Well, I have been at Prat's Institute for many moons (two weeks) and it has been...odd is the most accurate word.
The first week mainly involved orientation activities that me and CC skipped. Instead we went exploring and met up with the beauteous Ron Weasley and Drew, our friends at NYU. I fretted about architecture. I fretted about being antisocial. I fretted about Ron Weaasley no longer lurrrving me and moving on to pretty college hipster girls. I fretted so much the second night I retreated back into my dorm and cried and was very homesick.
But the Ron Weasley thing turned out all right, even though the first night me and CC slept over and we both took the floor. I haven't had to take the floor in ages. That just increased the frettage. But the second time, I came alone and I got the bed. And every time since. So I guess that's all right. Except college dorms have this annoying thing where you get limited overnight visits. Teh gay?
As for my roommate, I think I got lucky. She is Korean and hot and feeds me rice wrapped in seaweed and brought appliances and food and teaches me about the city. I like her a lot already. And she doesn't have any creepy habits, hooray!
And New York. Well. I've taken the subway alone a few times, which I neeeever did with the DC metro. So I'm proud. In two weeks time, I've learned there's not much to do that doesn't involve money. This is highly limiting. However, exploring is fun, and I've learned to navigate a small part of Manhattan. Time will heal all un-navigation.
The school itself is gorgeous but frustrating. Most of the population is one type: the Hipster. I've seen nice people, obnoxious people, quiet people. The classrooms don't have air conditioning. The cafeteria food is nice, but stops serving way too early. The bathrooms are aight. I enjoy living here (probably because I like Roommate so much, and having CC two halls away, and a pretty big bed for Weasley to fit in) and next week I may even enjoy classes, because after a little begging I got the parents to let me switch back to writing.
As in, SCOOOOOORE. Architecture is like my worst nightmare. Five years of physics projects, basically. And my physics projects in high school were like, "Oh, it's the night before this shit is due. I tie this banana to this ping pong ball, and presto amazo, my Self-Propelled Hovercraft!" Deeeefinitely not for me. Classes were terrifying. And, funny enough, full of Asian boys. I just sat there, numb and mostly bored, wanting to yell and scream because of the high degree of insanity in the situation.
So I hope this week will be better class-wise.
Funny things that have happened in New York City:
-me and Roommate went to Wendy's with her friend David and some really tall drag queens came in, saw us conversing merrily, and said "Oh go ahead and laugh!" People are ridiculously self-absorbed sometimes.
-the same night we met David's Taiwanese friend, whose name was Rob and who was sporting the coolest dreadlocks ever and nothing but baggy overalls. Basically the coolest looking person I've ever met. And really chill. We went to the art studio he's living in, which was (I'm bad with adjectives) also cool. The only downside is I also met their drug dealer friend named 40. Yeah. CREEPY.
-Why hasn't this kid shown up in my flist yet? http://www.youtube.com/profile_videos?user=Pruane2Forever
-Met these drunkParsons girls in an NYU dorm. They were dressed too foolish to believe--it crossed the line that seperates Hipster from Halloween--and they asked me if I was going to paint my room. Before I could answer, one of them said "I think I'll be covering my walls with posters of fashion icons." This is a perfectly respectable choice, but her voice made it sound like she was mocking the fashion weirdo stereotype. She wasn't. (I didn't like her anyway. She was very tipsy and raved on and on about Ron Weasley being a ginger. Go away.)
-A friend of Ron Weasley's roommate decided he would convince kids he was British. His practice session lasted till 2 in the morning that night and was the best thing ever. Couldn't stop laughing. He sounded like the pothead from Withnail and I.
-Today I experienced my first New York hurricane. Lots of rain. My shoes are still soaked. But if this is what they call a hurricane, well...
To sum up, NYC is awesome, my new classes should be significantly better than my old ones, and I am in lurrrrrrve. Of sorts.
The first week mainly involved orientation activities that me and CC skipped. Instead we went exploring and met up with the beauteous Ron Weasley and Drew, our friends at NYU. I fretted about architecture. I fretted about being antisocial. I fretted about Ron Weaasley no longer lurrrving me and moving on to pretty college hipster girls. I fretted so much the second night I retreated back into my dorm and cried and was very homesick.
But the Ron Weasley thing turned out all right, even though the first night me and CC slept over and we both took the floor. I haven't had to take the floor in ages. That just increased the frettage. But the second time, I came alone and I got the bed. And every time since. So I guess that's all right. Except college dorms have this annoying thing where you get limited overnight visits. Teh gay?
As for my roommate, I think I got lucky. She is Korean and hot and feeds me rice wrapped in seaweed and brought appliances and food and teaches me about the city. I like her a lot already. And she doesn't have any creepy habits, hooray!
And New York. Well. I've taken the subway alone a few times, which I neeeever did with the DC metro. So I'm proud. In two weeks time, I've learned there's not much to do that doesn't involve money. This is highly limiting. However, exploring is fun, and I've learned to navigate a small part of Manhattan. Time will heal all un-navigation.
The school itself is gorgeous but frustrating. Most of the population is one type: the Hipster. I've seen nice people, obnoxious people, quiet people. The classrooms don't have air conditioning. The cafeteria food is nice, but stops serving way too early. The bathrooms are aight. I enjoy living here (probably because I like Roommate so much, and having CC two halls away, and a pretty big bed for Weasley to fit in) and next week I may even enjoy classes, because after a little begging I got the parents to let me switch back to writing.
As in, SCOOOOOORE. Architecture is like my worst nightmare. Five years of physics projects, basically. And my physics projects in high school were like, "Oh, it's the night before this shit is due. I tie this banana to this ping pong ball, and presto amazo, my Self-Propelled Hovercraft!" Deeeefinitely not for me. Classes were terrifying. And, funny enough, full of Asian boys. I just sat there, numb and mostly bored, wanting to yell and scream because of the high degree of insanity in the situation.
So I hope this week will be better class-wise.
Funny things that have happened in New York City:
-me and Roommate went to Wendy's with her friend David and some really tall drag queens came in, saw us conversing merrily, and said "Oh go ahead and laugh!" People are ridiculously self-absorbed sometimes.
-the same night we met David's Taiwanese friend, whose name was Rob and who was sporting the coolest dreadlocks ever and nothing but baggy overalls. Basically the coolest looking person I've ever met. And really chill. We went to the art studio he's living in, which was (I'm bad with adjectives) also cool. The only downside is I also met their drug dealer friend named 40. Yeah. CREEPY.
-Why hasn't this kid shown up in my flist yet? http://www.youtube.com/profile_videos?user=Pruane2Forever
-Met these drunkParsons girls in an NYU dorm. They were dressed too foolish to believe--it crossed the line that seperates Hipster from Halloween--and they asked me if I was going to paint my room. Before I could answer, one of them said "I think I'll be covering my walls with posters of fashion icons." This is a perfectly respectable choice, but her voice made it sound like she was mocking the fashion weirdo stereotype. She wasn't. (I didn't like her anyway. She was very tipsy and raved on and on about Ron Weasley being a ginger. Go away.)
-A friend of Ron Weasley's roommate decided he would convince kids he was British. His practice session lasted till 2 in the morning that night and was the best thing ever. Couldn't stop laughing. He sounded like the pothead from Withnail and I.
-Today I experienced my first New York hurricane. Lots of rain. My shoes are still soaked. But if this is what they call a hurricane, well...
To sum up, NYC is awesome, my new classes should be significantly better than my old ones, and I am in lurrrrrrve. Of sorts.
I leave for college in 11 days.
Hmm. I'm not very excited. Yes, I am going to New York City, and yes, I do get to study architecture (sometimes this seems like a good thing, sometimes not). During the school year, when I was a miserable senior who got no sleep and tons of homework, all I did was think eagerly of what's coming. But now it's summer, and an exceptionally fun and lazy and easy one at that, so I don't really feel like leaving at all. I wish summer could go on a few more months until I got sick of it and was happy to move on.
It's not a very good attitude to start college with, is it? I can't even muster up a George Orwell joke. In all honesty, I'd love to just fuck around and do nothing with my friends forever.
I'm going to miss them all so much--even the ones who are coming to New York as well, because I get scared that with classes and studying we'll never get to see each other. And I sincerely hope that I'm being irrational and that we do hang out a lot, because I have a huge crush on the beauteous Ron Weasley who happens to be attending NYU this fall, and we've been pussyfooting around it for 2+ months and SOMETHING NEEDS TO HAPPEN ALREADY. This is a highly odd and confusing romantic situation (lmao I just wrote that, didn't I?). Ay yiyiyi.
I think this is bar none the best summer I've ever had. I do not like to see it flitting by.
Hmm. I'm not very excited. Yes, I am going to New York City, and yes, I do get to study architecture (sometimes this seems like a good thing, sometimes not). During the school year, when I was a miserable senior who got no sleep and tons of homework, all I did was think eagerly of what's coming. But now it's summer, and an exceptionally fun and lazy and easy one at that, so I don't really feel like leaving at all. I wish summer could go on a few more months until I got sick of it and was happy to move on.
It's not a very good attitude to start college with, is it? I can't even muster up a George Orwell joke. In all honesty, I'd love to just fuck around and do nothing with my friends forever.
I'm going to miss them all so much--even the ones who are coming to New York as well, because I get scared that with classes and studying we'll never get to see each other. And I sincerely hope that I'm being irrational and that we do hang out a lot, because I have a huge crush on the beauteous Ron Weasley who happens to be attending NYU this fall, and we've been pussyfooting around it for 2+ months and SOMETHING NEEDS TO HAPPEN ALREADY. This is a highly odd and confusing romantic situation (lmao I just wrote that, didn't I?). Ay yiyiyi.
I think this is bar none the best summer I've ever had. I do not like to see it flitting by.
Okay, I just read the summary of that new/final Twilight book.
This woman needs to be hit by a truck before she can start a new series. I'm not being terrible. I'm just concerned.
I don't understand the psychology of these books. It's like she devolved from the cliche--but at least a cliche with a good message--of independent women/spunky women/etc that pops up a lot in teen lit all the way back to the medieval damsel in distress who just wants to be a good little wife. What the fuck? I don't usually give a shit about this stuff...but fuck, I'm mad. Like Hannah Montana isn't bad enough?
I hear a lot of parents let their girls read these books cause they were written by a Mom and there's no premarital sex. I think if I had a kid I'd rather have her reading smut than rubbish like this. Ugh.
This woman needs to be hit by a truck before she can start a new series. I'm not being terrible. I'm just concerned.
I don't understand the psychology of these books. It's like she devolved from the cliche--but at least a cliche with a good message--of independent women/spunky women/etc that pops up a lot in teen lit all the way back to the medieval damsel in distress who just wants to be a good little wife. What the fuck? I don't usually give a shit about this stuff...but fuck, I'm mad. Like Hannah Montana isn't bad enough?
I hear a lot of parents let their girls read these books cause they were written by a Mom and there's no premarital sex. I think if I had a kid I'd rather have her reading smut than rubbish like this. Ugh.
voltaire would kick my shins
Jul. 22nd, 2008 09:26 pmDear friends, I am quite convinced that I will become the greatest chronicler of our time. I tell myself this every morning when I wake up, every evening when I go to bed, every afternoon when I am playing bubbleshooter and thinking about how I ought to writing.
But sometimes I say, Self, there is a flaw in the plan.
Every great writer had feelings about things around them. Vague, but true. Like Dickens was pissed about poverty and class division, and Voltaire was pissed about silly people. I think. But what am I pissed about? Nothing concerns me. The Iraq War? Well, it's far...and I usually forget it's there at all, to be honest. Rising gas prices? I don't drive. And it had to happen sooner or later, I suppose. The election? Whatever.
I think maybe I haven't gotten the feel of the era down quite yet, if I am to be the mirror that future generations will see it through. I like other eras very much. I have read them well. They have come over for tea and we have chatted happily about the house, the kids, the stocks.
Then I think, Self, maybe that Big Crazy Idea of Our Time just hasn't happened yet. You think Dickens was born at the same time as the Industrial Revolution? You think silly people just popped out the moment Voltaire picked up a pen? Just wait, I say, just wait.
Though with the way things are going, it really seems like the future--the Big Crazy Idea--of our time is no future, Literally. This energy crisis...just seems like it will explode very suddenly in everyone's faces. Sure, other eras had their issues, but not on such a global scale. What's a little World War compared with everyone's faces melting off? I think I will end up writing about the Beginning of the End. Wouldn't it be funny to have been born at the death of universe?
Anyway, it's been a very bizarre and pointless week. This has had awful consequences concerning my bubbleshooter game.
But sometimes I say, Self, there is a flaw in the plan.
Every great writer had feelings about things around them. Vague, but true. Like Dickens was pissed about poverty and class division, and Voltaire was pissed about silly people. I think. But what am I pissed about? Nothing concerns me. The Iraq War? Well, it's far...and I usually forget it's there at all, to be honest. Rising gas prices? I don't drive. And it had to happen sooner or later, I suppose. The election? Whatever.
I think maybe I haven't gotten the feel of the era down quite yet, if I am to be the mirror that future generations will see it through. I like other eras very much. I have read them well. They have come over for tea and we have chatted happily about the house, the kids, the stocks.
Then I think, Self, maybe that Big Crazy Idea of Our Time just hasn't happened yet. You think Dickens was born at the same time as the Industrial Revolution? You think silly people just popped out the moment Voltaire picked up a pen? Just wait, I say, just wait.
Though with the way things are going, it really seems like the future--the Big Crazy Idea--of our time is no future, Literally. This energy crisis...just seems like it will explode very suddenly in everyone's faces. Sure, other eras had their issues, but not on such a global scale. What's a little World War compared with everyone's faces melting off? I think I will end up writing about the Beginning of the End. Wouldn't it be funny to have been born at the death of universe?
Anyway, it's been a very bizarre and pointless week. This has had awful consequences concerning my bubbleshooter game.
summer is upon us
Jul. 17th, 2008 08:21 pmWell, it has been a while. School's over and summer is probably going to be over far too soon, though it has so far been a good one (ignoring the one blight of going to the Shanty Shack in upstate NY with my family for a week). Today I saw my schedule for next year, which is making college and Pratt and the ambiguous presence of architecture in the future very very real. I am also panicking slightly, as the classes we take in college are apparently much, much longer than in high school.
I'm only slightly terrified, being only a slight coward. I mean. I never really thought past high school up til now. I had no idea I'd ever survive applying to college--mostly cause movies make it SUCH A BIG DEAL. (It really isn't, you don't have to be a rocket scientist or join 9506859 clubs to get into a school, unless maybe you think you'll die if you don't get into an Ivy in which case I recommend just skipping the whole process altogether.)
And now here I am, going to college. Er. Woo. I don't know how I feel (except for that slightly terrified part). I love the friends I have now. I don't see how anyone I could meet in college could be as interesting. Perhaps I will live the penitent life of a college hermit, and my amusing but lonely adventures will be written into a fine literary work of the era.
Hmm. I'll write more about summer adventures when it is not 1:30 AM.
I'm only slightly terrified, being only a slight coward. I mean. I never really thought past high school up til now. I had no idea I'd ever survive applying to college--mostly cause movies make it SUCH A BIG DEAL. (It really isn't, you don't have to be a rocket scientist or join 9506859 clubs to get into a school, unless maybe you think you'll die if you don't get into an Ivy in which case I recommend just skipping the whole process altogether.)
And now here I am, going to college. Er. Woo. I don't know how I feel (except for that slightly terrified part). I love the friends I have now. I don't see how anyone I could meet in college could be as interesting. Perhaps I will live the penitent life of a college hermit, and my amusing but lonely adventures will be written into a fine literary work of the era.
Hmm. I'll write more about summer adventures when it is not 1:30 AM.
Ah well. I suppose when one is being chased by putrid zombies, one has little time for altruism. What could I do but throw my dear friends Binky and Buster at those gaping zombie maws? I've always thought that an undead invasion merited the every-man-for-himself doctrine.
Still, it is awful lonely in this deserted internet cafe with only the ghost of dear George Orwell to keep me company.
GEORGE ORWELL: Harrumph! I wouldn't keep you company if you were the last bratling in this smelly hole of a town--oh, bother.
I think the corpses of trendy college kids just smell this bad to spite me.
See all you survivors on the flip side.
P.S. Confused?
Still, it is awful lonely in this deserted internet cafe with only the ghost of dear George Orwell to keep me company.
GEORGE ORWELL: Harrumph! I wouldn't keep you company if you were the last bratling in this smelly hole of a town--oh, bother.
I think the corpses of trendy college kids just smell this bad to spite me.
See all you survivors on the flip side.
P.S. Confused?
a dream deferred
May. 29th, 2008 11:37 amWell, I am quite disgruntled.
School is mostly over. All that's left is graduation and beach week and then party, party, party, right?
NO!
My benevolent kindly father has decided that I can only go to Pratt if I switch to their Architecture program. So now not only do I have to say goodbye to those dreams of writing for the next four years,I also have to go to upstate NY with my dad and my uncle so that my uncle can help me make an art portfolio while the two of them work some more on our shanty shack.
So thusly I will miss graduation.
(NEVERMIND on that bit! YAY!)
The only way I can describe this is bogus. Utterly and unthinkably bogus.
I will be one of those adults who just sit around and regret that they didn't have the balls to stand up to their dad thirty years ago. Completely miserable.
School is mostly over. All that's left is graduation and beach week and then party, party, party, right?
NO!
My benevolent kindly father has decided that I can only go to Pratt if I switch to their Architecture program. So now not only do I have to say goodbye to those dreams of writing for the next four years,
So thusly I will miss graduation.
(NEVERMIND on that bit! YAY!)
The only way I can describe this is bogus. Utterly and unthinkably bogus.
I will be one of those adults who just sit around and regret that they didn't have the balls to stand up to their dad thirty years ago. Completely miserable.
We Draw to a Cunt...I Mean, Close
May. 12th, 2008 03:12 pmAfter utterly failing taking the last of my AP exams (Physics. Gag me with death) I am now able to gush about Prom.
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO PROM!
Heh. It was nice having a hawt and sweet date, the beauteous Artist Currently Known as Ron Weasley. Yeesh, now I know why I never had fun at homecomings coming with a group of friends and vaguely dancing in a circle. Attending with a nice boy in tow is preferable; that thing they do with their hands on your hips is quite nice. Anyway, one prom down, two to go.
In other news, physics is a cunt. The weather is a cunt. My brother is a cunt. My sore and swollen throat with its feeling of the fiery weight of five melons is a cunt. Negativity is a cunt. Also, I have written my submission for a graduation speech about the Legend of Zelda. It ends with "San Dimas High School football rules." Needless to say, it is not going to be chosen to be read at graduation.
That's all right, though. I could never give a speech in front of 500 people anyway. Not without a pair of shades and a lot of curse words.
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO PROM!
Heh. It was nice having a hawt and sweet date, the beauteous Artist Currently Known as Ron Weasley. Yeesh, now I know why I never had fun at homecomings coming with a group of friends and vaguely dancing in a circle. Attending with a nice boy in tow is preferable; that thing they do with their hands on your hips is quite nice. Anyway, one prom down, two to go.
In other news, physics is a cunt. The weather is a cunt. My brother is a cunt. My sore and swollen throat with its feeling of the fiery weight of five melons is a cunt. Negativity is a cunt. Also, I have written my submission for a graduation speech about the Legend of Zelda. It ends with "San Dimas High School football rules." Needless to say, it is not going to be chosen to be read at graduation.
That's all right, though. I could never give a speech in front of 500 people anyway. Not without a pair of shades and a lot of curse words.
College dilemmas.
Apr. 27th, 2008 12:18 pmOh my god. My parents want me to choose a college today. Here's the rundown of my options.
UMBC: free. Clears the road for grad school later because my parents can save up money for me. But not a very exciting place to spend the next four years.
Georgetown: Gorgeous architecture, good reputation and location. Expensive but at least the first year will be nearly free because our 2007 income was so low. Doesn't have a writing program. Famous for law, politics, and business, which isn't really my interest.
Hopkins: Didn't like the school itself. Good writing program. Like Georgetown, expensive but gives me full coverage next year. Has more options for me if I end up not wanting to do creative writing, but something about the school turns me off.
Pratt Institute: My baby. An art school in Brooklyn with an interesting creative writing program. Out of all 4, this one has my attention for the location and artsy campus and cool people. Downside? Pretty expensive. Not very many options if I decide I don't wanna continue studying here, since it doesn't have as much rep as Georgetown and Hopkins. Basically there's no changing my mind, and I'd have to work really hard to get a job and to try and fund grad school.
Pratt is where my heart is. But am I being a fucking idiot? My parents say I can choose whatever makes me happiest, but that I am going to be stuck with the consequences. And Pratt could have some pretty weighty consequences.
UMBC: free. Clears the road for grad school later because my parents can save up money for me. But not a very exciting place to spend the next four years.
Georgetown: Gorgeous architecture, good reputation and location. Expensive but at least the first year will be nearly free because our 2007 income was so low. Doesn't have a writing program. Famous for law, politics, and business, which isn't really my interest.
Hopkins: Didn't like the school itself. Good writing program. Like Georgetown, expensive but gives me full coverage next year. Has more options for me if I end up not wanting to do creative writing, but something about the school turns me off.
Pratt Institute: My baby. An art school in Brooklyn with an interesting creative writing program. Out of all 4, this one has my attention for the location and artsy campus and cool people. Downside? Pretty expensive. Not very many options if I decide I don't wanna continue studying here, since it doesn't have as much rep as Georgetown and Hopkins. Basically there's no changing my mind, and I'd have to work really hard to get a job and to try and fund grad school.
Pratt is where my heart is. But am I being a fucking idiot? My parents say I can choose whatever makes me happiest, but that I am going to be stuck with the consequences. And Pratt could have some pretty weighty consequences.
Spring dreams of summer
Apr. 5th, 2008 06:20 pmThe smell of wood smoke is still in my hair.
Another impromptu adventure starring yours truly and the gang went down last night. We had nothing to do; I suggested making s'mores; once the necessary materials (a rusty metal wagon and some logs found in CC's garage, marshmellows and chocolate and graham crackers stolen and bought from Safeway) were procured, we started a fire in a concrete bowl near a pond next to Matt's house (I believe it is meant for drainage, but mostly people just get drunk there).
It was a pretty sad runt of a fire at first, I will say, but thanks to the gentle ministrations of Good Queen Bess and CC and some weird chemical thing, we got it going so that by the time everyone else arrived we were already roasting marshmallows. The pit was all lit with fire, and everything outside was very dark and quietly sinister. I'm not around fires at night very often, and when I am I feel like a part of something ancient. There's something instinctually alluring about fire, something tattooed into our brains from days long ago when wild men would gather around it for safety, knowing that it was dangerous and unforgiving but knowing also that the night, and everything that lurks and waits in it, was more dangerous still.
It was a very pretty night, and the air was warm even if there was mud under the grass that skidded you around all over the place. We all sat on the concrete and told jokes and said silly things that would make my parents cringe and then tell me that I'm associating with baboons. Perfect nights come along so rarely they always feel like a dream the next day.
People seem to downplay friendship's role in our lives. They make it out to be weaker than family ties, more shallow, more mercenary. A crude sort of attraction, whether sexual or not, to people that fulfill financial, social, political needs. I think it's the stupidest shit I've ever heard. I creep around my parents, always expecting some form of reprimand or punishment for the slightest wrong (either that or for not being productive or smart enough). If I sat around a fire with my parents, the only thing on my mind would be leaving. Last night all I could feel was warmth, physical and not physical, and just knowing that these people would not yell at me for not being good enough was all I needed to love them. When we put the fire out with a jug of water, the steam rose in a tall column for long minutes and the feeling of warmth subsided and everyone sensibly went to their cars and left for wherever they had to go.
A few of us drove to Tech's house, and by then my anxiety about going home was back and while the rest of them smoked a few bowls in the backyard, my brain was stupidly constructing every awful thing that could happen that night while I watched the woods. There they were, happily getting high, and there I was, biting my lip and thinking about getting grounded if the scent of the weed caught in my clothes. Car crashes on the way home. Cops busting us in the backyard (ludicrous thought) or on the way home. I am not cut out to live. I spend way too much time worrying.
But nothing happened. Sometimes I wonder if I worry in vain, or if it's the worrying that prevents the worst things from happening. There's no pleasant way to test this that I can think of. Good Queen Bess gave me a ride home and in between pauses we talked about Walmart and smoking and probably other things. I don't know him very well at all, even if I did nurse an angsty crush on him for a good year, and I think this was the first time we'd been alone. (And hey, he'd been smoking, so maybe he hadn't noticed that everything I said in the car was stupid.)
Now I'm home back in the loving bosom of my family, exiled to the basement for pissing my dad off and getting steadily hungrier. Sometimes I imagine myself as an ulcer in his stomach, feeding on his stress and anger and slowly rotting his guts. Like a little fetus, an anger fetus getting bigger and bigger. But that's a little ambitious of me; I don't even know if he gets ulcers when I piss him off. He seems to enjoy stomping around getting mad at everyone. I suppose I'm only indulging him.
Those s'mores were delicious, but they're not really doing any good for the hole in my stomach at the moment.
Another impromptu adventure starring yours truly and the gang went down last night. We had nothing to do; I suggested making s'mores; once the necessary materials (a rusty metal wagon and some logs found in CC's garage, marshmellows and chocolate and graham crackers stolen and bought from Safeway) were procured, we started a fire in a concrete bowl near a pond next to Matt's house (I believe it is meant for drainage, but mostly people just get drunk there).
It was a pretty sad runt of a fire at first, I will say, but thanks to the gentle ministrations of Good Queen Bess and CC and some weird chemical thing, we got it going so that by the time everyone else arrived we were already roasting marshmallows. The pit was all lit with fire, and everything outside was very dark and quietly sinister. I'm not around fires at night very often, and when I am I feel like a part of something ancient. There's something instinctually alluring about fire, something tattooed into our brains from days long ago when wild men would gather around it for safety, knowing that it was dangerous and unforgiving but knowing also that the night, and everything that lurks and waits in it, was more dangerous still.
It was a very pretty night, and the air was warm even if there was mud under the grass that skidded you around all over the place. We all sat on the concrete and told jokes and said silly things that would make my parents cringe and then tell me that I'm associating with baboons. Perfect nights come along so rarely they always feel like a dream the next day.
People seem to downplay friendship's role in our lives. They make it out to be weaker than family ties, more shallow, more mercenary. A crude sort of attraction, whether sexual or not, to people that fulfill financial, social, political needs. I think it's the stupidest shit I've ever heard. I creep around my parents, always expecting some form of reprimand or punishment for the slightest wrong (either that or for not being productive or smart enough). If I sat around a fire with my parents, the only thing on my mind would be leaving. Last night all I could feel was warmth, physical and not physical, and just knowing that these people would not yell at me for not being good enough was all I needed to love them. When we put the fire out with a jug of water, the steam rose in a tall column for long minutes and the feeling of warmth subsided and everyone sensibly went to their cars and left for wherever they had to go.
A few of us drove to Tech's house, and by then my anxiety about going home was back and while the rest of them smoked a few bowls in the backyard, my brain was stupidly constructing every awful thing that could happen that night while I watched the woods. There they were, happily getting high, and there I was, biting my lip and thinking about getting grounded if the scent of the weed caught in my clothes. Car crashes on the way home. Cops busting us in the backyard (ludicrous thought) or on the way home. I am not cut out to live. I spend way too much time worrying.
But nothing happened. Sometimes I wonder if I worry in vain, or if it's the worrying that prevents the worst things from happening. There's no pleasant way to test this that I can think of. Good Queen Bess gave me a ride home and in between pauses we talked about Walmart and smoking and probably other things. I don't know him very well at all, even if I did nurse an angsty crush on him for a good year, and I think this was the first time we'd been alone. (And hey, he'd been smoking, so maybe he hadn't noticed that everything I said in the car was stupid.)
Now I'm home back in the loving bosom of my family, exiled to the basement for pissing my dad off and getting steadily hungrier. Sometimes I imagine myself as an ulcer in his stomach, feeding on his stress and anger and slowly rotting his guts. Like a little fetus, an anger fetus getting bigger and bigger. But that's a little ambitious of me; I don't even know if he gets ulcers when I piss him off. He seems to enjoy stomping around getting mad at everyone. I suppose I'm only indulging him.
Those s'mores were delicious, but they're not really doing any good for the hole in my stomach at the moment.
Dear colleges,
Thank you for the bundles of money thou hath sent me. It is very nice and my parents are pleased. I never supposed that anyone would give me $40,000 in one go, particularly anyone who has never met me in person and so has not been exposed to my killer wit and devilish charm.
Sometimes I think higher education is the sham of all shams and who wants to live for a career anyway? However, I am supposing that taking the money and then not going to school is a surefire way to get my ass kicked by the law. So I guess I'll go to college. I guess.
I wish I could be as excited as the rest of the kids at school about getting all these nice packages from you guys. But there must be something more ahead than careers. Why learn so much for so long just for a career? Things made more sense 1,000 years ago, or I'll eat my hat. I'm starting to think that everything but art is, in the end, useless. Art (in all forms) is the only thing that survives and can still speak to the future.
....
Oh well. Celebratory lolcat?
moar funny pictures
Thanks again, colleges. I'll be putting that money to good use. I promise.
Sincerely,
Tap
Thank you for the bundles of money thou hath sent me. It is very nice and my parents are pleased. I never supposed that anyone would give me $40,000 in one go, particularly anyone who has never met me in person and so has not been exposed to my killer wit and devilish charm.
Sometimes I think higher education is the sham of all shams and who wants to live for a career anyway? However, I am supposing that taking the money and then not going to school is a surefire way to get my ass kicked by the law. So I guess I'll go to college. I guess.
I wish I could be as excited as the rest of the kids at school about getting all these nice packages from you guys. But there must be something more ahead than careers. Why learn so much for so long just for a career? Things made more sense 1,000 years ago, or I'll eat my hat. I'm starting to think that everything but art is, in the end, useless. Art (in all forms) is the only thing that survives and can still speak to the future.
....
Oh well. Celebratory lolcat?
moar funny pictures
Thanks again, colleges. I'll be putting that money to good use. I promise.
Sincerely,
Tap
Well, so much for not updating.
Yesterday was fun. I had an ice cream cone outside in the whipping cold with the beauteous and benevolent Bethusaleh. My friend Hannah rides horses, so afterwards she took us to her stable and I rode a horse for the very first time since...oh, eons ago, when we'd first come to America, and I was six, and my mom and dad took us to DC or something and a cowboy put me on a fucking gigantic horse and I clutched its back and cried. Haha.
I didn't cry this time, but let's just say I am not a very graceful young lady on a horse. I suppose it is funny to see me holding the rains aloft like a Western star and sticking me feet out at 180 degrees as the horsey plodded on, especially when juxtaposed with![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
abster226 getting on afterwards and galloping around like a pro. I suppose it is funny to see me clutching the saddle for dear life as I dismounted. But you know what's not funny? Freezing to death after dark. Which is what we did.
If it had not been so cold that you could braid my hair into pigtails and then snap them off like ZAT, I am sure I would have been a most gallant and dashing horsemistress.
Anyway, we go to the Hollywood Video store to rent some movies afterward, and who is there? WHO IS THERE? Good Queen Bess, that is who. He also goes by "Brendan," and on this journal he has been known as "Band Drummer Guy" before I knew his name and "Misery" because of his infamous angst--it's mostly hype. Of course, that was all back when I was a tender young junior and he was a senior on the cusp of college, which is where he is now.
Anyway, Good Queen Bess was there, wearing his adorable shirt that says "I can help you find great movies" (poor thing) and all ready to help us find great movies. (If Cheech had not been there he probably wouldn't have come over to us, but ifs and buts are of no import!) Oh, gentle friends, I am in lurrrvelurrrvelurrve. I thought I was over it because he consistently seems to fuck all the girls he can EXCEPT me, even the gross ones, but my lurrrrve will not be shaken, so MIGHTY and LONG and LOINPRODDING as it is.
If only...I had not been smelling of horse.
Anyway, the rest of the night was watching Transamerica (Kevein Zegers is HAWTTT and played the boy in Airbud once upon a time, and if my lurve for Good Queen Bess was not so unshakable I would give him my heart) and making and consuming pizza. Hopefully it will be salad next time. I do not think I will ever be hungry again.
Yesterday was fun. I had an ice cream cone outside in the whipping cold with the beauteous and benevolent Bethusaleh. My friend Hannah rides horses, so afterwards she took us to her stable and I rode a horse for the very first time since...oh, eons ago, when we'd first come to America, and I was six, and my mom and dad took us to DC or something and a cowboy put me on a fucking gigantic horse and I clutched its back and cried. Haha.
I didn't cry this time, but let's just say I am not a very graceful young lady on a horse. I suppose it is funny to see me holding the rains aloft like a Western star and sticking me feet out at 180 degrees as the horsey plodded on, especially when juxtaposed with
abster226 getting on afterwards and galloping around like a pro. I suppose it is funny to see me clutching the saddle for dear life as I dismounted. But you know what's not funny? Freezing to death after dark. Which is what we did. If it had not been so cold that you could braid my hair into pigtails and then snap them off like ZAT, I am sure I would have been a most gallant and dashing horsemistress.
Anyway, we go to the Hollywood Video store to rent some movies afterward, and who is there? WHO IS THERE? Good Queen Bess, that is who. He also goes by "Brendan," and on this journal he has been known as "Band Drummer Guy" before I knew his name and "Misery" because of his infamous angst--it's mostly hype. Of course, that was all back when I was a tender young junior and he was a senior on the cusp of college, which is where he is now.
Anyway, Good Queen Bess was there, wearing his adorable shirt that says "I can help you find great movies" (poor thing) and all ready to help us find great movies. (If Cheech had not been there he probably wouldn't have come over to us, but ifs and buts are of no import!) Oh, gentle friends, I am in lurrrvelurrrvelurrve. I thought I was over it because he consistently seems to fuck all the girls he can EXCEPT me, even the gross ones, but my lurrrrve will not be shaken, so MIGHTY and LONG and LOINPRODDING as it is.
If only...I had not been smelling of horse.
Anyway, the rest of the night was watching Transamerica (Kevein Zegers is HAWTTT and played the boy in Airbud once upon a time, and if my lurve for Good Queen Bess was not so unshakable I would give him my heart) and making and consuming pizza. Hopefully it will be salad next time. I do not think I will ever be hungry again.
I do believe in updating, I do, I do!
Feb. 7th, 2008 07:58 pmAhhh. As these crazy winter months pass by, so do the days of our lives. I wonder if wherever I am next year will have such fickle weather. Anyway, updates on life:
-I watched a great movie called Welcome to the Dollhouse. One of those indie film things. I laughed so hard...even if the main character was the most depressing, dorky girl I have ever seen. Lines like "Cause at 3 o'clock, I'm gonna rape you"...well, they get my goat.
-I got my very first B of junior high/high school. I am not writing about my reaction to it because I do not have a reaction to it because I have pretended it is a fictional part of my life and doesn't exist ^___^
-Please don't take it personally, Harvard.
-Don't break my heart.
-All for one B.
-I couldn't stand it.
-Anyway, ahem. Despite my tendency to apostrophe (apostrophize?) in online journals, I think I must be saner than the rest of my friends. They are already planning for prom. In February.
-Seriously, it's all I hear about at lunch.
-How many times can you go over the choices for restaurants? Too many fucking times. It's driving me nuts.
-My brother too is insane. I read a note on his desk today. That he wrote to himself. That ended with "WORK NONSTOP AND WITNESS THE FRUITS OF YOUR LABOR."
-I hate how I read my European History book to take notes on Utopian Socialism and end up reading about Romanticism and Beethoven on the next page instead T___T
-I have become addicted to lolcats and have made some of my own. More T___T
-I am on the easiest diet I can think of (must stay skinny!). I just halve my brekkie and lunch and eat one meal afterschool at 6. Which is probably what's normal for most people, but should be considered a diet for raging-munch-o-philes like me.
-Been doing some more writing. Wrote a poem, started two others, one short story, and two possibly novel (maybe novella?) length works. But as I am completely unable to get my ass in gear, ever, it will probably be all for naught, my comrades.
-So, yes, that is like the past two or three months. In a nutshell, more or less, yes yes yes.
See you in like June or something. Rofflez.
-I watched a great movie called Welcome to the Dollhouse. One of those indie film things. I laughed so hard...even if the main character was the most depressing, dorky girl I have ever seen. Lines like "Cause at 3 o'clock, I'm gonna rape you"...well, they get my goat.
-I got my very first B of junior high/high school. I am not writing about my reaction to it because I do not have a reaction to it because I have pretended it is a fictional part of my life and doesn't exist ^___^
-Please don't take it personally, Harvard.
-Don't break my heart.
-All for one B.
-I couldn't stand it.
-Anyway, ahem. Despite my tendency to apostrophe (apostrophize?) in online journals, I think I must be saner than the rest of my friends. They are already planning for prom. In February.
-Seriously, it's all I hear about at lunch.
-How many times can you go over the choices for restaurants? Too many fucking times. It's driving me nuts.
-My brother too is insane. I read a note on his desk today. That he wrote to himself. That ended with "WORK NONSTOP AND WITNESS THE FRUITS OF YOUR LABOR."
-I hate how I read my European History book to take notes on Utopian Socialism and end up reading about Romanticism and Beethoven on the next page instead T___T
-I have become addicted to lolcats and have made some of my own. More T___T
-I am on the easiest diet I can think of (must stay skinny!). I just halve my brekkie and lunch and eat one meal afterschool at 6. Which is probably what's normal for most people, but should be considered a diet for raging-munch-o-philes like me.
-Been doing some more writing. Wrote a poem, started two others, one short story, and two possibly novel (maybe novella?) length works. But as I am completely unable to get my ass in gear, ever, it will probably be all for naught, my comrades.
-So, yes, that is like the past two or three months. In a nutshell, more or less, yes yes yes.
See you in like June or something. Rofflez.
My crap brother lives in the room next to me and for the past year has been practicing his drum set many hours a day.
It is all he does, dear reader. Not eating? Not sleeping? Must be drumming!
And it has been slowly filling me with MURDEROUS RAGE.
The only good thing that can come of this is preparation. Nothing that any obnoxious roommate could do in college WILL EVER be this painful. Ever.
Anyway, the only light in the end of the tunnel is maybe one day I'll get the pluck to roll those fucking drums down into the bottom of a lake. One day, one day.
It is all he does, dear reader. Not eating? Not sleeping? Must be drumming!
And it has been slowly filling me with MURDEROUS RAGE.
The only good thing that can come of this is preparation. Nothing that any obnoxious roommate could do in college WILL EVER be this painful. Ever.
Anyway, the only light in the end of the tunnel is maybe one day I'll get the pluck to roll those fucking drums down into the bottom of a lake. One day, one day.
NOVI NOVI NOVI NOVI GOD
Jan. 1st, 2008 01:30 amHappy New Year!
Or as we Ruskie say, NOVI GOD! And Merry Festivus.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAROFLROFLFORORLROROLO
(They're singing about the new year. Novi means new and god means year. Yeah. It's fucking great.)
(And would you get a load of those ears? That's what communism does to you, man. Brutal.)
Or as we Ruskie say, NOVI GOD! And Merry Festivus.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAROFLROFLFORORLROROLO
(They're singing about the new year. Novi means new and god means year. Yeah. It's fucking great.)
(And would you get a load of those ears? That's what communism does to you, man. Brutal.)
Large and Crazy Things at Work
Dec. 23rd, 2007 08:56 pmI've gotten into Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, AKA Ani's Wee Artsy Top Choice School. So, remaining obstacles:
1. Parents.
2. Money.
3. Doubts. As in, Really Importante Doubts. I mean. Yes, I want to be a writer now. But I don't want to be disowned by my parents, and moreover I don't want to be a Starving Artist all my life. I'd quite like to be successful, actually. And I know I could be anything I want from here--I'm good enough at math and smart enough in general to be, say, a chemist, or a lawyer, or an engineer. My grades right now are great. But I don't want to be any of those things, and I don't wanna wait till I'm in my forties to get published. I want to learn how to do it well, and then do it well as soon as possible. If I go to Pratt, they will teach me how to become a writer. But if procrastination and laziness defeat me, well, I'm done for. And that, Hamlet, is the question.
But come on. It's Brooklyn. And if I go, I can call it Prat's Institute for fun. Teeheehee.
....
Heehee.
Also, tomorrow is my 18th birthday.
Yes. I am coming of age.
1. Parents.
2. Money.
3. Doubts. As in, Really Importante Doubts. I mean. Yes, I want to be a writer now. But I don't want to be disowned by my parents, and moreover I don't want to be a Starving Artist all my life. I'd quite like to be successful, actually. And I know I could be anything I want from here--I'm good enough at math and smart enough in general to be, say, a chemist, or a lawyer, or an engineer. My grades right now are great. But I don't want to be any of those things, and I don't wanna wait till I'm in my forties to get published. I want to learn how to do it well, and then do it well as soon as possible. If I go to Pratt, they will teach me how to become a writer. But if procrastination and laziness defeat me, well, I'm done for. And that, Hamlet, is the question.
But come on. It's Brooklyn. And if I go, I can call it Prat's Institute for fun. Teeheehee.
....
Heehee.
Also, tomorrow is my 18th birthday.
Yes. I am coming of age.
once upon a time not too long ago
Nov. 29th, 2007 06:16 pmMy little sister is 7 and too thick to understand knock-knock jokes.
LS: Knock knock.
Me: Who there?
LS: Concert.
Me: Concert who?
LS: (singing) Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to youuuu--
Me: THAT--IS--NOT--A--KNOCK KNOCK JOKE!
She begged me for another chance. Tragic.
LS: Hello kitty.
Me: Hello kitty who?
LS: I love hello kitty!
Me: Get out of my sight.
Visited a used book shop today. Probably the best idea anyone ever had, used book shops. 3 lovely childhood novels for under $10--yes, I did stay in the juvenile fiction area mostly. Wandering away only to giggle about the romance section. Such funny titles/covers/pennames/SMUT!
LS: Knock knock.
Me: Who there?
LS: Concert.
Me: Concert who?
LS: (singing) Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to youuuu--
Me: THAT--IS--NOT--A--KNOCK KNOCK JOKE!
She begged me for another chance. Tragic.
LS: Hello kitty.
Me: Hello kitty who?
LS: I love hello kitty!
Me: Get out of my sight.
Visited a used book shop today. Probably the best idea anyone ever had, used book shops. 3 lovely childhood novels for under $10--yes, I did stay in the juvenile fiction area mostly. Wandering away only to giggle about the romance section. Such funny titles/covers/pennames/SMUT!
