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Sunday, October 6th, 2002

Time:6:01 pm.
I've been at odds with my creative writing professor as of late, mainly because he's an imbecile. I'm trying to write something for that class right now, you see -- and of course I can't use any of my more colorful ideas. We're given the structure of rules beforehand, and no deviation is allowed.

He must have spent all of forty-five seconds reading my last piece, because he completely glossed over the subtler bits in it. How this man came to be a professor I'll never know.

Buffoonery. And my next piece is going to be boring, just as he wishes. He wants boring!! -- I'll show him boring. THE EFFECTS OF WORMS ON THE SEDIMENTATION OF ROCKS. No, too fascinating. EARLY MORNING BREAKFAST COOKERY, MADE BY SOMEONE WITH A HEADACHE. Hmmm, maybe. God, this is hard. I daresay I prefer stories whose LANGUAGE is more colorful than its plottish subject matter. Seriously. Every last plot idea has been done before at least 147 times. Every subtle variation thereupon has already been dreamt of and stuck into action by some I-think-I'm-clever smartass fiction writer. YES. ALREADY ALREADY ALREADY.

I guess we're not striving for originality, here -- but it pains me so (pretentious enough yet?) to have to stick to these rules, rules that will invariably push me to write SOMETHING THAT'S ALREADY BEEN WRITTEN. Every last character idea has been done to death, too -- and for the love of it all, people try so HARD so FREQUENTLY to reinvent Holden Caulfield that it makes me want to lose my lunch. Never liked him much anyway. Dumb book.

So. Back to the quease-inducing assignment.
Comments: Read 1 orAdd Your Own.

Saturday, October 5th, 2002

Time:10:01 pm.
PACE I: UP THE CANOE WITHOUT A PANEL
Marielle screamed. AND HER VOICE was heard all throughout Jordan as she scaled the staircase. She picked the shoe from up off Gerald's dead body and held it to her face in that familiar sign sequence...

"BUY!! SELL!!!" she bellowed into the shoe. The clams in the freezer even heard her disdainful disparaty. Desperate. Pagoda. Taking the boiled herring off the searing clothesiron, she returned to her seat and found herself in Magda's China. BUY. Quite so, lips drooping. SELL, even. And, in truth, the shale hadn't even set.


BLOCK PARTY NINE: BEYOND THE HOUSECAKES
Susan often wondered about the friction of teeth on pavement, the teeth traveling along said pavement at approximately 65 miles per hour. To grate? To grind? Hand me my mold. Carress the bakesequence. Compress the grapesequins. GO TO THE NAILWOMAN AND RENT FROM HER THE BOOK ON HISPANIC FANMAKING COMPANIES.

We're digressing like a slug parade along a melon rind. ALL WORDS ENDING IN 'N' SEEM TO ME TO BE UNFINISHED. Befriend a lobster today.

Take note once you're in the FOREST OF TAPERING THINGS. The rule applies to all cloth, currets, and fish in the immediate vicinity. YOU SPEAK AS THOUGH I WERE MADE OF MONEY.


SIXTIETH LEMONCANNON: FEARLESSLY, THE IDIOT FACED THE CROWD
UNDENIABLE FACTS OF LIFE: You have to make sure you're delivering the right babies. NEVER FORGET THE PARISIAN PARK SYSTEM. Salad dressing will not stay on long as a wallpaper. MINTS RAIN FROM THE CEILING OF SPAIN. And frankly, ricebooklets haven't yet earned my responsibility.

Daniel took a sugar cookie from behind the coffee pot. Inside his teabag were the grindings of a crepe myrtle tree. Peppergrass grew from his spite terrace, and upon noting this, he felt deep within himself that all was well. Never mind the headache.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Time:11:21 am.
Hmmm. The past 36 hours has been spent trying to avoid my roommate's party crew. They've been floating back and forth between Massachusetts and Rhode Island since Thursday, just partying wherever they happen to be. Last night they came back to my room at 2am, hardly sober as usual. I told them to get the hell out (I was sleeping). They managed to stay gone the whole night. : D That was a nice surprise.

I wish time would go by just a little faster. COME ON, BIRTHDAY! COME ON, OCTOBER BREAK! And JANUARY for the love of god. JANUARY will be my time of peace. And going to see Komrade before that. And Christmas.

Oh, we had a rave in the living room last week. We were all dressed like Grade-A ravers -- in a word, idiotic. I should have taken a picture of myself! You people should have seen what I did to my hair!

Also, it appears I'm the only one willing to dance around AS IF I WERE ELVIS ON SPEED or possibly AN ANGRY CHICKEN ON FIRE. Everyone else wants to be sedate, occasionally sipping from an AQUAFINA BOTTLE, and chatting quietly with others. Hey, did you know that they add things to Aquafina to enhance its taste?! This is an outrage, sir. PURITY.

On that note, I'll just mention that there's something about Baz Luhrmann that makes me want to set things on fire. And no, I don't mean that in a good way. A) YOU HAVE A GOOFY NAME IN AN ATTEMPT TO BE COOL OR BOHEMIAN OR WHATEVER IT IS YOU'RE TRYING FOR. B) YOUR MOVIES CATER TO AN AUDIENCE HALF YOUR AGE -- ARE YOU TRYING TO RELIVE YOUR YOUTH!? C) EVERYONE LOVES YOU!!! WHY!?!?

What's annoying is 13-year-olds who think they've got it all figured out just because they can spell correctly and do some PHILOSOPHER NAMEDROPPING. "JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU," cries little Jeffrey. And everyone comes running to hear this YOUNG SAGE SPEAK because OUT OF THE MOUTHS OF BABES or whatever the phrase is.

I want to go back to Paris for a while.

This is a very aggravated entry, but then again, I just woke up. Also, I'm sitting next to a girl who keeps making these stifled-laughter noises every fifteen seconds. "BFFFFTHP!" Now someone else has come in to use that Mac over there.

Despite my COLDHEARTED LIVEJOURNAL ENTRIES, I am a very loving person.
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Friday, September 27th, 2002

Time:3:55 pm.
After a few days of choking and sputtering, my computer finally kicked it last night. It's dead. No, it's beyond dead. I've never seen a computer so hopelessly broken. And what's bizarre is that I have no idea what caused it.

If all goes well, Toshiba will come running to do my bidding. They'll take the computer away, fix it up with some new parts, and return it very promptly with a smile. Of course, I'll have to wade through endless lakes and streams and gullies of Customer Service. I'll have to scale the spires and trek through the forests. I'll be pissed on by bats in the dark and maybe even stub my toe a few times. Still, I'll have my computer back.

I will not be a happy camper if I have to reinstall Windows 2000 Professional. Windows ME is the default OS, and we all know how much I hate Windows ME. Believe me, I suffered with it long enough, and I refuse to suffer any more.

Because of this (my tone sure is lackadaisical in this entry, isn't it?), I have no chat programs, no telnet, no Microsoft Word, and no mp3s. I will have to make do like this for who knows how long. Last time my computer broke down (this happens way too goddamn much), it was at least five months before I was able to turn it on again. No exaggeration. That was earlier this year.

Things certainly do seem bleak when the weather is disgusting, your computer is dead, and you're feeling too BLURHAGRHGUUHGHHHHHHH to go do anything constructive. I'm not sure I can bear to be stabbed in the brain by any more splinters of politics today. Also, I feel that if I eat one more sugary thing, I'm going to get diabetes and die. Well, either that or nineteen cavities. I will, however, shell out the cash for that $40 sweater. It looks very sophisticated, despite being made from that entirely-too-synthetic-but-very-sturdy-material-whose-name-escapes-me.

Now I feel it necessary to complain for a moment. Last night was a bad night. See, for the past week or so, my room has been crowded with people nonstop. Ryan, Jane, and Jane's girlfriend (I forgot her name). (Yes, I've given up caring about the privacy of people I care nothing for.) Jane is my roommate's old roommate. She's taking the semester off to get her life back in order, or something. Anyway, she brings her girlfriend and Ryan (a friend of hers from god knows where) to my room almost every day to see my roommate. See, Jane and my roommate are very close.

I don't mind people hanging around every now and then, but this is gettting out of hand. I can't say "they're loud," because they go above and beyond loud. They spill stuff on the floor. They leave garbage on my side of the room. They scream and screech and spend HOURS and HOURS and HOURS here.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not being passive about it. I've told them on numerous occasions to shut the fuck up, although in nicer language, of course. I've been looking for a time to talk to my roommate about it, but she left mysteriously last night and didn't come back.

Oh, speaking of last night, she had sex with Ryan in the shower room. Loudly. Tamazer reports that the freshmen were standing in a clot outside the bathroom and giggling. I was not among them.

She's not going to read this, so I'll just go ahead and say that she has slept with 26 (or 27?) guys in the space of three months. If you saw the way she acted around anything with a penis, you wouldn't doubt it. I have no idea why it vexes me so, to be honest. I guess it astonishes me that there really are people like this in the world.

She's in love with another guy. She's crazy about him. She wants to pursue a relationship with him and is very determined about it. And yet, she sleeps with another guy. Without remorse, even. They were half naked cuddling in her bed together after having had loud sex in the shower stall. She is, without a doubt, a slut. I couldn't help but find the whole scene repulsive, truth be told. And it's not because I'm jealous. Still, it did make me sad and sentimental to realize that everyone BUT me had someone else to kiss and be with.
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Wednesday, September 25th, 2002

Time:6:25 pm.
Looks like Arafat's LIFE is on the line. I doubt he'll live to see 2003.

Sharon thinks this will BE A GREAT STEP FORWARD in eliminating the Palestinian problem. But guess what: there are tons of Palestinian splinter groups whose members are more than willing to shoot you in the head or blow up your house WITHOUT Arafat's leadership. In fact, they may even look upon Arafat's death as a good thing. He was too willing to compromise, too passive.

And believe me, although they don't exactly LOOK UP to Arafat, I bet they'll see his death as a symbolic thing. A slap in the face. WE'VE ASSASSINATED YOUR FIGUREHEAD! Sharon booms. NOW WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?! Uh, they're certainly not going to take it very well.

Well, that's just what I predict, at any rate. Who knows.

What Americans (and anyone else involved, really) have to understand is that Israeli/Palestinian peace isn't an option at this point. Clinton meant well, but this is a different sort of situation that calls for a different resolution. There HAS to be fighting. People HAVE to die to solve the whole thing. Either the Palestinians are given their land and treated humanely by the Israelis, or they all have to die. Those are the only two options.

It's disgusting how the United States CATERS TO and KISSES THE ASS OF any nation that has resources it wants. Look at Saudi Arabia. A HOPELESSLY backward nation in terms of EVERYTHING, but OOZING oil from its pores. As such, our politicians KOWTOW and call Saudi Arabia a BASTION OF DEMOCRACY in this GLOBAL SOCIETY! ALLIES FOREVER!

Idiots, as if you weren't transparent enough already.

Oh, and KUDOS TO Tom Daschle for sticking it to Bush. About bloody time. I hope more PEOPLE WITH INFLUENCE follow suit.
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Tuesday, September 24th, 2002

Time:4:06 pm.
lol I'm trying not to take politics seriously anymore. It's all well and good to learn about HOW GREAT EVERYTHING COULD BE IN THEORY, like a purely Lockean society! But we ALL KNOW that leaders are flawed. We ALL KNOW that human nature gets in the way of THE PERFECT SOCIETY.

So I'm not going to look at Bush's STUPID FACE and GET ANGRY anymore. Even if it's yet another picture of him spitting forth some maxim of the PROFOUNDEST IDIOCY. (Yes, I know it's 'most profound,' but sometimes one has to take grammar into one's own hands.)

lol I know it's old news by now, but some German politician compared Bush to Hitler. AVOIDING DOMESTIC ISSUES WITH WAR. You can't deny the comparison, though. Now we're going to declare war on Germany. SEE, I CAN PREDICT THE FUTURE. OR MAYBE IT'S JUST THAT BUSH AND HIS COHORTS ARE *THAT* painfully SCRIPTABLE. Who KNOWS! : D *is not bothered*

Haha. : D It doesn't matter that our civil liberties are being RAPED by the Bush administration AS WE SPEAK. : D It doesn't matter that our politicians care nothing for the overwhelmingly anti-war stance of most Americans AND, FRANKLY, the rest of the WORLD. It doesn't matter that our economy is down the tubes already and will GET EVEN WORSE if we shovel more dollars into the BIG WAR MACHINE. No, it doesn't matter. : D
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Monday, September 23rd, 2002

Time:12:01 pm.
It's Komrade's birthday! : D

SO! I'm considering double majoring, you see! I figure grad school admissions officials will have one look at my EXTRA ENDEAVORS and say, GASP! YES! WE WANT YOU AT OUR SCHOOL!

Then, of course, my parents and Mount Holyoke teachers tell me that grad schools don't care if you double major or not. >:|

I wrote a story last night for Creative Writing. I think I'm NOT VERY ADEPT WITH THIS MEDIUM and should NEVER BECOME A WRITER. Certainly, my idea (and many variations thereupon) has been "done before," not surprisingly. But it's written well. AS SUCH, we are faced with a question: WHICH IS more important? THE writing, or the IDEAS PRESENTED THEREIN!?!

Off to Torrey 'Grab N Go'.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Friday, September 20th, 2002

Time:6:15 pm.
JEEZ. A profoundly lackadaisical day.

My school's food is B-A-D, BAD. It seems a girl who works in dining services was told to dump out a big vat of soup. THEY DIDN'T tell her why she was disposing of it. When she did, though, she saw that there was an inch of WRITHING MAGGOTS at the bottom of it.

Also, the cucumbers are all about four weeks old. *not impressed in the least* and the lettuce is strange colors.

They don't post nutrition information, either. They think it would EXACERBATE PEOPLE'S EATING DISORDERS. *is so annoyed* IDIOTS. Some of us are VEGETARIANS and WANT TO KNOW if Food X has been cooked with CHICKEN BROTH or not.

So now I'm resorting to a whole wheat roll, which seems to be about the only food Dining Services does well. Jerks.
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Wednesday, September 18th, 2002

Time:7:14 pm.
Mount Holyoke rated #23 in the US. Not too bad, considering the thousands of colleges that fill and decorate this country.

Everything is annoying me. My roommate keeps playing THE SAME Tool SONGS OVER AND OVER, and I fucking HATE Tool. I need more sleep. I wake up in the morning and feel not at all rested.

My mood is "tempestuous," yet such a setting does not exist in the "current mood" pulldown menu.

OH CHRIST, I just FORGOT about the thing I was supposed to go to tonight. ugghhhhh I need some fucking sleep before I kill someone.
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Tuesday, September 17th, 2002

Time:7:49 am.
I'm awake. Joy to the world. *falls over dead*

And just as I try to burn Komrade's CD(s?), I realize I am without the requisite software. DUHHH. WHAT HAPPENED TO the old one I used to have!? VANISHED WITHOUT A TRACE, that's what. For the love of it all!!!

THE TRAGEDY OF RICHARD III is a good play. "Richard" reminds me of a well-worn chocolate. Blarhgh, I'd rather have vegetables, truth be told.

The more I read about Bush's WAR ON TERROR/IRAQ, the more I want to curbstomp him. I hope he gets assassinated. <--- I'M NOT SORRY I SAID IT! FREE COUNTRY

Now is the time to give academia a big hug and APPROACH CLASS.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Monday, September 16th, 2002

Time:6:30 pm.
SLOW SLOW SLOW SLOW. COMPUTER HAS TO INCREASE SPEED ALREADY. NO PATIENCE ON USER END. END USER LICENSE AGREEMENT! Everyone knows. STOP HIDING YOUR SECRET PANTIES

Creative Writing won't be too much fun if I'm saddled with a bunch of bland dweebs. Today we had this assignment, you see. AN ASSIGNMENT. We had to write a SHORT STORY according to these guidelines foisted upon us by the professor. TOO MANY RULES, I mentally protested.

RULES: Two characters, one male, one female. Have to have SOME SORT OF RELATIONSHIP, be it OVERTLY UBERSEXUAL or JUST FRIENDS. Or whatever happens to be in between. Anyway, they have to be OUT in the WORLD (as opposed to inside a house), and they have to encounter a BAG!! A BAG with SOMETHING IN IT.

By this point, we've written all this crap, and Doctor Professor says: STOP! TURN TO THE PERSON NEXT TO YOU and describe your characters, the situation they're in, etc. And have them DO THE SAME to you. And YOU have to come up with something that could BE IN THEIR BAG. And they'll DO THE SAME to you. See?

I was stuck with this very boring girl. She seemed nice enough, but uhm. So she told me about her characters, one of whom was named MICHAEL. You know the story's boring if the characters have boring names, that's what I always say. Her characters are TWO HIGH SCHOOL KIDS FLIRTING. Oi.

My characters' names were Mr. H and Nora Chlorine. (No making fun.) THEY'RE FRIENDS. NOT LOVERS. AND THEY ENCOUNTER THE BAG. And... well, it's a stupid story. Agree with me!

So I told the girl next to me that IN HER BAG should be a LIVE TURKEY. I had several other ideas, none of which was normal enough to BLEND SMOOTHLY with her STORY. So, LIVE TURKEY IT IS! Yes. She pondered a while on my halfstory and said that IN MY BAG should be A LOT OF MONEY.

*sob* Of all the boring... ARGH, SO MANY BETTER IDEAS. If it were up to me, my bag would have PEACHES AND NOSES in it. That was my original plan, you see. But A TON OF MONEY. AUGH. I am too ashamed to say how I ended the stupid story. Needless to say, it was the dumbest thing I've ever written.

My roommate slept about eighteen hours last night/today. ALSO EATS WHOLE BOXES OF LIME COOKIES BUT WHO IS COMPLAINNING!?! Shares Ferrero Rocher goodies with me, too.

I took a plastic straw and sliced it in half with my swiss army knife. ALL THE WHILE, I couldn't help but think: IS THIS WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE A SURGEON? Count the hands on one hand. COUNT ON THE HANDS. A surfeit. IF MUSIC BE THE FOOD OF LOVE, PLAY ON. lol, I refuse to proofread this before SENDING IT IN. SUFFER A MUSCLE. CAPS MAKE THE SCREEN SCROLL FASTER! Come to school!
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Sunday, September 15th, 2002

Time:12:03 am.
Mood:NIHILANTH.
Hoorah, the OUDS (Oxford University DRAMATIC SOCIETY) production of Twelfth Night was great. : D Whoever played Cesario/Violet was very, very cute. Also, the ACCENTS! One of them was unbearably cockney, and the way he said "Malvolio" was utterly CHARMANT. : D

My first guess was that OUDS stood for Oxford University Department of Shakespeare. Doesn't that make sense, too?! Oh well.

Hey, did you hear about the new pirate movie?! It's rated ARRRR. : D?

Heh. Anyway. "Samba Magic" by BASEMENT JAXX is a fun song.

WOW. SUBJECT LINE. GOLLY.

Also, both Tamazer and Sophie see fit to dislike me at this particular juncture in time.

It took a while before I realized that all players with a ping of "5" are bots.

If you're English and you love Morrissey, you call him "Moz." Eh?

Maybe a kiss before I leave you this way?!
Your lips are so cold, I don't know what else to say.
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Friday, September 13th, 2002

Time:11:25 pm.
Someday, I will learn to play the cello. What a fabulous instrument it is! Whereas the violin occasionally issues an earbreaking screech, the cello is somber and stately. It has such a unique, rich timbre. Wow.

Well, it'll either be the cello or the piano. I used to take piano lessons, and although I was no prodigy, I wasn't half bad at it. I was, however, significantly younger -- maybe eight or nine -- and my appreciation for music was, uh, severely underdeveloped. It's frustrating. You have to learn about chords and worry about handspans and remember what the hell that symbol means and so much more.

Two years ago, I took a music course at my old high school. I remember struggling with chords, drum scores, and practically everything else. I knew I didn't have a talent for composing music. I loved music, but I couldn't make it. Eventually, our Final Assignment was upon us, and we each had the job of composing our own song on the computer. (We had some sort of software for this.) Anyway, as I created my song, I found myself annoyed with the drums. They just weren't sounding right with the rest of it. I toyed with them a bit more, thinking back on what the teacher had told us about them, and finally, FINALLY, I got it right.

For just a few measures, I had the drums sounding perfect. I was more than a little overjoyed. Not because I had found the key to fixing the rest of my work, but because I realized that I could create that sound I had always thought was so cool in rock music. So, it seems to me, part of the joy of being a musician is being able to make those great sounds you always loved in your favorite songs. There's no better way to put it, I think.

I found a song I made ages ago on Fruity Loops. It's called "St. Beverly & THE TOUCANS." It's not the same song if the last words aren't capitalized, you see. I quite enjoy it!! : D It's nothing brilliant, but it's entertaining enough.

Well, time for sleep. I ranwalked a little under six miles today. Oh, the fatigue. But hey, Edna St. Vincent Millay wrote a sonnet called "What Lips My Lips Have Kissed and Where and Why." What a great title. : D Well, maybe there wasn't any other option for such a sonnet; after all, you have to carefully crawl along the junglegym's bar and watch about iambic pentameter. You know what I mean.

If god came down on Christmas day
I know exactly what he'd say
He'd say 'Oi to the punks and Oi to the skins
But Oi to the world and everybody wins.'
Comments: Read 3 orAdd Your Own.

Time:1:37 pm.
Well, Autumn's predictable as ever. I ran into her at Wilder, so she asked me to walk with her to the post office to pick up some boxes. So I did.

Then, just as we were passing her dorm, it occurred to me that I hadn't yet seen her room. "Oooh, can I see your room?!" I asked. "No!" She said. "Not now!"

"Come on, why not?"
"Because you always stay too long!"
".... You wouldn't have said that to any of your other friends."
"But you always stay too long."

Wow. Sorry. All those times I thought we were having fun together, she was secretly hoping I'd leave. How nice. Anyway, I told her to forget it, and walked back to my own dorm.

In other news, my roommate and I are still getting along great. She's so generous!! She always invites me to "smoke out" with her because she thinks I'm funny when I'm intoxicated. Actually, I'm more idiotic than anything, but whatever.

So we went to see "Bourne Identity" last night, completely trashed. It was quite an experience. I barely remember any of the movie, but all I could concentrate on is how disgusting the female lead acted. Yeah, it's Lola from "Run Lola Run." Franka Potente, or something. She does better when she's not trying to be all "OOOOOH I'M SCARED!!" "OOOOH JASON PUT DOWN THE GUN!!!" and such. Come on, don't be such a pansy. Aghhh. And could SHE and HE be ANY MORE mismatched as a moviecouple? Augh.
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Wednesday, September 11th, 2002

Time:10:31 am.
It's Semptember 11. Gurgle. Happy birthday, Greg!!

Urgh, I need more sleep than I'm currently getting. And I have to stop smoking dope with my roommate. It screws me up pretty badly. *was completely nuts two nights ago* Also, MORE SLEEP wouldn't kill me.

I LOVE the guitar in "NO MORE TEARS" (Ozzy Osbourne)! What a great song. : D

Well, off to my MILE RUN. BUT FIRST, THE WATER.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Tuesday, September 10th, 2002

Time:6:16 pm.
AUGH. Tomorrow is the September 11 anniversary. People, whether you're American or not, prepare to be RE-INUNDATED with the same propaganda you thought HAD DIED BACK IN JANUARY. Everyone and their dog will proudly display UNITED WE STAND! t-shirts. American flags will be EVERYWHERE. All over newspapers and the TV will be people sobbing and hugging, PURPOSELY REOPENING THE WOUNDS or whatever.

Can't wait. And you can be sure it won't stop after tomorrow. *barf*

I've been thinking about seeing grapes from helicopters and whatsuch. Think of neutrons -- they're small, aren't they? What if you piled 87346587649239327549234 neutrons up into a BIG HEAP? Would you SEE anything? HOW MANY NEUTRONS WOULD IT NEED TO BE before you'd see a HEAP? But it doesn't make any sense, because neutrons are too small to see ANYWAY, regardless of whether or not they're in a heap. THERE MUST BE SOME FACTOR I AM NOT CONSIDERING.

AND you can't see a grape from a helicopter. BUT if you were to AMASS several MILLION GRAPES together in ONE SPOT, you, in your AIRBORNE GLORY, may just SEE IT out of the corner of your EYE THAT IS ALL TEARY BECAUSE IT'S THE ONE-YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF THE SEPTEMBER 11 ATTACKS. FOR THE LOVE OF IT ALL.

Off to the SuperFoodMart with Claire! :D?
Comments: Add Your Own.

Monday, September 9th, 2002

Time:1:46 am.
I LISTENED TO Dope Nose AGAIN. RIVERS, I WANT TO CLOBBER YOU. Stop whining, you pansy. You sound like you're being kicked to death in that song. God, I hate emo! I HATE EMO!

OKAY! That felt better. I'm going to sleep. : D
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Sunday, September 8th, 2002

Time:9:17 pm.
Jeez, what happened to Weezer? "Dope Nose" is ridiculously dumb. It's catchy, okay, but the best word for it is VAPID. Well, looks like they sold out. No surprise there. Guess I won't be shelling out the cash for "Maladroit." What a waste, Rivers. What a waste.

I've become really enamored of this song by the Pet Shop Boys called "Always on my Mind." It's fabulous! Very 80's and very heartfelt. VERY VERY VERY. It makes me think of Maison Ikkoku. : D

Oh, and the New York Dolls are really great. I've only just started listening to them, and I already like them a lot. There's one song of theirs I especially like called "It's Too Late." : D Hoorah. OOOO, THE BASSLINE! lol and the lead singer!! ~~BUT HOW SHE EVER GONNA LOVE YOU WHEN SHE CAN'T PARLEZ-VOUS YOUR FRANCAIS?!?

Well, better be GETTING BACK to my GEOLOGY.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Friday, September 6th, 2002

Time:8:40 pm.
I will never understand teenagers who say "Person X and I are going to get married!" People don't understand how much things will change in the course of those resulting years. It just serves to remind me of how clueless teenagers are about everything. Person X will go off to college and meet new people. Person X will have all but forgotten you in the course of a month since s/he doesn't see you and converse with you as much. So, like, what's the point? Stop setting the course of your lives in stone when you're sixteen.

To continue with this depressing theme, I abhor people who get married and then find themselves attracted to other people. Maybe it's just human nature. Maybe I don't know anything about marriage or relationships. Maybe my standards are too high. But.... It just seems so WRONG for some fifty-year-old married man to flirt with waitresses half his age. Blegh. Just get a divorce already, you scum. There's no bloody point in marrying someone you won't end up staying in love with forever. This is 'the sanctity of marriage,' morons!!

LOL I just talked to this girl (Claire) who lives on the second floor of my dorm... she's friends with my roommate, so she comes here a lot. She saw my NMH diploma sitting on the shelf and exclaimed, YOU WENT TO NORTHFIELD MOUNT HERMON?! YES!, I said. It seems she knew a lot of the people I went to Greece with. : D I have a bunch of GREECEPICTURES on the wall, one of which contains LUKE and IAN, whom she was very surprised and overjoyed to see. : D

She went through the list of NMH people she knew, and I knew all of them. : D Finally, she mentioned Rebecca. SHE WAS MY SENIOR YEAR ROOMMATE!, I squawked, wearing a big grin. WHOA, REALLY!?!, Claire said. YEAH, I declared. : D IT'S A SMALL WORLD AFTER ALL.

lol I just found this boy I used to know at NMH on LiveJournal. *wonders* We used to talk on the school's chat server a lot, but then we just stopped. lol he has such a strange concept of HTML. *fathoms*

Well, Twelfth Night will be showing quite soon. I'll have to go see it... but when?
lol, I wonder if we'll get to see the Oxfordians OFFSTAGE at any point. I envision a small clot of Brits traveling around campus, noting the scenery and buildings. *sneeze*. They'll be all too eager to soak up the EXOTIC AMERICAN CULTURE (well, not THAT exotic, since you can find a little piece of America wherever you go). But, at the same time, they'll be awkward in the way that only BRITS CAN BE. : D?

Here's a thought: "BRITS" sounds rather... grainy, doesn't it? I mean, a big bag of BRITS wouldn't be out of place at all among the big bags of BARLEY, RICE, OATS, and WHEAT. See my point? You could make a cereal out of Brits, too. CHOCOLATE FROSTED SUGAR BRITS. Hoorah.
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Thursday, September 5th, 2002

Time:6:27 pm.
lol I'm exhausted. This year is going to be a lot better than last year, I can tell.

My new roommate is great. She and the last one are on two opposite extremes of one spectrum -- Rizwana, last year's roommate, was very conservative, very quiet, and, uhm, not always particularly exciting. Robyn, the new one, is quite the party animal. I explained my painful HEAVYBOX SITUATION to her, and she said, TAKE MY CAR! and foisted the keys upon me. : D *was very grateful* It's a comfortable car. The gas pedal is a little weird, but it's fun to drive. *didn't want to get out* lol she's so trusting! She barely knows me, and she gives me her keys!! : D

My father is still sending me depressing emails. What's bizarre is that my parents and I are fighting so much recently -- when I was a younger teenager, we almost never fought at all. Now, though, it's at least one fight a week with these people. HERE, ALLOW US TO RAISE YOUR CONFIDENCE ABOUT YOUR ACADEMIC PERFORMANCE, they say. YOU'D DO WELL IF ONLY YOU DIDN'T DO POORLY. LAST YEAR WAS A DEBACLE. IT WAS TERRIBLE. YOU WASTED YOUR TIME AND OUR MONEY. DO IT AGAIN AND YOU'RE NOT GOING BACK TO COLLEGE. ALL YOU HAD TO DO IS STAY FOCUSED. LAST YEAR, YOU DID NOT STAY FOCUSED. LAST YEAR, YOU....

Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad. Confidence raised!
... And they wonder why I don't want to talk to them. If you think I'm exaggerating, I promise you I'm not. My father is notorious for LECTURE AFTER LECTURE AFTER LECTURE. Saying the same thing, over and over again: YOU DID BADLY. DON'T DO BADLY ANYMORE. Okay, Dad. REMEMBER HOW BADLY YOU DID? WELL, IT BETTER NOT HAPPEN AGAIN. Yes, Dad. HEY, AND TRY TO DO BETTER THIS YEAR, ALL RIGHT? OTHERWISE THERE WON'T BE A NEXT TIME. All right, Dad.
It's like he thinks I'm too dense to get it the first time. Or that I'm too unmotivated to care. When I don't jump up and down with glee and enthusiasm to GET ALL A'S, he thinks I'm depressed. Uh, stop overanalyzing things and just let me be, for the love of all things sacred. (If I ever said that to him, he'd fly into a rage. This is why my father and I don't get along as much as we might.)

I resolve to expend less journalspace on the academic situation. It's making my head numb.

Furthermore, I actually had some sort of lofty philosophical thing I wanted to write about, but I can't seem to find the right words. A long day it has been.

Oh hey, we're starting Twelfth Night in Shakespeare class. We're having some acting troupe from Oxford (England) hop the pond and come act it out for us. Huzzah! What really intrigues me, though, is King Lear. I read bits and blocks of it back when I was at Harvard, and it seemed quite fascinating. Some SCHOLAR of HIGH REPUTE mentioned in an introduction that KING LEAR IS A PLAY THAT CANNOT BE ACTED. NO ONE CAN DO IT PERFECTLY, he insisted. I have to wonder about that.

Anyway, off to the dinner. I refuse to proofread this thing before I click the POST button...
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