not reading it so much as spacing out and pondering while staring idly at the pages. They're all about the things that are lost...every single book...or at least every book that I find worthwhile - there is always desperation, and in the end, no one prevails. There are amazing journeys and delicious adventures, but there is always this on-going theme of trying against all odds, getting so close, and then despite it all, losing and winning at the same time. And, it is fiction. I like the fiction. I prefer it to my own life because I feel it is real. The fiction is nice, this is not. There is magic in the fiction, there is nothing here but dreaming, and times are tough for dreamers - which I wouldn't mind...I don't mind anything actually...just a strange day. Foreboding connotation...I think I may learn from it - should I let myself. There was nothing special about it - except the feeling that these past hours have let on. Blah, blah - same old tale. I've written this essay in different words with different examples and different instances a thousand times before, and yet I write it again. I write it in all confidence, knowing that when it is over, I will be knowledgeable, I will be whole, and I can go back to reading my fiction knowing that one day I will wake up and reach that plateau that doesn't exist.
No, it is not about getting the control...it is a little bit about getting the control, but mainly it is about doing something with what I have...about finding something. It isn't about what could be, in theory, it is about what I want to be. I could be good at math, and I could try harder, and I could force myself to talk to people, yes, this is true, but maybe I'm not going to. Maybe it can't be - maybe not now. Maybe this is what I need now, maybe it is not the same as it has been...nothing is the same, and I love this...I hate this. Optimism. My entire life. I will laugh - now - on my own command. Blah, blah.
Strangest conversation with ELizabeth. She called me (of course) and told me she read all of Mockingbird without noticing. And then, it turns into...not fighting, but anger and what this day has been...but not really. We sort of determined that this day was good. This day will be remembered - we like days like this LATER. But, the whole thing...we were filled with such bitter confusion. We couldn't explain out thoughts to the other because we are so wrapped up in our own thoughts...wherever they lie. It was good though, I think...very, very strange but good...kind of like waiting for a train - or being somewhere you never wanted to be, but then liking it - or superman boots. That part...in YSKOV...the part in which Jack dies...I think about it - haven't in a while, but I was. Mainly while on the phone to Elizabeth earlier, but...it was just so...not "profound" just so true...just so...mmm....i don't know. Read it. it would do you some good...do me some good. very very odd day...
I will remember, later, hopefully, if I can or shall allow. |
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| "Timothy McSweeney...Timothy McSweeny...he takes a pen and paper and he writes things down" |
[Oct. 20th, 2002|11:23 pm] |
Oh do I have stories for you...they rival the incomparable, awe-inspiring fun of yesterday. I sort of wish I could re-write yesterday's entry to better mirror the amazing time I had and all of the truly admirable things that went on...all of the laughter and good times and rock-and-roll-with-a-literary-flare...I wish I could simulate the giddiness and the longing and the awkward silences and every single detail of such a glorious day. I wish I could do that for every day that I live. Alas, I have a limited vocabulary and a tired mind inhibited by flashes of the scenes and moments that have become residual images of that day by the time I come here to re-cap. I shall try to do better, though I know I will not - not yet anyway. One day I will be able to, but today is not that day. Today, however was and still is a very good day indeed. I will do everything in my power to make tomorrow a day that is just as good, though that is impossible - it could never be as amazing as today (and yesterday), though it has major possibility should I choose to seize it or should I be meant to or able to. I will not try to the best of my ability...it is not within my powers to do so, but I will attempt to enjoy it. I would hate to kill this mood - ever. This freedom and enlightenment...I am alive again. However brief it may be...it cannot be brief. I am not a concise person, and this will not be a mood that defies that. I love you and the world and this weekend. Hehehehehehe [I am seized by a fit of giggles that incapacitates me briefly, but I gain control...not that I really wanted it...hehe.] On that note....
I woke up this morning very afraid, but determined still. It was in my plans from the night before to wake up at nine-thirty in order to talk to mummy about how I must be able to go to the book signing today. I knew I would...it was one of those situations where I knew her threats not to let me out were empty and even if they weren't initially, they would be by the time I got through debating with her. My body woke me up at seven-thirty - or maybe it was my mind. I can't really say what component of my being woke me up, but regardless, I was awake at such an hour lying in bed, staring at my clock. From then on I slipped in and out of a dream-world or something like it. I would lie in my bed, half-asleep. Then, I would wake up - or get the feeling that I had and look at my clock. It would say nine-thirty (or some time considerably later) and I would panic, wishing I could get up to tell mummy I had to go today (I knew I would...I stated this, but I was still so afraid...it meant so much...). I would hear noise in the next room...I was afraid she would sleep all through the morning (something she never does) and I would not get the chance to fight with her about it...then, I would turn my head (the only part of my body that seemed to want to move) and look at my real alarm clock, which would display the actual time (example: 8:42), and above it would be floating the imaginary alarm clock with the time I feared it was...I would realize I was dreaming or hallucinating or something and go back to sleep-ish. This occurred multiple times. It finally ended when around 9:30 I heard voices from the next room. I could tell (somehow) that mummy planned on going out somewhere in search of an ATM, but then shopping and I could also tell she was still complaining about last night. Fear filled my existence yet again. I got quickly out of bed to make sure I caught her before I left and went out my bedroom door. She was doing the same. I approached her; she still appeared annoyed with me. I asked her (in that voice I use when I don't want to admit something), "Mummy...I can....um...still go today, right?" And in a pause that lasted an eternity, she let out an exasperated, defeated, unhappy "yes." I was truly happy once again, my spirits that had encompassed me last night returned, and I went to shower.
ELizabeth called around ten. She said I had around a half hour. I hurried my morning preparations doing the most imperative things (hair, foundation, teeth-brushing) first, knowing that I could and would re-wardrobe at ELizabeth's house and, if necessary, put my facecase to good use on the train. I managed to get together enough to leave the house by the time Pat got here a little after ten-thirty. I joined Ryon in back-seat of the car (where he realized he forget his YSKOV book) and we drove to Elizabeth's house. I ran upstairs frantically so as I could change, which I did. I wore ELizabeth's my vintage polka dotted skirt and my Eagleheat shirt with the diesel denim. She wore items from her new-found equestrian wardrobe. I accidentally told her to wear the wrong shoes...I like them better, which was my initial thought, but the other ones would have balanced the look a bit better...oh well. We hurried into the car and went to get Alex. Then, Pat drove hurriedly to the train, as we were very late and afraid we would miss it.
Miss the train we did not. We got there two whole minutes early! As the train pulled in we greeted someone we knew from drama in the school year prior to this, and we boarded, walking toward the back where we found four empty seats facing each other. We sat down as the train started off, propelling us toward one very good day.
The conductor approaches(please note that the dialogue used here is a representation of events and not entirely accurate):
-Where y'all goin'?
-[ELizabeth replies eagerly] Suburban Station...[pauses, in contemplation] round trip.
-Are two of you over eighteen?
-umm...[I look around...I realize why he's asking, but am not sure what to say...no one else seems to have heard or know what to say.]
-Are two of you over eighteen? [He inquires louder this time...I like him; he is patient.]
-No [ELizabeth replies uneasily]
-[turning to Alex and Ryon, raising his voice and changing his tone slightly...we are slowly beginning to catch on] Are two of you over eighteen?
- [He tries yet again] Are two of you over eighteen? [he is practically winking.]
-yes, yes of course [Elizabeth jumps in with the correct answer this time.]
-Then, I can give you family fair! [He is proud of us...we caught on...we beat the system! We, momentarily were his children. He was protecting us...making sure we didn't pay more that we could get away with or could really afford. There was a bond between us for the short time in which we knew each other...it was nice. I wish there were more people like this.]
-Now, you'll all be traveling together won't you? [he is punching the ticket that costs fifteen dollars round trip for all of us]
-We assure him that we will. Hehe. As he walks away, we giggle. It has been an enjoyable encounter.
Our train ride goes on. We talk, make fun of ELizabeth a great deal, and giggle at what is about to be. We Also Contemplate Turning The Event Into a Musical, And We Do, Somewhat by Singing the Words Which Were On a Sign On the Wall of the Train; This Sign had the Beginning Letter of Each Important Word Capitalized, Yet These Words Created a Sentence - We Sang These Words Aloud In the Spirit of the Opening Band from Last Night. Suburban Station. We get off. We are unstoppable.
It is still relatively early when we get to the center of the city, so nothing is open yet. We get out of the train station fairly easily, though we always have difficulty in this task. We get above ground and start off. We even go the right way from the start. I forget which of us choose the correct direction. I am going to pretend it was me (even though I bet it wasn't) I win..haha! We walk past H&M (closed) and Urban Outfitters (closed, but having a sale), and then up to Anthropologie (just opened). We enter. We wander around, marveling at the architecture (yet again) and the delicious fashion in which the lift is decorated, as well as the amazing array of random things they happen to have as merchandise. After a while, we leave. Urban Outfitters: we walk around for a while (sporadically bursting into fits of giggles) and look at things, but do not make purchases...or at least I don't. They've gone all mareme. Scary. What is also scary is the large amount of Jesus figurines they sell mocking the religious figure. The best one, though is the red velvet Jesus change bank. haha...how great is that? Also, the UO magazine had this thing in it that Dave Eggers did. Elizabeth and I split it. She got the magazine; I got the Dave Eggers page. This made me happy (I guess I did buy something kind of.) Then, we went to the ING direct cafe [oh, I forget to mention before, but fear not, there was a futon sale going on at Pearl of the East] because ELIzabeth wanted coffee or something...or it just amused us immensely. It is the putrid shade of floruecent orange, but the cafe was dimly lit. There was all of this tacky-in-an-awful "why do you exist" way orange ING direct merchandise like Frisbees and hats. Yet, we were amazed that it was a cyber-cafe, so while Elizabeth was getting her coffee we went to the Diesel site. We left and went to the Joseph Fox Bookshop. They gave us these slips of paper that said 1:30 and told us we could leave and come back, and we were hungry so we went to lunch. [on our way to lunch, we saw the last guy that performed last night - the hobo - in a blue minivan/SUV wearing his Hobo-gear, eating an apple. We keeled over in laugheter. Though, we later found out he was signing books out front of the bookstore where we were waiting for Dave Eggers, which made it less amusing.] We often lunch at the Liberty Plaza Mall because we have trouble finding an actual restaurant or cafe to eat in, and this is what we did today. I got pizza and snapple. Very good. We sat by the window at a table, though there was disagreement as to which window it would be best to sit by. I won. We ate lunch, quite excited and it was generally good, though I don't remember too much about this segment of the day. After a while we went back to the bookstore, and stood in the back of the line...here the real fun begins.
We got there around two - several minutes (maybe even ten) before. We stood at the back of the line, quite excited. It was moving very slowly, as expected. There were people all around reading the Dave Eggers books that had just purchased. I bet that out of everyone in that line I was one of the only ones who read them both with the exception of very few, whose details I will get into later. We were standing, talking, noting the existance of all who were around us. We played the game we always play - is it a fake purse or a real purse; faux Burberry scarf or a real one? It is amazing how bad some people's fakes are...with horizantal LVs on "Louis Vuttions" or a "Fendi" with an F that is really an E...so, so bad...off-centered labels, wrong colours...people are so silly. Buy the real thing or don't have it at all...the fake makes you look neither fashionable or rich. But, back to the story. I giggled all through the line, amazed, utterly that I'd really get to meet him again. Every time I'd burst out into giggles they'd all just give me this look...it was funny, which made me laugh harder. There was this guy in front of us wearing scrubs. Several times throughout our wait in line, cars would pull up to us (or our fellow line-dwellers) and ask what we were waiting for. They would not understand when we explained. Also, every once in a while (or every few minutes) the line would shift, for we were right in the middle of a parking gargae's driveway. We would have to move out of the way for all of these people that wanted to get in and out of it. Some were polite and undersanding. They knew we were here in love and admiration of the work (and mind) of a fellow human being and that we were having fun doing what we wished. They felt the love...the were part of our party. There were also terrible short-tempered boreish people that honked thier horns angrily because we were in their way. One such group was a car filled with three older women outfitted horribly with disgusting auras to go with them. We took a photo. Ha.
Around this time, a game was developed - a new one: The Make ELizabeth Angry While Standing In Line to Meet Dave Eggers Game it lasted long after we met him. So, we stand, taking pictures, laughing, making ELizabeth angry, and then awarding ourselves points. Sometimes this would make her angrier, and we would get more points. We are not cruel, just good-humored...or something. This line lasted a long time. Here is an incomplete list of things that were mentioned:
-penguins
-the fact that several people in front of us there was a group discussing YSKOV as if they were in our gifted English class (I suspect they were some of the only other ones that read it)
-How funny it is when Elizabeth is angry
-How we were about to meet Dave Eggers
-How much better it was that last time
-[giggle]
-what we should say/ask him to sign
-passersby
-The fact that while we were waiting in line, we were accosted by several of my blood relatives (aunts and uncles) who were on their way for drinks at a bar of some kind
-How said blood relatives were actually related to me
-Other things
After this, we got inside, there was a long line here too, but it was equally as enjoyable, if not more so than the first. They were playing the Amelie soundtrack, and it was warm, and we got to look at all of the amazing books that they had. We also got to giggle and press books back into the shelves hoping that all of the shelves would then turn, revealing a secret room - as in an old Murder-mystery movie or some such thing.
When we finally got to the table, I was first. I am so un-talkative. It's kind of pathetic. I should have said more...maybe next time, but this was more than enough. Here is what happened:
-Hi [I am excited beyond belief...more so than ever.]
-Hi [He is nice, low-key...I like this...I knew this is how it would be from prior experience, but it was still very good...he begins to draw a penguin hand-puppet in my book.] What shall I write?
-I don't know
-How about some relationship advice?
-Okay
-What is your problem
-I don't have one
-[Alex:] She doesn't talk to anyone
-There are correspondence courses for that
-hehe
He finishes and give me my book back. It looks something like this
Melissa
____________
[insert drawing of penguin here] - Meet Richard
______________
Yours Silently,
Dave Eggers
ELizabeth started her conversation like this:
-Hi, I don't know if you remember, but two years ago you were here and I gave you a picture of this gnome...
-[searching his memory] kind of...you asked me to draw a picture of him...
-I gave you a picture and you drew the tree he was sitting in without him in it
-oh...[he kind of recalls] yea...I have it hanging in my office
-really!?! [she tries to conceal her excitement] that is so cool
-yea...there are a lot of pictures on my wall though
-hehe
-[looking at the message on the back of the norm picture that went something like this: This is Norman. He is a Gnome. He is free of charge, and he wishes owns a chair.]
-At this point, we all jump into the conversation to explain Norman and the photos of him
-do you want me to draw him in your book?
-I guess
-I think I'll draw him in a boat
-hah..okay
-he's kind of creepy
-a little bit, he's a lamp
-Do I get to keep this?
-Yea...we're back...we'll bring more next time!
-You can mail them to me
The conversation wasn't exactly like that, but it was sort of. I'm a little big jealous, not really though. Then, in Ryon's book he wrote this: Family Shmamily - spell it like you fear God - Dave Eggers. It was in reference to the spelling of his name and quite amusing. He took a while to figure out how to spell "Shmamily" I think I did it wrong though. Then, on Alex's physics homework (done on paintchips) he wrote something about checking for accuracy later. It was very, very good...I loved it so much, then we left, for it was time. Back out in the city streets, I laughed. It was such a good day - I was in such a good mood...so inspired, so much fun...it is just indescribable. If there are words strong enough to truly tell my tale then I do not yet know them, and I fear if I did, you would not (not to say you don't know many words...I'm sure you do).
We went to Diesel and H&M and Starbucks, etc. We stopped at Godiva right before the train. We went back to the station to catch the 5:13 train. Right track this time! Never forget the key work: R7 to TRENTON it is imperative. We got on the train, and had a nice ride home. More playing the Anger Elizabeth game...and there was this point where there were trees on either side of the train and I looked from one to the other quickly because it was really great...the trees on either side - the monotany and the repetitiveness, and yet nothing in nature is like anything else...it was great. Also, I knew not what to do with my eyes - I never do. I love them and I am glad that I have them and that they are mine, they just haven't found their place yet. Ryon's mom picked us up from the train station, and we squished in the back until we were distributed out to our places of residence. When I got here, I read some Aurther Bradford, Dogwalker and it was really very good. The same blood relatives that were mentioned earlier came for a brief visit, and then left. Here I am. not in my usual bad mood that I'm in after any "major event." True happiness right here...it does not get much better than this - it has not gotten much better than this...just completely...mmm....so, great. Such good clean fun...I am so naive...or something like it. Not quite...well, I am I guess, but not really maybe? I don't know. I just loved it so entirely. This is all of that I need to be in absolute bliss...and just think, I'll remember it tomorrow morning, gee golly! The world can do what they wish for fun...this is mine - this is my ecstasy and right now that cannot be stopped...This mood is untouchable. Try to kill it...it's an official challenge.
I do wish I could interact with people better...not in an obtrusive way, but just in a way that I can form better connections and have better moments...in a world where people mean everything and interaction with them is a primary function that is a means for happiness, I am not very good with this at all. Yet, it all feels right. Things that have been off seen okay now, and things that never were are beginning to be. Deliciously, orgasmically amazing weekend. Hehehehehhehehe. It is mine, not yours...I won. |
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| McSweeneys vs They Might Be Giants and the (215) Festival |
[Oct. 20th, 2002|02:56 am] |
Today was a magical day indeed...still is actually. Today - this weekend is unstoppable.
I woke up - too early. PSATs. I probably did badly. In fact, I think I used the wrong pencil for about half of it. That, however does not matter today or tomorrow. After that, it can matter as much as it will. But not now. Now is beautiful.
Lots of sitting around, reading, memorizing the names and charges of ionic compounds...fun, fun. Eyebrows, shower, hair, makeup, clothing...speaking with ELizabeth. After much anticipation, around 5:40 I finally left. Went to get ELizabeth. We waited for her mom to get back from McDonald's while I lint-brushed her in the driveway. After this, we picked up Alexander with little difficulty, but then...traffic. Apparently churchgoers trying to get out of the parking lot have the traffic police on their side. My mother was angered by this and commented loudly out the car window. It was amusing, yet irritating. I wanted her to shut up - so loud...
We went to go get Ryon, and mummy kept making wrong turns which set us back a bit, but it wasn't too bad I suppose. By the time we actually got to the city it was around seven I guess. We stood in line until 8:00. We were by the curb for a while just chatting. It was nice, but I was sort of outside of myself. I was angry about that at first, but I eventually came back. Alex kept trying to tell us about his dream. He kept being interrupted. There was also a store behind us selling veloure/velvet (uck). There were also all of these rave-in-a-car(s) - this is where the car-owner adorns their car with flashy blue or purple light and blasts music out of their window. It is quite laughable. Good times.
When we got in, we got fabulous spots right up against the railing and then went to purchase things two at a time. I got a Dogwalker, by Aurther Bradford and this other compilation thing. Then, sitting around on the floor for an hour or so still not in my mind.
When the show started at nine, The Trachenberg Family Slideshow (or some group with a name resembling that) opened. [please note that my mind came to me as soon as this band began to play and I was able to fully enjoy their performance and all that followed as well as the moment I am in right now in the best ways possible.] It was this strange woman, her husband and their eight-year-old daughter who may have been seven. The little girl was amazing - my idol. She wore this dress and these boots and an expression on her face that would lead you to belive she was a zombie. Hehe. She played on this mini-drum set, and sometimes she did backup singing. The dad played the keyboard and was the lead singer while the mother switched the slides. They were utterly amzing. We were so close. They were basically this family band (the best in the entire world) that had this idea to write songs based on old slides and photos purchased at estate sales, etc. Is there anything better than that? The answer would be NO, my friend...a definate NO. They did three song-like entities - or something. There was one that was regarding McDonald's executives from the 1970s and another having to do with traffic laws. Truly hilarious; I believe I am in love. They will be on Conan November 5th so that then you too can know their wonder.
Then a fifteen minute lack of performance.
[At some point, either before the first band or before TMBG, we lost most of our space at barrier separating the crowd from the stage. This caused us to come up with ways to get the space back from the man in the leather jacket with really bad teeth that had stolen the space. Here is an incomplete list:
-Elizabeth and I pretend we were lesbians, cling to eachother and squeeze into the space at the ledge which we still posessed
-Fall into the man with the leather jacket in hopes that he will be starlted and move, the quickly take his place at the ledge
-Grab leather-man's ass
-Start a heated debate with leather-man about the evils of wearing leather and how it made us sick in hopes that he would be weirded out and walk away
-push him
All of the above were discussed loudly in his presence as ways we could get him out of our space. Eventually, he left/we got him out. I forget exactly how this happened.]
TMBG came out first and played a song from issue six. Then, Dave Eggers came out. Where on stage was he? He was right in front of our faces. We were in the very front of the venue by the stage. There were no people between the stage and I. Dave Eggers was at a podium on the stage. A podium conviently placed right in front of me. I could have touched it. He was no more than two feet away - if that. Hehehehhehehehehehehhehehehehehehhehehehhehehehhehhehehehehehheh. At first he just did an intro about McSweeneys and 826 Valencia, etc. It was, however quite enjoyable.
TMBG were in and out...on the stage and off. Arthur Bradford was the first to actually read anything. He did a short story about a slug the size of a loaf of bread. He played guitar simultaneously. It was amazing. He smashed a guitar too. We had to stand back so it didn't hit us. Hehe. Yum...great night.
Some more TMBG, and Dave Eggers. Dave Eggers read part of his new novel. Awe-inspiring completely and utterly. He read the part about Champagne Snowball, which prior to the event I was hoping he would read because it is so good. All of it is that good...its just...mmm. Hehe. so, he read. He kept making mistakes, not a lot but enough that he was likable and delicious...hehehe. Dave Eggers is amazing. He had boots - or shoes. They were aged and kind of funny. There was also this woman with a Burberry scarf. Actually, before he read, a girl from 826 read some of her poems (mostly dealing with sex) she was good...I think I like her. Then Dave Eggers...he was amazing. I guess he could be called "emcee" of the evening, and it was just all utterly fantastic. Yum...heheh. I'm still giddy - except I was never giddy - I laughed the whole time just kind of staring up in awe with this feeling of inspiration, but never really giddy - not until later. It just felt so natural...so right for me to be there that it wasn't worthy of giddiness. It was not just this in-the-moment obsession (which I guess it really is) so much as a place where I belonged from the beginning. It was all just so good.
After Dave Eggers and some more TMBG, there was this guy that was dressed as a hobo who wrote a book about a hobo reading a story about a hobo. He had music and costume and this filmstrip in the background, and it could have been cool...kind of "artistic" but, I wasn't feeling the love.
After that and another issue 6 song by TMBG, there was a twenty minute break in which ELizabeth and Ryon went on a journey to get us some water. Alex and I stood there for a while trying to save space. This guy that I think was there alone - he was a bit overweight plus a couple of pounds and really not clean-looking - kept giving me creepy stares. I was a bit frightened. This guy on the stage was setting up for TMBG and he was warning Alex about how the confetti was going to shoot straight at him and that he should duck. A few minutes later he raised the machine thing. ELizabeth and Ryon returned and we were kind of just in awe, as we should have been.
Then, TMBG played a set. They are really good live - or just really good in general. I kind of felt bad standing there in the very front without knowing any of the lyrics or anything, but somehow I managed to have an amazing time anyway. Hehe...just...lots of laughter and .... great beats. [in between all of the segments of performances they played the oddest assortment of music that was enjoyed by all...well not quite all, but still great and worth noting upon.] The last song TMBG played went on about the wonder that is NY...it was complete and utter bliss...that was the last song they did before they left and came back out and played some more. The second time they did this thing where they tried to play the music of other bands that was found on the "radio" The greatest part of that was the facial expressions of the band-members when the lead singer would stop at a place they weren't used to or skip a song altogether. Hehehe. The facial expressions in general were really great as well - especially as I could see them - when they got really into it. The guys kept walking on and off stage randomly. Very nice indeed.
When the show ended, we went to hunt down Arthur Bradford and some other people for signatures, etc. But, unfortunately my mother walked in while we were talking to Arthur Bradford. She was very angry. Apparently, the show ended at 12:30 and she had been there since eleven. I felt bad but I really would liked to have met some of the other people and such.
We walked to the car and drove home. It was a strange drive. Mummy was really mad - more than she had a right to be. She still is, but she'll get over it. I am so glad she took us and I thank her very much but it was her bad plan to choose a pre-determined time to pick us up when no one could know what time it would end.
The whole night was amazing. I didn't know what to expect, but I expected a lot and I got more that I thought I would. Yes, it was indeed more orgasmic that Garbage, though in a different sense. hehehe. I will not get over the exuberance of this day - this weekend for a long time and that is a good thing. Just...yum. Great fun. More fun than could be asked for and I didn't even get all that I could have...so, so entirely good. Better than everything...hehehe. Nothing could kill my mood right now - the "good karma" - nothing could stop this feeling of admiration and fulfillment and happiness. So much fun! |
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| One week |
[Oct. 13th, 2002|12:16 am] |
Today I finished...and I went on a journey. It was not a great day, but better than expected. Finshing was good - not that it was over but that I can now begin to understand. So utterly amazing. I really do love my mail order bride. |
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| There is nothing more satisfying than watching a ceiling tile crash to the floor. |
[Oct. 4th, 2002|09:38 pm] |
This morning I awoke. It was not a pleasant experience. Loud bangs on my door. 6:15 - late. I mumble confused apologies to mummy about how I didn't get up on my own...I have no idea what i'm saying - a mere autopilot programmed into my brain like everything else. No recollections of dreams...nothing. Just weary.
I shower, dress, do my makeup. No use bothering with my hair...too long for anything worthwhile. Downstairs. Grab Cheerios for car. Go to car. Driving. Mummy tries to make conversation. I don't like vocalizations in the mourning. I don't enjoy them. I hate hearing them almost as much as I hate making them. This annoys her and leads to her daily (empty) threats of making me take the bus. This makes me angrier than before, because not only can I hear non pre-recorded voices, but I am nearly forced to respond. Uck. I eat in silence.
School. Standing around before Elizabeth arrives. Then, English. I study for vocab quiz. I'm sure I got an A. We watch a dreadfully dull film in which those that are supposed to be Norwegian have English accents. It makes me want to scream. I leave.
Homeroom. I get to read YSKOV this makes me happy. I leave homeroom for Chemistry. This is not an enjoyable experience. I fight off sleep for a while while she talks, and then when we go to do our lab, we can't find any of our equipment. It has been hidden by the other conniving lab groups that use our area. We need to get other keys and such. We start late. Then, we learn the difference between an alcohol thermometer and a mercury one. How did we learn this you ask...we broke one! Lucky day for us, we spilled mercury onto the lab table. Ha...it was kind of funny...or at least it is now. I didn't laugh then, I think that's for the best. I survive the rest of Chem. I leave.
[void that is filled by info tech...i'm falling behind. no use trying to make something look attractive on a PC. Whenever I almost succeed, I am sent back to make it less attractive.]
Lunch. Nothing interesting to say...not that anything else has been interesting.
Art was...art. Carving linoleum can be quite tedious. I don't mind it though. I'm faking my way through art almost well enough to get away with it...almost.
I walked home. It was semi-raining, hence very nice. I love the rain. Nothing today could have been better than walking to my house through that rain, unless of course I was utterly lost, walking under tunnels in Manhattan in the rain - that, I suppose would be better.
I returned. I read YSKOV some more, as it is delicious. I stop when mummy returns. She tells me stories of days in which she was a techie. I almost admire her for this. I wish I had recorded it. Would have made a nice documentary.
I got my hair cut. It is Ameile(ish) again, but more so than before. It will not flip. I learned how to tease it properly too, so as soon as I raid my grandmother's travel bag for a teasing comb, I'm all set to look like Audrey hepburn...sort of.
I came back here. Pizza. More book, sitting around. blah. I almost wish i had gone out, but that would have been much worse than sitting here...much, much worse.
Today was not bad. I am just so deprived of energy that anything that is not a simple sentence or a run-on is beyond me. And, anything that isn't obvious is not within my grasp. If my computer could take my picture, you would see me staring into space, zoning out in a zombie-like fashion. Moving slowly, mechanically. I have no thoughts.
[yesterday, ELizabeth dragged me shoe-shopping for something that went with Lavender. I was supposed to see Steph...I feel bad...I hope we hang out soon. I got to touch Burberry scarves, and try on my Marc Jacobs blazer - the one that I will never own.] |
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| I ordered my hopes and dreams over the internet, and finally they have arrived. |
[Oct. 2nd, 2002|04:54 pm] |
Today, I walked home. I saw the UPS truck on my street. I was upstairs getting changed, when...The doorbell rings and the product of several months' anticipation arrives in a little white box left by my door. No, my friends I did not receive anthrax, but 371 glorious pages of sentence, syllables, letter, words, and punctuation manipulated by he whom I admire most: Dave Eggers. You Shall Now Know Our Velocity sits over on my sofa, mostly unread. It is mine. I have it. It is here, it is here, it is here! Finally! I care not for people made of flesh. There is nothing in the world at this point that could make me happier than the arrival of this novel. This may be pathetic, but maybe it is not....no, it definitely is, but I do not care, for I shall be too busy reading it. Then meeting him. Again. Hehehehehehehehehehehe. [I giggle uncontrollably, jump a little, tell myself I have calmed down, and have another bout of laughter before I realize I can't read it until I've finished my biology.] Ha. I own it. You don't, or do you? No, you don't. You might. Maybe you are as lucky as I. Hehehehehehehe. |
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| hahahahhaha |
[Oct. 1st, 2002|09:15 pm] |
[Dave Eggers's new novel has arrived and orders are being processed. Books are in the mail to you as we type this. We appreciate your support and patience.] |
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