Adventure and Misadventure
Here I am, back in Eugene again... this strange place where I am slowly weaving my story. I spent four days in lovely Palm Beach, Florida. Yes, I came back a day early to be with my family. What was I thinking? I was thinking that spending a day alone with AC Speyer and Rita didn't sound like fun. That, and I was already sunburnt and itchy beyond belief. Allow me to elaborate: Justin and his dad left for St. John's on Friday morning. I had some overlap time before I left, the opp. came to go home and I took it. I think I'd had enough adventure and misadventure for a while.

I'm going to refrain from recouning the trip to Florida until Justin comes back with the digital photos I took for the weblog. [and I still need my film developed] I couldn't help but writing while I was there, hard copy. This weblog really has me going. So look forward to a lengthy tale, divided into day long accounts. Don't worry, I shall give them their own pages. As a sneak preview, I will say that I spent some time in the emergency room. And I ate alligator and saw real dolphins like 2 feet away. And there are some boobies in my story, but not much about hot guys since I really only have eyes for Wolf Pup. (though I did meet a cute chick from NY named Angel ; ) Ahh, I have finally stopped itching from my damn sunburn so I can relax and go to bed. But first, a word...

I went to Church with my family today, for the first time in ages. Easter and Christmas are pretty much the only services I care for anymore. I've always been fond of Easter, even if it is overcommercialized. It's still a white-magic holiday, and so utterly pagan that the Christians can't hide the fertility rites. Anyway, their Church is one of those "alive' Christian churches where people raise their hands and sing the same bad guitar music every week. Actually, the pastor is really great and has this cute south-african british accent but besides that, it's all hokey-pokey.

I was impressed when I walked in the door. I really LIKE the atmosphere of a church. Usually, so many good feelings. It was almost overwhelming and euphoric at first. I kind of stood there like a silly kid in a cathedral until I realized that this was your average-joe basement service and people were looking at me. Faith is a good thing. I patiently observed most of the church while they sang, and listened to the sermon with open ears. Everything said made sense.

I guess you could say I'm a believer. But in what? In a higher power... in magic, in essence, in life. I guess I'm animistic, maybe even pantheistic in a way. But I don't understand Christianity. It has good beliefs [for the most part].... but the fundamental of CHRIST is beyond me.

Okay, let's say Christ really lived. I'd believe that. Let's say he was a great teacher. I believe that too. Let's even say he was a demi-god, and I'll accept it. What I don't understand is WHY PEOPLE WORSHIP HIM. Christ was created to lead people to god. I kind of see him as a sort of 'zen master.' But what purpose does he serve in a religion that claims the only way to god is "through him"? I think he'd be offended; he was humble... I think he'd say "worship God, not me!" I think he would tell people that it was beside the point that he lived and died, as long as they believe in God.

If we consider that Christ and God are one and the same, that's another thing entirely... but to say that no one can reach God unless they worship a man, and believe he rose from the dead with all their heart is asking the wrong thing. Christ is a condiut, in my opinion. A teacher and a wise man... but God is God and to get to him through one man's teaching may be a path but it can't be the only past. Does one worship the zen master on the way to enlightenment? No... [though christianity is not zen by any means...] It seems to me hypocritical to worship a great teacher in a religion that forbids idols.

Can't we see God's teaching through God himself, rather than through Mohammed or Christ? What about a religion called, maybe "GODianity" or something... Can you imagine what THAT would have done for history? A people united, perhaps?

Come on, people... Let's leave out the middle man. It just makes so much more sense.

*************
Food for thought: Disney and Final Fantasy together?? Hmm.

Spring Break
My So-Called Life is on hiatus until I get back from Florida next Sunday, the 31st.
I hope you all have a safe and enjoyable spring breaks!

SUSHI
Damn, I can't get an earlier flight tomorrow... but I am determined to get out to Toyoda's for some REAL good sushi! And their webpage just got a COMPLETE facelift! It's so great! I'm excited....

Boredom
Suddenly I am extremely jealous that Alex and Dini got to take off already. My finals (Japanese- good, VisComm 96%, Econ 85%) were finished at 2PM yesterday and all I've done since then, really, is sit around and feel slightly stoned. I'm bored. So at least I'm taking care of all the lose ends before I take off tomorrow. I managed to get $80 back on books this term... lucky me! Ty moved out yesterday so now it's just Reilly and I. Thank God he's decided to be sociable again... maybe it's because I made cookies. I need to start packing and get little Rupert ready to go stay at Sara's house.

I wish my flight were earlier in the day. Maybe I should call Delta and find out if they have anything before 6:30 PM that they can put me on. I wish I were so lucky as to be taking a road trip too. Not that I don't think I'm lucky to be going to Palm Beach, it's just that I would love it even more if I had an extra 2 weeks to drive there and back and see the states along the way. But then, I have so much to look forward to this summer. I plan on going to Michigan for at least a week... I should probably look into getting tickets for that now. And we'll definitely do the Glacier trip, ne, Wolf Pup? NE??? *grins* That's an excellent road trip, and it will be nice driving along the Columbia this year instead of heading out through Eastern Washington where it's pretty desolate. This will be our third summer going to Glacier. Hurray for traditions!! (and for getting to go to Toyoda's tomorrow night for some REAL sushi!) Hurray for almost 2 years!!

I've spent most of today looking forward to next winter break, actually. Yeah, I know that's a bit far ahead and no one wants to hear me brag but wouldn't you be giddy if THIS were where you were going? WOULD'T YOU?!?!? Aaaaaah... can't wait! *hops* Okay, enough gloating. Time to go back to being bored.

Looking Forward, Looking Back
No, Sam, you're right; the rant really didn't have much to do with coming out. In fact, it never even crossed my mind. There was nowhere to come out of....

Read Sara's Open Diary entry, it encapsulates what I was trying to say pretty well, too...
**************
I was just inspired to go through my blog and read my past entries. I wanted to know if, as with all my other journals, I would find the entries to be weak and boy-crazed and be embarrased for writing them. To a certain extent, I did find some evidence of that. Mostly in the form of private posts, which were more dramatic, twisted, and abstract than "boy crazy," or, in my case, just obsessive. Based on looking through old diarys, I think I can accurately say that (as much as it may be poignant at the time) entries focused around "love life" situations read as boring or shallow. Hell if I ever find that much excitement going back and reading about mine... I'm usually like, "god, look at what stupid thing I was doing this time..." or "aww, how sweet... I'm feeling nauseated now..." I remained from referring to Justin in this blog for some time. But really, he's such an important character in my life it's hard not to at least mention him in passing. For some people, I still refrain from using names when I'm writing emotionally and speak about them only abstractly... out of respect. These entries are usually emotional pleas and I hope they'll know I'm talking to/about them. When I find myself using names at all frequently, it's because I'm acounting something that happened. These are usually the entries I regret writing.

Still, looking through the past was interesting because at some points I wished I COULD have used names, or explained what I was thinking more thoroughly, even if it was a plea. It's also become really obvious to me whien I wrote in the midst of my progesterone-induced hell.... essentially from the beginning of the blog until about the middle of January. Let me tell you, I was SO f*cking depressed. I was blowing everything WAY out of proportion. Or ... maybe I was just more in-touch and everything real was just so much more painful than it is now. Right now I just feel disconnected, neutral, like I really don't give a fuck. It's good, I guess, but I'm waiting for it to hit me again. At least winter is over. But what interesting things will I write in the summer time? Like most writers, I'm really inspired when I feel in the dumps...

So this blog is lame and isn't lame... at least it's partially succeeded at becoming something other than a calendar of events or a chronicle of social nightmares, which is as I hoped it would be. I can say more for it than any of my other journals, though it definitely has a different flavor to it. I've written in it more regularly than any other "blank book" I've owned... and it still has endless potential. I'm not tired of it yet and I don't plan on getting tired of it anytime soon. I like to write too much.

I've succeeded here in creating another lame pseudo-introspective entry, (heh) so I'll let it end now. Another day before spring break, no more finals. We'll see where the weeks ahead take us...

Coming Out
Blogger crapped out on me in the middle of updating the blog and amending this post. It's been crapping out more and more lately, I hope it's not about ready to collapse under it's own weight. That would piss me off... I'm SO thoroughly enjoying myself wallowing in the rights of free speech here.

This Blog has finally done something for me, other than allow me to vent and express small amounts of personal introspection. After the enlightening conversaton in the ETA forums and the rant here, we've had several interesting and revealing discussions about sexuality. Someone's response to one of my posts surprised me... I said I wasn't sure if my philosophizing made any difference, and someone replied that I made a difference every time I 'came out to someone.' I was almost taken aback at being associated with the term 'coming out,' which disconcerted me. Why did this bother me? Then it struck me... that last rant was the first time I have, officially, in any sense, "come out." That, to me, seems really weird. I don't think I like the term 'to come out,' it gives the impression that there was something secretive, something to hide. I've never felt I had anything to hide so 'coming out' just never seemed like something to do. My sexuality is a big part of my life, yes, and I accept it wholeheartedly (though this wasn't always the case) but it never seemed to me something to announce in that sense. But I guess I did. So yay me. Or something?

I always associated 'coming out' with being 'in the closet.' Have I ever been in the closet? Maybe when I was in middle school and afraid of everything other people said about me. Not for many years. I've always considered myself open-minded. Maybe it's cheating to play the whole field. It just seems like the natural thing to do. I'm no activist; I'm not a member of the LGBTA, though I have friends who are. I have never pursued a non-heterosexual relationship, though I have considered it. It just doesn't seem like 'coming out' should be an event revolving around my sexuality. It just *is*. To turn it into something like that seems to categorize it, and that makes me nervous. You can't categorize something intrinsic, engrained, intuitive So, congratulate me if you will, but I never had anything to hide. I'm just me... searching...

Revisit the Rant

P.S. My cat came back! He isn't lost : )

LOVE and PEACE!
Today it felt like spring. Just warm and fluid. The air was almost an embrace....

It's wonderful, I have the window cracked, just a bit and there are flowers blooming outside. Ah, l'amour....

Back to studying, more later if I can find my mind.... and my cat. Where is little Rupert? We let him out this morning and he hasn't come home and is nary anywhere to be seen.

And.. AHEM... I am number nine in a search for "my sister gives me blow jobs." Somehow this strikes me as a great accomplishment. Farther up the list is another weblog called "My Miserable Life." I must aspire to be more like them.

Today, in the spirit of Wil Wheaton, I will list the top ten things I am most intuitively grateful for (in no particlar order):

1. going to Florida this Saturday
2. that Jusin will buy me unsweetened cranberry juice and bread at Sundance when I am too sick to walk
3. the sound of songbirds, I'd forgotten...
4. nostalgia
5. little Rupert
6. daffodils
7. love, and being mature enough to recognize that it isn't always what you dreamed it would be
8. the way that grass smells
9. freedom of speech
10. you know who you are... you know your name is sacred

Listen to Mandlegroove, the SoTM.

Cheer up!
No, I'm not a raging bitch... it's just better than studying!

I got Yams!! Erm, well, Justin got me yams! This makes me happy! I love yams! (even if they really are sweet potatoes :)

A Rant for Greek Love
There are few things that bother me more in this world than assaults on sexuality.

This is most likely due to the fact that I grew up in a Christian home and was endlessly bullied and badgered about the religion and sexuality of my best friend's parents. My best friend, on the other hand, grew up in a Wiccan home with two moms and got no end of shit from everyone from gradeschool on.

In seventh grade I was "born-again" and subsequently attended church camps, was baptized, and became a member of the Presbyterian church. I sought religion because I wass empty, because I was searching. What I found filled the emptiness but not in ways that I was comfortable living. There wa no emptiness because there was no space to be empty, there was only a narrow corridor that we call the "righteous path." There was no right or left. There was no searching. What little space I had was filled with bitterness toward the world for being 'wrong.' I couldn't love anyone because I couldn't love myself. I couldn't accept my own adolescent urges and I couldn't understand how I was supposed to respond to my friends. This is really your typical coming-of-age story, but I chose to come of age in the church. Not a good idea. Ripe for fuck-uppage.

I left the church in ninth-grade, Freshman year. The straw that broke the camel's back was their take on how I should deal with my best friend. I was told to save her or leave her as a sinking ship. There was no acceptance for pagans, especially pagans with lesbian tendencies. Her Wiccan youth group, the "Diana circle," started to sound a lot more appealing than my own. All the kids in my youth group did was sneak out and smoke in the back. There was no spirituality, there was no embrace; there were only rules and the sheep that followed them. I guess you could say that when I left my life as a 'born-again," I killed myself, but I found out what it was like to be truly alive.

Part of the reason that I am so vehemently angry toward narrow-minded people (and yes, this seems like a double-standard) is that I had to witness every ounce of pain they caused my best friend. I began to understand that my best friend's parents were not only the best parents she could ask for (and I was truly jealous of their coolness) but they also loved each other very much. They became some of my best friends. From about sixth grade on, when her parents announced their 'engagement' in a local paper, she suffered. The community was full of quiet bigots who dissented just enough to tell their children about what was "wrong." These children, not yet old enough to make up their own minds, set their parents views to work on my best friend, and viciously. I was the one who fought the fights... she was too scared to know how. Eventually, her scars made her numb and I had to be the voice. As we grew older, so did our homophobic peers. Some of them dropped their weapons and got a real life. Most of them got more angry as they learned bigger words to voice their bigotry. Middle school was hell on earth. High school was just as bad. Her pain was my pain. First, because I had to stand up for her and was frightened to learn how brutal classmates could be. Second, because I was already struggling to deal with my own sexuality and I made her fight my own.

So you don't like gay people? I wish I could tell you, "Good for you." I can say that everyone is entitled to their opinion. I can try to be loving of those who hate people who are different. I can pray that they keep their opinions internalized and hope that these beliefs that make them "feel good" will make them lead a good life. I can try, but I know these people. I know that even though they quietly dissent, their children will be their voice. I know that as these children grow older, some of them will keep their voice. I know that the anger of those quiet and loud alike will bleed the hearts of people like me, my best friend, and her parents. I also know that these people do not deserve these wounds.

Homosexuality is not the symptom of a sick society. A sick society claims to be liberal and is truly conservative. A sick society calls itself it is "loving" and "Christian" and then proceeds to selectively murder the rights of individuals within it. A sick society is full of people who quietly hate others because they are different, because they are "wrong." It is a heterosexual world, people. Straight people are in no way threatened by homosexuals... heterosexuality OWNS the media, it is in almost every societal transaction. For every march for rights, for every gay union that "flaunts" the homosexual lifestyle, there is a heterosexual equivalent. On every street corner, in every magazine, in every coffee shop... television, billboards, t-shirts. The world shouts "I'm so FUCKING straight!" and then whispers to the homosexuals, "Be quiet, they'll HEAR you!" It makes me ill. And it is utterly indicative of our inability to understand sexuality.

Most people don't understand that embracing sexuality is as important as embracing spirituality. It is the embrace of self, yes, and the embrace of desire, but through these we learn to love and understand why we love. Sexuality is not about the act of sex. It is about intimacy: with self and with the world, GAY, STRAIGHT, or PLATONIC. It pains me to say it, because it is utterly cliche, but I think that fear of another's sexuality indicates discomfort with one's own.

After my honorable death from Christianity, I hesitantly proclaimed myself bisexual. I struggled with these issues in my journals over the last five years and finally realized that there was nothing to fear. I will love whom I love. I will fuck who I want to fuck. When I am with someone, I will love every moment of it because I can. I am comfortable with myself and I applaud those individuals whose relationships take them away from the beaten path. It takes a lot to be different in a world that claims to be open-minded and accepting but still persecutes based on fear.

I am tired of hearing people say that homosexuality is wrong. So many things we do are wrong, are 'unnatural.' We slaughter our planet, we sit on our asses and eat like gluttonous pigs, we neglect our families and our elders and we ignore these things. When the 'accepted' standard for relationships consists of a 50% divorce rate and an even higher potential for adultery and possible child abuse, I say to hell with it. And to hell with all who embrace the standard and "quietly dissent" against the rest. You keep your opinions to yourself? We hear you anyway. And it makes us laugh.

Note: This is in response to a thread in the webcam forums on Eta. [See Val's Cam, pages 25 onward]

Soup, Tea and Death Warmed Over
The Advent of the Snot Fruit
Ach, so this is what it feels like when a weekend of letchery catches up to you.

I REPENT!!! DEAR GOD, I REPENT!!!! Aaaaaaaaaaaugh...

Actually, this weekend was fairly lazy and comfortable, though we did facilitate the entry of a number of our friends to a pimps-and-hos party. We stayed for a bit before coming home and getting ripped ourselves. I'm such a lightweight. Bah.

So today I'm paying for it. In unfair ways! I'm healthy, dammit!!!! *POUTS* I'm also probably delirious at this point. I'll be okay when the bleeding stops. Uuugh.

********************
The Snot Fruit has nothing to do with my current situation. Rather, I was at albertsons picking up some steroid-enhanced chicken when I came across the zaniest looking thing in the fruit section... a small, fist sized, orange, spiky melon-thing. It was with mangos, kiwis, papayas, and such, so I figured it was good, whatever it was. I can't remember what it was called, but the sticker said something about a kiwi melon. Anyway, we took it home and sliced it open expecting some kind of fruity pulp on the inside but instead it was filled with BRIGHT GREEN GOOP. I wasn't turned off yet, so I slurped some of the goop which was contained in little seed-packets (envision a pomegranite here)... and it was.... engh. Well, it wasn't sweet and it wasn't sour. It tasted somewhere between a cucumber, underripe kiwi, and bannana. It wasn't GOOD but it wasn't horrid either. It was just... snotty.

Once we established that it wasn't good for eating, the "Snot Fruit" then became the abject fascination of my roomate, Ty. He, Justin, and I spent the better part of the next 20 minutes mutilating the poor fruit. It became a symbol of Alien insemination, boogers, and bug-things. It was really, hilarously, middle-schoolishly GROSS. And it was a riot. When you squeezed the spiky rind hard enough, the seeds splattered out in a high-powered burst. I told Ty he should shove a few seeds up his nose and sneeze. He didn't, but the image was enough.

The Snot Fruit is now sitting in a ziploc baggie on top of the microwave with my other fruit and it looks rather dejected. I don't think I'll eat the rest.

At least the $2.50 wasn't a complete waste. Anyone want some Snot?
**********
Nagae-sensei is leaving?!?! Unfair! I just had her for the first time and she was great and oh-so-kawaii! That makes me sad : ( At least Cat and I got a picture with her before she had to leave...

Dag-nabbit
Oh mamma am I tired. You know what I really want? I want to kick back with some friends, drink a few beers, and watch some football...
Wait, what the hell am I saying? That's not what I want... that's what the fat, bald, white guy in a wife-beater within me wants.*I* want either:

a) a nice long snuggle and some uninterrupted sleep time, no alarm
b) to hang out with some friends and watch some anime, old-school style. Eat some candy and popcorn, laugh at bad subs. Just like tokyo cyberpunk but with no desks & no weirdness. Anyone willing to take me up? I have can-dah ^^

Tim-may....TIMMAH!!! Timmmayyy...

Anyhoo.... ah, I'm glad to say that I'm signed up for Cinema Oshii next term, and the same crew shall be in the class. Fortunately, even though I only planned on taking 13 credits to give myself a bit of a break I can say that this class isn't exactly strenuous. Some part of me wonders why I'm signing up, though. Sou desu ne... *sighs* Need to see the people, I guess. Loneliness bites my @$$.

The current paper is going well though. At 12 pages I have all of eva covered (within the range of my topic) and most of Lain dealt with in some way (note form or otherwise). I think it will be long but acceptable and, hopefully, a decent read.

Erm, speaking of read.... will everyone who has seen the new issue of the OV let me know what you think of it? I especially want to get people's responses to the issue of 'rape culture' on campus. The cover article deals with the recent attacks on campus. It's a pretty editorial take and It seems to me a controversial subject to publish. As one of the higher-ups on the staff of the magazine, it would be interesting to know what you all think. (a sort of reader-response survey : ) I don't really have any say on what gets run or not, and I personally wouldn't touch this one with a 10-foot pole.... I wouldn't want to deal with the feedback unless I was sure it was an objective take.

If you can't get a hold of the OV (and you really should cause the cover art is HELLA cool...Here is the article in it's published format, as a .RTF file.
For contrast, here's the edit that I did... it got left out though, sometimes we mess up. =P
Comments, ne?

Treads
I feel like I've been thoroughly spanked. *smirks* It's my own fault really. Yesterday I tried treadmill for the first time. I always made fun of people on treadmills... why the hell don't they really run? I usually work out on EFX, elliptical trainers, the provide a low-muscular impact cardio workout. They're fun but after having used them for over a year, I'm bored. I went into the gym on my free time yesterday when class was cancelled and got shafted into using the stairclimber because everything else was full. That sucked royally after about 5 minutes. How boring! Then one of the StarTrak thingies opened up so I got on it. Treadmills have always scared me. I keep having visions of myself flying off the back and landing about 20 feet across the room while everyone laughs at me. That, and generally, half an hour of straight running usually is too much for me. Or used to be, in any case. I actually think they're pretty cool... though I won't be the first one to say that real trail running is better. I think I'll start using them, but only because I don't have a music device that's portable enough to carry on a track, and I need my tunes. Today I ran 3 miles, 10 minutes a piece. It's easy to see how treadmills can be good for training... I guess they're pretty cool, but not very exiting as far as excercize goes. My body had forgotten that running takes muscles. I almost fell off the thing AFTER it had stopped, and now I feel like I cowgirl. Yipee-cay-yay.

Oh, and Read This... It has much to be appreciated. I read it a while ago and then found it again today after somsone visited me from my post in response. It's just a little story, it will only take a few minutes of your time, but it's really beautiful in a funny way. That's how all of The Fray is.

Yume
Aaah... I had a dream with/in/about Japanese last night, for the first time. It must be the anime immersion. I was trying to explain te- form verbs to people... and, uh, we haven't even learned about those yet. It was at least a year and a half into French before I had my first French dream. I guess I really like Japanese ^^ It was so cool! I bet half of the stuff didn't even make sense. Tho when I've been watching anime I keep trying to dissect sentences based on the subtitles and most of the time I can figure out what the words I don't know mean.

Sam, there might be some of the new Oregon Voice in media services tonight... I know there will be next week. Alas, it's the last class though. Other than that, I don't think they're anywhere yet... we're distrubuting later tonight! : ) Erm... well, THEY'RE distributing... I'm going to class to watch Metropolis and stuff ^^ I think I'll bring a few OV issues by tho, one for Brown-sensei so I can get that extra credit for the book review. *cheesy laugh*

Anime
Well, after an extremely long dry period of no new anime, this term has again filled my quota. Cyberpunk revisted some old favorites and introduced some new... strange... stuff. I think that My Dear Marie was about the 'zaniest' robot anime I've ever seen. It was actually dumb enough to be *really* funny. I've even been picking up stuff outside of class, so as not to be left behind. I'm only a quarter of the way through bebop, but about half of the way through Trigun and just starting on Noir. Nothing beats Bebop though. It's really up there with Escaflowne in the top few and I've only seen till ep. 7. Noir is just... weird. I'm not sure if I like it. But ya can't judge a book by it's cover. Tonight I kicked back a bit and watched some Kenshin. It doesn't have quite the depth but boy is that manslayer sexy. Dig the evil eyes.

By the way, the new issue of the Oregon Voice is out tomorrow... be sure to pick one up so you can read my stupid review of the Napier book Anime from Akira to Princess Mononoke.

Login Incorrect
I woke up rather grudgingly this morning. I'm not sure why, but I haven't been falling asleep very easily the past few nights. Might be hormonal. Might be lonliness. Once I am asleep, I don't seem to be doing too much of interest. Pretty banal and nostalgic dreams... old corner stores, dusty roads, screen doors whose hinges squeak. Summer.

The reoccurring dreams are gone from me, an itch that I almost miss having. Give my mind something to wrap around. Let my sleeping self be challenged to think.

When I was attempting to nap yesterday, I did have a startling experience. As I was laying there, I started thinking about the corner store that Sian and my parents forbade us to go to when we were younger, the "Summit grocery." I think they told us not to go there because they sold alcohol/ tobacco to minors. Really, we didn't care, we weren't interested and we were probably TOO minor for them to even sell to us. We just wanted some damn candy. I thought about the few times we went and what we bought. Then my mind wandered across the street, to the field there in front of The Pool. That's what we called it, The Pool... I think it had a real name, but I don't remember what it was. Anyway, this is where I spent a few of my younger summers. Exclusively. I was either in the water or on the deck baking. That was when I did swim team. The only athletic activity until NOW that I was any good at. And proud of. I thought of the tennis courts next door, surrounded by high chain-link fences. I think I fell over the net of one of those courts once. Skinned both my knees.

Behind the courts was a field, short cut grass, sloped gently uphill to another residential area. Abbey Stauffer lived there. I barely knew her but I remember what she looked like and I remember her name. Come to think of it, I tried to sell girl scout cookies in that neighborhood once, but they were too yuppie.

Next to the Tennis Courts was Rec Park, the bane of our community. We were constantly having clean-ups and warned of needles in the dirt. I think that place scared me. But on the other side of the fence was Chapelle Elementary playground and Athoria. It was a blacktopped wonderland and we fervently defended it from evil. In my mind, I approached Chapelle from Wallace street, the street that intersected my own. I walked to school every day down that street but when I moved, I hadn't been back to Chapelle in some time. I remember the inside, I remember its L shape and how one of the Ls in the name plate by the front door 'dinged' when you smacked it. To my surprise, I couldn't remember what was down the street from Chapelle. My mind could take me everywhere else but not there. It was some place I didn't go. I was touring the whole city inside my head but when I came to Wallace beyong Chapelle... it was just... empty. I get the image of a residential area, maybe a busy street and... nothing. It was really confusing and very vivid. I wonder how different the whole place would look if I went back this summer. I'm thinking on it.

When I got up this morning, I went to check my Hotmail for some reason. I never check Hotmail... I've had the account forever but it's mostly a breeding ground for spam now. Anyway, the damn admin had disabled it for inactivity and because I didn't want to pay for unlimited access, they deleted all my files and wouldn't re-pop them. It's not new mail I care about, it's all the old stuff I had archived in there and visited every now and then. Messages from Sian, Lesley, Emilio, and Alex. Lots of them. Gone. Bastards. It's not that I looked at them all that often, it's just that they were THERE and I could read them and have them be REAL for a minute. And now I can't, ever again.

The web is a... strange... place...
Must share weird links. Thanks to Blake and Justin.

1. "Mommy, mommy! Make it talk!"
2. Hi-ho!!
3. Jam like a chimp, yo...
4. Blode and the Giant Bee
5. The Pygmy Shrew :: It's Fucked, Really

Bodies of the Dead
or, Given Pause
The remains of something sacred, something dear.

It was the Thesaurus that caught my eye; on the ground with its pages rainsoaked and curling to the sky. About waist high, on the raised ledge separating sidewalk and lawn lay the waterlogged remains of miscellaneous things, a discarded pile of rubbish in the bushes on the corner of 21st and Harris.

I was walking to campus in twilight's darkest hour, when perspective is all wrong and the world is a dim sepia. To me, this is always been a time when nothing is real. I don't know why the "junk" caught my eye but it was enough to get me to stop on my way to get a good seat for Cyberpunk. I noticed the handle of some tool sticking out of the pile, and pulled out a small trowel from under some socks and rags. I used it to uncover two other ruined books, something on winter and a book of poetry. Somehow the Thesaurus had fallen from the ledge where the other things lay in a heap. The rest of the trove was too random and strange for me to wrap my mind around. It struck me as somehow both nostalgic and bizarre. What was it doing there, discarded in the rain? It didn't look like garbage or the contents of a bookbag. In either case, the shrubbery around a residential lawn seemed a strange graveyard for trinkets... and perfectly good books gone to waste.

I walked on.

Nostalgia. Why does it grip me so often, now? What changes come upon me?

Again, we watched an anime that's probably more of a religion than anything else. It certainly wasn't written for its entertainment value. But Lain makes a good point. Several, in fact. We are only our memories. We are only the memories of others. In the end, we are not our bodies. We don't exist if we are not remembered. But...

Memories aren't just the past, are they? They are now; they are the future.

If this is true, and the only way we exist is in each other's memories, what are we living for? Human beings have ALWAYS strove (striven?) (strived?) to be immortalized... but that can't be the only meaning behind existence. If I live just to be remembered, why do I search for myself? My inner self that I seek to find will not be what is remembered, it will pass away and will mean nothing except to me during the brief spark that is my existence. But for me to give up this search makes MY existence superficial. For me to strive to make an impression on others just so they'll remember me is fruitless and trite. Where is the balance? Just hoping to succeed in finding self and making an impression simultaneously? It seems to me that this would only result in being remembered as selfish and ultimately forgotten? Who are the remembered people, then? Not the people who TRY to be remembered, but those who seem selfless. Do they seem selfless because they don't seek the self? This can't be... they must seem selfless because they have found theirselves and have moved on to greater things. Art, music, mathematics, benevolence. This is transcendence. I don't suppose you can force an impression, after all.

Then what am I? Certainly no smiling Buddha... perhaps a goddess of destruction? Perhaps a mother, a future womb? No. I am still just a girl... I am still looking.

Regardless, remembered or forgotten, we are all conencted. I will live on in something other than memory. Other than the line of my family. I will live on in the energy of my encounters with others. Forgotten in all but essence, we live on in how we turn the split seconds of each other's lives. In this way, my child will know your child if I have met you only in passing. In this way, your acquaintance meets me when he meets you.

This is why, when I say "don't tell me about it," it doesn't mean I don't want to hear. I'd rather meet the people in your life through the way they change you. I can see it in your eyes when something changes... that is all the introduction I need.

I returned home in the dark. The rain had stopped and the sky cleared in a circle above me. It's beginning to get warmer at night. I hope spring comes soon. A time for rebirth...

I am glad for the people I have met, for the awkward positions I put myself in. I still wish I could rewrite certain lines. I still wish for an idyllic past, for a shining future. I still want to be remembered. I still wish my life had a soundtrack. But I guess I'll settle for what I've got.

And I won't question any less.

Annotations:
- Today I tried to take a nap. When I lay down, the phone rang. When I'd just fallen asleep, the phone rang again. It was f*cking Discover Card. I will murder them, I swear to god. 20 minutes later, Reilly came home and turned on his radio. Loud. So much for that nap.
-Good News: Murray-san is getting Bebop on DvD! Who gots the HOOK-UPs??

Grey Street
Yes, I do have thoughts on the weekend too... they're just... slower.

Today is Sunday. Sunday in every sense of the word except the... sun. Lazy, laid-back, errand- running Sunday.

I spent most of the weekend playing catch-up with housework and errands, working out once or twice, and took evenings over in the dorms with Charles, who kindly treated me to Sakura's on Friday, watching Trigun and staying up late. Biking home at 2 AM does strange things to my mind. I don't think it's a good idea to play russian roulette with stop signs and intersections, but it certainly has given me an energy boost. At 2 AM, my brain seems to be able to let go to the extent that it refuses to think it could be my time to die careening down a hill and through a blind intersection. There were no cars. Why do I wish it had been a close call? What's wrong with me, thrill-seeking in the middle of the night on Harris? Do I want to die? No, yes... well, whatever. It'll happen someday anyway. Might as well make it fun.

Reilly hasn't spoken to me for a week. I always feel like backing down at this point. I can't stand cold wars. I'd rather things were openly wrong. I almost want to apologize for overstepping my bounds but so far I've refrained. That would be selling out, ne? I don't need to be friends with him.

I might as well try though. It is, after all, the end of the world. Might I ask, what the fuck is wrong with the Bush administration? I really didn't think that during my lifetime I'd have to fear nuclear holocaust. It seems we're regressing. It's enough to put the fear of god into ya. Maybe that's what the world needs. No, that's wrong. The world needs to be free of morons.

Current projects: Tokyo Cyberpunk paper, "GROWING UP A MACHINIC JUNKIE: Adolescent Introspection and Apotheosis through Technology" (Eva/ S.E. Lain), PIA [personal image assessment] for VisComm. I'm contemplating analyzing a scene from porn. Just to go out with a bang.

A small wish list: More trigun, More bebop, NOIR. Portable MP3 Player. Digital Camera. Chocolate.

Same as it Ever Was
This is one of my top five favourite songs of all time...

-------------------------------------------------------
The Talking Heads- Once in a Lifetime
-------------------------------------------------------

And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
And you may find yourself in another part of the world
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife
And you may ask yourself-Well...How did I get here?

[CHORUS] Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the money's gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground.

And you may ask yourself
How do I work this?
And you may ask yourself
Where is that large automobile?
And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful house!
And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful wife!
Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the money's gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground.

Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...

Water dissolving...and water removing
There is water at the bottom of the ocean
Carry the water at the bottom of the ocean
Remove the water at the bottom of the ocean!

[CHORUS 2x]

And you may ask yourself
What is that beautiful house?
And you may ask yourself
Where does that highway go?
And you may ask yourself
Am I right?...Am I wrong?
And you may tell yourself
MY GOD!...WHAT HAVE I DONE?

[CHORUS 2x]

Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...

"Dick and Balls"
quoth Julie Newton

A little randomness:

- AOL is now sending their "Version 7.0" [I thought they were beyond this?] CDs in TINS. I'm serious. Little, CD-case sized TINS. The Cd is in there, on a little flier about AOL, and the tin itself is packaged in plastic. The top come off and there you have your little CD-of-satan. I mean, all things considered, it's a neat little dealy-bob, but... ya can't really do MUCH with it, except maybe store a CD or some...flat things...
Anyway, the point is, WHAT A WASTE! I know AOL/Time Warner owns the frikkin' world, but isn't there some way that the government or some hippy tree advocacy group can take them to court for the extremely inefficient and disgustingly wasteful packaging??? It's really gross.

- Last weekend I went to see The Royal Tennenbaums with Justin and afterwards we theatre-hopped to Lord of the Rings. First time I've done that in a loooong while. It was really cool seeing it again, and we managed to walk in during my favorite part, the Khazad-Dum bridge scene. I finally got Justin to acknowledge that Elijah Wood did have a huge zit the last half of the movie that even makeup couldn't cover.

- Afterwards, for some reason, we got to talking about the Statue of Liberty, I think because it was in the Royal Tennenbaums. It somehow struck me that if the terrorists had run an airplane into the Statue of Libery instead of/as well as the WTC towers, America's reaction and retaliation would have been totaly different. We came to the concensus that if Liberty had had her head knocked off, though the loss of life would have been far less (are tourists a life form?), America might have been even MORE pissed off.

No, smashing Liberty would not have affected World Trade or killed countless thousand business people but an icon would have been irreparably damaged. People were worried about attacks on the Oscars and on the Olympics but I think this would have been far worse. The statue is sort of an heirloom, a gift, and not something that can be replaced. It is an icon that the most red-necked, unpolitical, backwater hick can associate with his country. What kind of statement would that have made? It would have been utterly, obscenely personal to America. EVERYONE would have flinched at that one.

- On that note, let me regress. Ah, yes, "dick and balls," quoth Julie Newton. Amazing. This morning VisComm focused on photographs and ethics, like I said above. After being almost horrified by the poignancy of the image of a drowned child and his family, Julie Newton directed us to concentrate on the last Joe Camel ad, the one that got him banned for "trying to sell cigarettes to kids."

"I had to have someone explain to me why this was pornographic," she said.

Well, this was amusing. Clare and I bantered back and forth for a little while over what exactly on Joe Camel WASN'T pornographic but what exactly he looked like was in question. A student in the class piped up and asked what I'm sure a number of people were thinking. "How is he 'pornographic'?"

"Well," said Julie Newton, indicating Joe Camel's head,"you have a dick... and you have balls."

Now I'm a pretty open and sexual person, but the way she said it, was for some reason both offensive and embarrasing. And... unprofessional? Maybe that was what bothered me. It was hella funny, yes, but in some way WRONG for her to say "dick and balls." I mean, aren't professors supposed to say "scrotum" or something? It was really disturbing.

And on that note, class ended.

s n o w

does anyone know why snow inspires nostalgia? why it is beautiful and sad? why it creates the hush of dreams?
i want to know.

********

i am frozen here in the moment before the opening of an eye.

i can feel change creeping into my life, slowly, a gentle but persistant hand. i am again on the golden plain with the past and future laid out around me, waiting to take the next step. the future is not shining, it is the same sepia as the past here, and the wind moves through it in the same silent arcs.

i am here because i stand at a crossroads. because my heart aches. because i haven't called for introspection, for revision. because it has found me.
it is a lonely place but i am stronger now, and independent. i have those who were my wind to thank for helping me spread my wings.

this plain is haunted- empty, desolate, but filled with ghosts of the past. shades of friends and family and lovers disconnect wander aimless through the branches... seeking...

there is a voice whispering in my ear. who is it? it is me...
how can it be? i am here. i am real, i am one alone.

but her hands are in my hair, cold, and i know that she exists as another possibility of a thousand branches in the tree of life. and i am as a ghost in her world as she is in mine. yet she has sought me here... why? i cannot hear what she says...
she draws me closer, her lips are at my ear and they move silently with her message.

she is one of a thousand... but one of the few who sit at the crook of the large branches. she has gone where i could not. her skin has seen the same sun a thousand miles away. she is more pure than i.

the ghosts move across the plain. they traverse my future, they own my past.

her words move through my thoughts like wind and with a living breath she passes through me and is gone across the plain. i am forgotten to her as, in a moment, she will be to me.

why did she find me, why does she haunt the life that is not her own?

she has kissed these invisible lips with a poison that draws me after her, into the realm of the past, into the realm of the future...
these feet have still to wander...

i drift across the plain of my existence, a ghost in my own life, and i hear her words
she wants to be one...
calling me,

"come...."

SWEET Luvvin'
I thought I would be Sidhe but... this sounds fairly accurate...

What kith are you? Find out here.

Musicians, sages, and creatures of lust; satyrs both live for pleasure and take pleasure from life. Emotional dilettantes, they float in and out of love, hate and sorrow, never staying with any one thing or feeling for too long. Satyrs delight in new experiences; they're always looking forward to the next romance, the next party or the next battle. Thanks to their never-ending appetite for pleasure, satyrs have excellent stamina. No one else can handle week-long drunken revelries the way they can. Satyrs are also notorious for their impulsive behaviour. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," is almost a way of life.

On the other hand, satyrs deeply prize wisdom. They've been known to pass up a party if a truly interesting conversation has attracted their interest for the moment. Passion, to them, includes intellectual passion; indeed, they believe true wisdom is found through the things one holds passion for.

Talking Sh!t
Well, dear readers, the battle is on.

I came home today to find a note from Reilly (the heat-seeking, asshole, redneck, substitute roomate) on my door that noted to me that because he hadn't used the Broadband internet, he didn't want to pay part of that bill. I can understand that completely... and I don't think he should pay. But to this point I had been refraining from leaving notes for him at the risk of seeming annoying and this was simply TOO MUCH an opportunity to respond.

He's had the chance to use the AT&T cable, but hasn't. Does this mean he should pay for it? In my opinion, no. In the same vein, do Ty and I want to pay for a Jamaican-load of heat that we didn't use? Nope. Same difference, ne? It's a bit more subjective, I know. But all things being equal, I calculated last month's output per person to be about $35/ person in a 3 person household. That's for a 4 person useage. This month, for a 3 person useage, the heat was $42.63 per person. Does that make sense? It should go DOWN 10 bucks, not up. Okay, so it's not that major a difference but it's the wasteful principality of it. All things considered, water included, Ty and I should be paying $45 this month and Reilly, to make up his difference, should be paying $71.26. When you look at it that way, it does seem like a difference. Not so much to Ty and I, who would be down approx $10 each paying for Reilly's heat, but for Reilly, who should pay for his laziness and inconsideracy.

I know I'm neurotic, but the fact that he left me a note on my door about bills and not using the cable was just asking for this retort. Am I wrong?

***************
And on another note, I guess I just have a lot on my mind now, aside from this insecurity. More entries tomorrow on alternate universes and stuff.

SoTM: Fiona Apple- A Mistake

Creamy Goodness
I have a problem with Yogurt.

[get your mind out of the gutter.]

I always eat is as a post-lunch snack. And I really *like* Yogurt.

[again, out of the gutter!!]

The problem is (aside from obious spelling dilemmas) that I can't seem to ever enjoy it. It's just too much like a glass of milk. I want to savor the creamy goodness but it's there one second and gone the next. Why won't my yogurt last?

How's the Weather?*
After last week's exotic sunshine, we really should have expected this.

Whatever clog had been stopping the floodgates of Oregon's rain is now removed. It began at a trickle yesterday and flowed into the night. Today the sky has opened and pisses on us in full fury.

All right, so I overdramatize (is what I do best ;) but I did just bike from 24th in this monsoon. My pants got wet THROUGH my rain gear. My wool gloves will be moist for the next twenty years. It's my fault for not selling out to REI and getting some decent jacketry. Ah, well.

It's wet out there, very, very wet. There's something soothing about rain, something that makes it okay to stay inside and laze with a good book. Or, if you're me, just plan on lazing with a good book an end up staring at Frederick's damn screen like always. Hypnotic bastard. Actually, last night I made soup. Lots and lot of soup. Not even for dinner but just because it was rainy and it seemed appropriate. When I have the time on my hands, cooking is very enjoyable. I started with a basic recipe for Mushroom Barley soup and ended up, as always, both improvising and nearly doubling the quantity. Lessee, 1 can chopped tomatoes, 2 cups vegetable broth, 2 cups chicken broth, a shitload of shiitake mushrooms, 1 huge portabella, an onion, mucho garlic, a red bell pepper, some frozen veggie mix, rosemary, thyme, salt, and pepper. Sautee veggies, at goop, simmer 1 hour. Soup easy. Is good and warm. After last week's summer-ness, I figure'd I'd better jump at the chance to make it while I still could, and have some for rainy days when I'm busy. I froze a couple quarts.

And it looks like the weather is cooling. The forecast predicts the temperature will drop into the afternoon and we'll see snow at 500 feet. That might be entertaining. The people around here will cease to function. "Not SNOW!!! We might all DIE!!!!" Gimme a break.

Today, on the way up Alder, I saw a curious sight. There was a biker coming down the hill toward me (always downhill, like I said) holding an umbrella above right above his head. At first, I thought it must be attacked to him, like a hat, because it rested almost on top of his head, but as he drew closer I saw that it was a children's umbrella. The funny thing about it was that it was a Powerpuff Girl, and just her face, so when he rested it above his face, it made him look like he had a gigantic, oblong cartoon head. I passed him, hunched over his bike, and he smiled. A hippie guy, in dreads, riding a light pink schwinn with a bannana seat, and clutching a Powerpuff girl umbrella. What a world.

Rain on.

*I almost forgot this was an in-joke at some point....Good lord, don't make me go listen to Billie Myers-Kiss the Rain

Turn up the HEAT
AARGH. Annoyance.

So when Ali moved out, a guy named Reilly took over her spot. Then Kim moved out so there are 3 of us: me, Ty, and Reilly, in a previously four-bedroom occupancy house. We just got this month's EWEB bill. $160.72. This might not be outrageous, were it not for three people and about $60 more than January. Ty and I aren't doing anything differently with out energy uses. In fact, we're probably using LESS than normal. Ty's never here and my room is warmer because there are fewer windows. When we do use heat, we turn it on in the evenings and off before bed. We don't use it in the morning. Reilly leaves his on at night and often forgets to turn off both his room heater and the heater in the hall bathroom, which glows red hot and you can smell from the hallway. It's like running a hair dryer all day.

Not only that, but when we tried to ask him about maybe reducing his energy useage, he got all defensive. I totally understand that it's a hard thing really to MEASURE and say "well, you pay more," but if I'm trying to be conservative, I don't feel that I should pay for energy I'm not using. I tried to explain this to him and he blew it all out of proportion, trying to say that I leave the heat on and that I should pay more in general because I have my own bathroom. (WHAT? I just moved into the master bedroom anyway!) So, what else could I do? I backed down and wrote a check for 1/3 of the bill. $54 bucks. SIGH.

I don't know... is it worth telling him he's asshole scum and he'd better pay for his damn heat if he leaves it on all the time? Or should I just grit my teeth and swallow the extra 10, 15 bucks?

The problem is that I'm not REALLY angry about it, just a bit miffed and concerned. For me to WANT to get into a fight, I have to be really, really pissed off. Is this worth getting that mad about so I can save my cash and some small amount of principles?

Magik
Continued...
I agree, Justus, that magik has much more to do with self than outside. I believe not in the advancement of self but in recognizing what inherent power you posess and treasuring it. What I meant in some sense about seeking Magik (and I agree, the more you look, the more it disappears) is that I want to feel like I am a part of something outside myself. Some grand scheme in which I am more than a pawn. I want to feel like I am a player... in the magical sense, a warrior, a priestess, a shaman... rather than some villager or the schmuck next door. I guess this means that I've already chosen my role, but I'm waiting for my role to choose me.

I think what I wish is that my job and my education felt more like a cover for another, more exciting, life than being the focus of my existence. That's what's tiring. Sometimes there seems to not be enough time to be all the things I want to be. Sometimes it seems like there's all the time in the world.

Please, think of the kittens...
You like kittens, don't you???
DON'T YOU?!?!?!?

The Last Time
You're right, Justus-san, that does sound like something I would write.

I often think about the lacking Magik in my life... and how when I was a child it was almost, almost tangible. But I usually conceed that it is really there, even still, and I can't see it or touch it because I'm somehow holding myself back. Because I don't have the guts to be the Wild Woman or to exile myself to the forest so that I can really see the sprites. It pains me to be "normal" in so mn respects. I don't like to feel/sound like I hold myself above other people but I'd like to feel as if I were the exception to some rule, or special in some utterly phenomenal way. The truth is, I may be... or, I may not. I just am. And the Magik creeps in and out of my life like the breath creeps in and out of a sleeper's body. If I ride these undulations, they may take me far away from the banal realm of reality, or they may grind it into my pores like sand. I can only hope to learn something profound along the way.
******

I rode to the SRC last night around 8:30, biking my way up the hill toward Mac court. As I rode, I thought about how I might be moving soon and the re-orientation that this would force me into. Every day I will come to school a different way. I may never bike up this damn hill again. I may never go to Sundance for late night snacking again. I may never...

I stoped myself then. This is stupidly profound and a bit cliche, but true nonetheless. I may never do any one thing "again." It could be the last time I see you, the last time I look in the mirror. Why should biking up a hill strike me as so tender a moment when I really have no say in whether I'll even go to sleep tomorrow night.

Hmm... what is this Cliche? Carpe Diem, I guess. Live life without regrets.

It's one I seem to run into a lot. Love the time you've got and all that. A re-evaluation of sorts.

So what if it were the "last time"? The last time I write in here... the last time I run into you at a coffee shop or the last time the sun rises. So what, indeed. I'm glad to say that I've freed myself of almost all loose ends. I'm glad to say that almost all my regret is gone. I don't think all of it ever will be. There still is an echo of that primal scream.

But. In response to the question the world posed my mind, I say: Let it be the last time. I have loved, I have lived, I will free fall into whatever change there is to come and I will hit the ground running.

Bring it on.

Things that make me go "hmm..."
This is just something that I've been fixated on that really bothers me. I think of it every time I'm biking.

Usually, on the way to school, I either bike up Alder or University. University is a major grunt and Alder has two little hills. As I'm biking uphill, I usually see people coming down on the opposite side. But when I'm coming down, no one is ever biking up. I have yet to see someone grunting up University street as I cruise down it. Maybe it's the times of day I ride. *shrugs* It really bugs me.

Also, tonight, it smelled very strongly of Gummi Bears over by Mac court. I want some.

Smoke
This weekend I bought my own weed for the first time. Since I acquired a piece for Christmas it has mostly been sitting unused in a box in my desk drawer. I was surprised, honestly, to even be given a pipe, since the only pot I ever come across is stuff that I manage to mooch from friends. Almost everyone I know has their hookups and for some time I've intended to get a little stash of my own to keep around the house. But, as usual, people keep falling through on me. Reilly, my charming housemate, seems to have a codependecy on the stuff, but I refused to stoop to that level to come by some just for some weekend amusements.

Anyway, I was whining about this around a mutual acquiantance of Cat's and mine after Japanese class. Two hours later, she was dragging of down High Street (ha ha, I know) to some apartments where her "friend" lives. The guy himself seemed pretty cool. However, there were about eight people crammed into the tiny apartment and one of them kept laying it on Brooke (the mutual friend), touting how he had some huge stash of 'shrooms and X amount of weed and they should get together. It was pretty weird and I think it made Brooke highly uncomfortable. She kept insisting that she'd been trying to quit smoking (not cigarettes, she still loves those) but ended up walking out with a 2/5s of my eighth.

Okay, so picture me being aloof. I'm basically a dumbass when it comes to substances. I drink maybe once a month. Mostly less. Usually not to get drunk. I keep it simple. Wine or vodka. Shots or glasses. I've never touched a cigarette in my life. Cat's "smoker's jargon" was utterly lost on me when she was telling me about the two cigarettes that you smoke first and last in a pack, your "lucky" and ... something else. Here we are and I'm coughing up some hard-earned newly-deposited cash for some amount of pot that I really know nothing about. First question: what the fuck IS an eighth? Not in weight, I don't care about that, I know it's an eighth of an ounce. But how much is it? How much USAGE am I getting out of it? All anyone every really says is "it depends." All I know is it's a litte more than I want in price and quantity. Give me something I can work with here. I'm your average preppy girl looking to smoke up Friday night, not some junkie stocking up the pantry. I smoke less than I drink and when I say that I mean... maybe six times a year. Mr. Dealer is asking me these questions and I'm standing there like a retard. A 30-sack, that sounds good. Less than the $50 for an eighth, so that means... what... 3/5 of it. Whatever. Brooke says no, get the eighth, if you want to do it that way, I'll take 20 of it and you can end up with that amount. Again, whatever. "It's Organic," the guy says. "Good stuff." Of course you're going to tell me it's good stuff. You sell it, dipstick. Do you grow it? No. Whatever. Done.

I leave, badgirl status still unachieved. Wondering if he measured it right or conned me into something. Gave me the wrong bag, anything like that. I stop worrying. What the hell do I care? I got what I came for, I got friends to split it with. I'm no longer a mooch. Eh. *shrugs* There's something fun about breaking the law. Between this and Cherrypepper, I'll have quite a few trophy moments from my young adulthood.

I get on my bike and run a few errands on the way home. DariMart and Sundance. Milk and Juice. Mmm. I'm crossing Alder street and I see something unbelievable. Comic and sad and disturbing. A guy in a mechanized wheelchair is truckin it down the middle of the street and not only that but he has a tractor trailer attached to the back of his chair. Not any tractor trailer, but a passenger cart. Two seats in it. First, I can see how this would inconvenience him from riding on the sidewalk but what was he doing with a passenger cart anyway? Does he take pay for "rides"? I puzzled over this as I watched him cross 24th and continue up Alder, the wrong way. Pssh. Wheelchairs. No respect for the law.

Erm.
The pot turned out to be pretty decent. Lord knows it smells strong enough. What this means is beyond me, but a third of it belongs to Cat, another third to Justin, and the last to me. Nothing in excess. I wish I could know if it really was organic. I'd rather breathe in bugs than pesticides any day... but either way will have me hacking bits of my lungs onto the floor after a few hits. Love us amatures. We still breathe clean air most days.

Seven Years
Clare just brought her seventh-grade brother to VisComm. I sat next to him and slept on the wall while he doodled. About halfway through the class I started thinking about where he was an what it must be like for him. And then I wondered what I would have thought about this class, were I in seventh grade. I probably would have been nothing but bored... bored and that's it. Bored and waiting to get back to my life. I thought, seventh grade was seven years ago. I was only twelve.

The flood of memories this brought back was completely unexpected.

Seven years ago. Seven years ago I was in seventh grade. I was one year from being a teenager. I had never kissed a boy. My best friend and I played hide-and-go seek on the summer streets until twilight and the fireflies came out. I had yet to bleed.

In seventh grade, I met Lesley. I dated Nathan, my first "boyfriend," for five months, kissed him once, and was dumped. The only time I've ever let that happen.
In seventh grade, my youngest sister was born. Eleanor, the one who became the mascot for my family's dysfunctionality and my mother's stress. Things began to crack at the seams.

Middle school was not a gentle coming of age. In fact, I think we all hated it. I hated the lies, the superficiality, the expectations, the unwanted discoveries. I began to hate my mother.

Seven years ago, I became a woman. I began to hate my body. I was completely uncomfortable cocooned in my flesh. I wore stirrup pants and turtlenecks. I was too uncool to realize that people laughed at me when I wore my band sweater. Growing pain, acne, self-consciousness... I smelled bad, I grew a lot, and the world was a wonderful place.

In seventh grade, I was afraid of growing up. I watched in horror as the games of magik we played in elementary school began to fade into dust and memories. I saw heirarchical and social power for the first time. This was the world becoming real.

My best friend was Sian. We saw each other every day. At lunch we played black-jack and snorted milk out our noses. Sometimes, we stayed after school and played with the gerbils in the science classroom. So many of those little buggers came and went. We buried several of one litter in the woods behind the school. We never could find the gravesite again. Sian and I had a club. It was... somewhat exclusive. We called it KOSCC, or the Kathryn Ortland Sian Chivers Club, after ourselves. We even had a "radio station" that consisted of me recording every stupid thing we said and did with a Talkboy. I still have these tapes and our "poster." I pull them out from time to time and laugh till I cry. Or I just cry. Occasionally, we got my sisters to join the club even though we hated them. Mostly, it was because we wanted their money for "dues" but sometimes we felt sorry for ourselves only having two members. In my back yard in Michigan there were two pine trees and we had our fort under them. Once, we built a forrt in Sian's yard out of plywood and carpet tacks. It eventually molded and fell down. We made potions and planned amushes on "the boys." We hoarded every dirty cent we could because ten dollars was a fortune that could buy pizza and junk food enough to feed a small army. We had sleepovers practically every weekend. Sometimes we would hide in her room until late, playing with her keyboard and making stupid songs. Sometimes we were exiled to the basement if we were too loud. I didn't like sleeping down there. Everything stupid, classic, pre-pubescent comment we made went onto tapes. I am so embarrassed now to see the way I felt about the world. It's wonderful, it's dirty, and I miss it because it's gone.

Seventh grade was before I started focusing on boys, before my life revolved around an individual mate, and when I started to form my first and only real circle of friends. It was the year I met Lesley, oneesama. Maybe it was eight grade, I'm not sure. Anyhow, it was before she plucked her eyebrows and wore clothes from the Limited. Her hair was so dark she looked like she had a moustache. I'm pretty sure she bleaches that, now. I knew Mags, she lived down the street from me and I met Emilio. It was the first year in choir.

My biggest dramas we worrying about who had a crush on me. I felt ashamed a lot of the time... I thought I thought about sex a lot. I was wrong. That came two years later.

This was before Lesley and I split over Emilio and then split again over bigger, more unmendable things. I haven't spoken to her in almost a year. The distance does that.

This was before I worried about homosexuality, about what people said about Sian's moms. I'm not sure I even knew she had two moms. This was before I started having to defend her daily, before my mother forbade me to be friends with her because she was Wiccan, before I became Born Again Christian and learned what the anger of a flock of "sheep" feels like and how to reject my own closed-mindedness. This was before we split for nine months because I thought she wasn't "cool enough." I lost her because I was wrong. Sian and I are neutral now. We haven't spoke in just as long. The distance does that.

Seveth grade was life when we started to think clearly but were sheltered from the pressures of the world. Now life moves a million miles per hour more.

I sat next to Clare's brother and planning my day, my week, my life. My mind was about twenty places at once. I can't stop myself. I can't go back. I want those simple pleasures but life just moves too fast.

Sometimes I pause to breathe, but if I stop too long, the world moves on without me.

I'm afraid. I'm afraid of growing up. In the same way I was losing Magik seven years ago, I am losing it now.

I cling to what I have and, in the moments I step back, moments like these, I know that I have a lot. In moments like these, I cry for my nostalgia, I love my past, I weep for what is lost and I hold on to what it has given me. Time is a funny thing.

Seven years lost, seven years found. Seven years of change.

Soon, it will be seven years hence and I will look back on today in wonder. In seven years, I will probably be married- I may have my first child. I will live somewhere, with some job, with someone(?) and I will, in all likelihood, be a completely different person.

If these seven years are any indicator of what the change in the next seven will be like, I'd better buckle down. It's going to be one long, lonely, and fucking incredible ride.

It's that simple.

It's that obscene.

Seven years.