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| Wednesday, January 16th, 2008 | | 7:28 pm |
| | Wednesday, March 28th, 2007 | | 11:19 pm |
Everybody I know has boyfriends. Gah. Impromptu dancing is amazing. I love choir. I am also taking the swing dancing class for credit. I guess this makes me lazy. But I think it is actually very interesting. I am in the middle of reading this cool article my teacher wrote about the swing revival. Oh oh oh! (lala) and I am going to Paris in the summer to study .... JAZZ! So exciting! | | Thursday, March 15th, 2007 | | 1:02 am |
Two things that made me smile
I saw the cutest thing ever tonight: Two people dancing in the parking lot. With car speakers blaring Michael Buble. Sigh. In the directions to my philosophy of language final it said: "Typewritten answers are preferred but (clearly) handwritten ones are acceptable." And why is that clear? Oh, hehe. | | Thursday, October 14th, 2004 | | 3:41 pm |
| | Monday, July 19th, 2004 | | 3:26 am |
turn your net inside out
If the net of feelings inside only let’s each thing travel one way, be sure it is the love that flows out rather than accusations and insults and such. Otherwise, you are being selfish. If you are selfish it is time to turn your net inside out | | Saturday, June 26th, 2004 | | 1:34 am |
dinner table scene
~ I'm gonna grab a soda.
- Make that two!
( ~ wanders off to grab them... comes back with one hidden in her back pocket, and sets the other one on the table)
- Thank you ( he swipes the soda over to his placemat. Just as he does this, ~ reveals the other soda)
~ (as she recognizes what - just did) Hey, thief!
- I knew she had another one.
> What did you call him?
~ I said, hey thief..uh..mongobadula! Hey, thiefamongobadula.
< What does that mean?
~ Oh, where I come from... ...it is Mongobadocuan for "kind and loving brother."
- Yah, that's why I took it, because I knew she had another one. Thanks ~ .
~ You're welcome, thiefamongobadula. | | Sunday, June 20th, 2004 | | 1:55 am |
you know,
everybody can speak with that moon language. And it is the prettiest of all. | | Sunday, March 14th, 2004 | | 12:57 am |
the stuff of life
Begin!
What dost thou have to say?
...
You know, she's been talking to herself
What, out loud?
No silly, in her head
Oh that is better then.
Why are we having this conversation? I need to study
Why? This is the stuff that life is made of! ..And I fear that is not my own, that I have just taken it from the milieu of authors that live in my head, from the disheveled library of our minds.
...
Don't leave! Oh, don't leave.
We could be friends
I'll make it poetry.
Begin again
zzzzz (she is dreaming)
To wake, perchance to live!
And here, it's never as good. | | Friday, March 5th, 2004 | | 8:14 pm |
An Apology
You know I have a propensity for The extent of my criticism of your innocent witticism To reach an absurdity | | Thursday, February 26th, 2004 | | 3:23 pm |
I don't really like this picture | | Tuesday, February 3rd, 2004 | | 10:42 pm |
goethe
THE BEST. WHEN head and heart are busy, say, What better can be found? Who neither loves nor goes astray, Were better under ground. 1815. ----- AS BROAD AS IT'S LONG. MODEST men must needs endure, And the bold must humbly bow; Thus thy fate's the same, be sure, Whether bold or modest thou. 1815. | | Sunday, February 1st, 2004 | | 7:35 pm |
my mouth is crooked
This was after a Sunshine Generation rehearsal. I bet I was five. I had spent quite a bit of time (maybe a couple of minutes) figuring this out: I took my two pointer fingers and put them at the corners of my mouth, and stretched it and then tried to turn my mouth so that it was like a vertical line instead of a horizontal one. And I wanted to show somebody. I wanted to show Jeanie. But she was busy, a lot of people were asking her questions, and I didn’t want to interrupt her. At the same time, I had perfected my technique, had gotten as close to the vertical line as I thought possible, and I didn’t want to undo my position. (I may have had to, I don’t remember.) When I finally got to talk to Jeanie, I said “Look, my mouth is crooked!” (with my fingers still in there so it sounded funny). And she said with the type of fake excitement one might give to a child when a lot of people have been asking them questions, they are tired, and they are really not interested, but they don’t want to hurt the child’s feelings, “It is, this is is pronounced in two syllables with the accent on the first, and the second syllable pronounced with a schwa (upside down e- “u” as in “uh” or “bungalow” and with a faint trace of a y sound preceding the schwa. Like i’-yәz (this is of course, not the technical phonetic transcription) (by the way, can I have parenthesis within parenthesis?). Say this very fast, especially the latter portion. [You must realize how much faster the second part goes; you have to almost think that you are not even saying the “yu” part. It is a fraction of a fraction of a second.]) So again: “It is, well you better get it straightened back out!” All said with the best intention. But this is not what I wanted! What I wanted her to say was, “Oh my, how did you do that? That is fascinating! Your mouth, you’ve twisted in such a way that it looks almost vertical! {and actually, I don’t think I expected her to say “vertical.” That seems like too sophisticated of a word for my five year old being. But you get the tone, right?} Teach me how to do that!” And I would eagerly but graciously do so. But she didn’t say that, and so then I probably said “ok” and found my mom, and we went home. | | Thursday, January 15th, 2004 | | 9:28 pm |
the hummer
The hummer is someone who is lonely. They hum because they are happy. But they are not happy because they are lonely. | | Thursday, January 8th, 2004 | | 11:15 pm |
Read A Gentle Creature and Other Stories
"The dreamer - if you want an exact definition - is not a human being, but a creature of an intermediate sort. For the most part he settles in some inaccessible corner, as though hiding from the light of day; once he slips into his corner, he grows to it like a snail, or, anyway, he is in that respect very much like that remarkable creature, which is an animal and a house both at once, and is called a tortoise. His imagination is again stirred and at work, and again a new world, a new fascinating life opens vistas before him. A fresh dream - fresh happiness! A fresh rush of delicate, voluptuous poison! What is real life to him! To his corrupted eyes we live, you and I, Nastenka, so torpidly, slowly, insipidly; in his eyes we are all so dissatisfied with our fate, so exhausted by our life! And, truly, see how at first sight everything is cold, morose, as though ill-humoured among us.... Poor things! thinks our dreamer. And it is no wonder that he thinks it! Look at these magic phantasms, which so enchantingly, so whimsically, so carelessly and freely group before him in such a magic, animated pic-ture, in which the most prominent figure in the foreground is of course himself, our dreamer, in his precious person. See what varied adventures, what an endless swarm of ecstatic dreams. You ask, perhaps, what he is dreaming of, why ask that? - why, of eve-rything ... He thinks that this is a poor pitiful life, not foreseeing that for him too, maybe, sometime the mournful hour may strike, when for one day of that pitiful life he would give all his years of fantasy, and would give them not only for joy and for happiness, but without caring to make distinctions in that hour of sadness, remorse and unchecked grief. But so far that threatening time has not arrived - he desires nothing, because he is superior to all desire, because he has everything, because he is satiated, because he is the artist of his own life, and creates it for himself every hour to suit his latest whim. And you know this fantastic world of fairyland is so easily, so naturally created! As though it were not a delusion! Indeed, he is ready to believe at some moments that all this life is not suggested by feeling, is not mirage, not a delusion of the imagination, but that it is concrete, real, substantial! Why is it, Nastenka, why is it at such moments one holds one's breath? Why, by what sorcery, through what incomprehensible caprice, is the pulse quickened, does a tear start from the dreamer's eye, while his pale moist cheeks glow, while his whole being is suffused with an inexpressible sense of consolation?" - From White Nights | | Monday, January 5th, 2004 | | 11:42 pm |
When the patellar tendon is stretched by a triangle shaped stimulus, sensory neurons start firing action potentials. | | Saturday, January 3rd, 2004 | | 3:32 pm |
Kindergarten
Until the age of five, I thought that the word “purpose” meant “accident.” It wasn’t until one time in am kindergarten that I learned the true meaning. A tall boy (tall in my five-year-old opinion), with a face that was freckled and round and topped with red hair, committed some crime against me. It must have been something like cutting up a piece of “artwork” that I was working on, or marking it with a crayon. When I told our teacher, we called her “Mrs. B”, she said “Oh, I’m sure he didn’t do it on purpose.” That made me think. If he Didn’t do it on accident, then he must have Meant to do it. But with the way Mrs. B dismissed the event, I realized what purpose means to a five-year-old. A decade later, I have had to struggle again with the meaning of purpose. | | Friday, January 2nd, 2004 | | 3:04 am |
My Earliest Memory
I think my earliest memory is from a picture. I must have been a baby. My dad’s mother and sister were visiting from Iran. I remember going to a park, or a playhouse, or was it the zoo? Anyway, we were sitting on some benches in a flower garden and I was playing with my Aunt Rudy’s ear or hair. Then I saw a squirrel. | | Saturday, September 6th, 2003 | | 7:32 pm |
| | Thursday, June 19th, 2003 | | 7:32 pm |
Does anyone feel sorry for the bad guys? | | Wednesday, June 4th, 2003 | | 10:54 pm |
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