this coming summer has the potential to be the best summer ever. as long as i can find the right part-time job and finish my Master's Essay my mid-June, everything should fall into place. Yes, I did just re-read that sentence and understand that I may be kidding myself. Maybe I shouldn't be arranging my schedule around Mod night...
I think that I could/would "date" again if anything seemingly pleasant presented itself, though for now i am perfectly content without any of that silliness. i enjoy the knowledge that i don't have to please or impress anyone but myself at the end of the day. and that's fortunate, because i really don't.
i think the best thing about being single is that you get to imagine for a time that you have high standards. its like beginning a new school term and prematurely congratulating yourself for doing all of the reading.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
alibi
the last two weeks has been a blur of staying up too late, stressing about being behind at work, conference parties, hospitalizing and subsequently nursing my cat, reconnecting with and then saying goodbye to an old friend, temporary communal living with my cousin and her boyfriend (who are responsible for the better parts of the last two weeks), looking for a new job, stressing about my M.A. paper, fending off my ex-boyfriend, dreaming about the possibility of someday having a really nice boyfriend, and enjoying good (no, great!) wine and food.
hence, no blog entries.
hence, no blog entries.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
hey, that's no way to say goodbye
leonard cohen is going on tour.
and there are no west coast dates...yet....
i might very well die if i don't see him!
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
another gold star for my generation
Prince Harry was quoted having said the following: "I generally don't like England that much"
Off with his head!
Off with his head!
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
if pushing a shopping cart through hell and charred babies on a spit can get Oprah's attention, surely I can get published...
what should i expect after reading post-apocalyptic fiction until 1 a.m. but apocalyptic dreams?
I was determined to finish Cormac McCarthy's The Road (mainstream novel soon-to-be mainstream film) last night so that I could begin Atwood's Oryx and Crake. Tonight I am going to see Blade Runner, which I hear is cyber-punk film noir.
My dream last night involved 700-storey buildings, a tsunami, and religious hysteria. All of this dystopian literature is starting to making me slightly paranoid. Any suggestions for my next reading series?
Sunday, March 2, 2008
you probably won't think its funny
i went to a volunteer orientation at the spca today and saw a poster encouraging people to spay and neuter their cats:
[picture of cute kitties with a chalkboard that says 1 + 1 = 6]
Cat's can't add, but they sure can multiply!"
heehee...
[picture of cute kitties with a chalkboard that says 1 + 1 = 6]
Cat's can't add, but they sure can multiply!"
heehee...
a daughter's confession
tonight i saw the diving bell and the butterfly
it was overwhelming. there were moments when i was so absorbed in the film that i forgot the person beside me. i would be laughing genuinely and seconds later taste a tear on my lip. i usually have a hard time giving into this unless i go the theater alone.
i don't really want to admit this but i am so self-conscious about the way in which i reveal my emotions. i always feel like i am being scrutinized in my emotional expression and this complicates my ability to allow my physical expression to correspond to my complicated depth of feeling.* i know that most everyone feels this way to a degree, but i am self conscious in a sort of hyper-aware post modern way, if that makes sense to anyone. the result, in my case, is that i either stifle or exaggerate my emotional response.
at the theater, i usually gauge whatever the audience is expressing and refuse to comply with what i believe is a socially conditioned reaction. if they laugh, i purse my lips; if i sense they are touched, i cross my arms and turn to stone. its ridiculous. i really am not that cynical! i'm getting better, really.
maybe it was partly the character's inability to physically express himself that liberated me through the film.
two thoughts:
one: there were some scenes that impacted me like severe blows. my father has als and there is..lets say a possibility...that he will suffer what this man suffered: need a breathing tube, lose the ability to physically express himself without losing memory, imagination, or mental clarity. i could handle seeing the film, but i don't think he could. if i were him, i would want to explore it, but i am not him. am i a bad person for saying this?
two: it encourages me that the last thing someone might want to do in life is to record their impressions in the form of a published book.
i couldn't help but think of brainhell.
*i suspect that this might have something to do with a childhood event. when i was 8 or 9 my sister told me that, after i was asleep, someone would come into my room and watch me while i slept. she may have said that they would film me; i can't remember. because of this, i would pose on my pillow before falling asleep; i would spread my hair carefully around my face and practice a peaceful expression that i imagined was very beautiful. i still have a real problem with posing.
one more thought. there was a scene that evoked a memory of mine, long buried. there is a flashback of the main character shaving his elderly father. it was a very intimate scene. once, a boy let me shave his face. he had recently beaten cancer and still had a shaved head and a scar. he was so vulnerable and trusting, letting me do it. his eyes watched me the entire time. i'm happy to have that memory back.
it was overwhelming. there were moments when i was so absorbed in the film that i forgot the person beside me. i would be laughing genuinely and seconds later taste a tear on my lip. i usually have a hard time giving into this unless i go the theater alone.
i don't really want to admit this but i am so self-conscious about the way in which i reveal my emotions. i always feel like i am being scrutinized in my emotional expression and this complicates my ability to allow my physical expression to correspond to my complicated depth of feeling.* i know that most everyone feels this way to a degree, but i am self conscious in a sort of hyper-aware post modern way, if that makes sense to anyone. the result, in my case, is that i either stifle or exaggerate my emotional response.
at the theater, i usually gauge whatever the audience is expressing and refuse to comply with what i believe is a socially conditioned reaction. if they laugh, i purse my lips; if i sense they are touched, i cross my arms and turn to stone. its ridiculous. i really am not that cynical! i'm getting better, really.
maybe it was partly the character's inability to physically express himself that liberated me through the film.
two thoughts:
one: there were some scenes that impacted me like severe blows. my father has als and there is..lets say a possibility...that he will suffer what this man suffered: need a breathing tube, lose the ability to physically express himself without losing memory, imagination, or mental clarity. i could handle seeing the film, but i don't think he could. if i were him, i would want to explore it, but i am not him. am i a bad person for saying this?
two: it encourages me that the last thing someone might want to do in life is to record their impressions in the form of a published book.
i couldn't help but think of brainhell.
*i suspect that this might have something to do with a childhood event. when i was 8 or 9 my sister told me that, after i was asleep, someone would come into my room and watch me while i slept. she may have said that they would film me; i can't remember. because of this, i would pose on my pillow before falling asleep; i would spread my hair carefully around my face and practice a peaceful expression that i imagined was very beautiful. i still have a real problem with posing.
one more thought. there was a scene that evoked a memory of mine, long buried. there is a flashback of the main character shaving his elderly father. it was a very intimate scene. once, a boy let me shave his face. he had recently beaten cancer and still had a shaved head and a scar. he was so vulnerable and trusting, letting me do it. his eyes watched me the entire time. i'm happy to have that memory back.
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