The King of Kings

...one Elvis impersonator to rule them all.

I like the old songs where your pretense is adorable for its innocence.

I'm pretty and going to Italy and PMSing and interesting and good with strangers and sometimes a little shy but otherwise really loud and I smile a lot and I know some things and I know there's a lot more to know and that I'm young and that I haven't done anything relative to what I can and there's so much I don't know about myself for being so assured of who I am and want to be and if it came down to flight vs. invisibility I'd fly and if it came down to going or staying in I'd go and that's why I have to leave and I try something normal and let go and let go and let go and, and, grow, because that's the most important. But it still sucks sometimes, 'cuz this time it's real.


I wonder how many inside jokes Randall Munroe has referenced in order to make his friends feel special that he specifically alluded to them in his internationally read comic.

Brain Boops

I can't ever be thankful enough for the people in my life.

There's not enough time for books.

Cuddling goes into serious decline when I'm at Temple.

There are a lot of unnecessary adornments on my desk.

Gifts given to me the past few years have become retrospectively more valuable.

Every time I look at something I like, I think, "I could make that. Not paying money."

"Babies! Babiesbabiesbabies! Babies!!! NO babies."

I'm grateful that my writing class forces me to write.

There are many candles in my room and only the oven to light them.

I learned to knit! I knitted!

Currently, I am very very far from self-supporting, but ever closer to self-sustaining.

A State Patty's Day Story

I was grateful to catch a ride with Bubba up to PSU this weekend. All the return bus tickets for less than $20 had been booked two weeks ago, and it was mostly by chance that I wound up going. We left Friday night after classes and picking up Alexis. Besides early navigational troubles, the ride up went smoothly, with a solid hour or so of belting Lady Gaga and Katy Perry at the end. Initially, the plan was to play "My Cows" for the duration, but a very solid darkness allowed for only one cow spotting, and even that one was under investigation. It was promptly drowned.

Hortense's birthday party was buckets of fun and the whitest party I'd ever been to. After leaving around 12, we wandered over to the McDonald's on College Ave. for the greatest drunk watching experience of my life. At 12:30 am, the place was mobbed with both staffers and students. The ordering system is the most efficient thing I've ever seen, though a number of the too-far-gones are incapable of its navigation. A student orders, a number is written on their receipt, and numbers are constantly shouted out to claim your prize. It was something to behold. Matt saw two cars pulled over for driving the wrong way. What a terrifying celebration.

Saturday afternoon, we got lunch with Matt and his parents, as Jackie was running that day at some level of state finals. It was good to catch up with them, though I'm sure we'll visit again next week on break. We followed up lunch with stencil shenanigans, then I walked over to Lauren's dorm for a surprise Skype date with Kim. Two hours later, Lauren and I met Melissa at the Creamery to induct me into the Penn State ritual. We caught up some and agreed to reunite later for dinner. During the in between, I roughly passed out on Lauren's bed for lack of sleep and woke up in time for food. Melissa has a great group of friends, and dinner made it feel like we were the drunk ones for all of the laughter. Returning to Matt and Jeff, we ventured over to the a capella show for a two and a half hour sing-a-thon. The venturing was part of the fun. Matt's parents send him "silly hats" in his care packages. These hats are exceptionally silly. 6' 4" Matt wore a green top hat that added another 12 inches of height with a beard attached that added at least 12 inches of length. Jeff wore a roasted turkey hat, and I had a spikey rainbow thing courtesy of Haley. Post-a capella, we were heckled all the way down College Ave. until arriving at The Diner, at which point Matt was identified by an intoxicated student as Honest Abe. Nice try. My "dollar per slice" bacon was definitely worth it, and after which we dispersed for bed.

Sunday was generally lazy, catching brunch with Matt and Tarik then heading out. I slept on the ride home, waking up to Bitches Ain't Shit and drowning some muckaluckas cows. It was good.




~I wonder how many inside jokes Randall Munroe has referenced in order to make his friends feel special that he specifically alluded to them in his internationally read comic.

Daze

I've lost track of time. I'm vaguely aware that my time is going to immensely productive things, and that I'm probably having fun because it goes so quickly, but wow. Earlier today, my dad called me about visiting tomorrow, which is tough to schedule in with work and then volunteering from 9-4. I told him that we'd settle details later, and I'd probably give him a call Wednesday night. "Chloe, that's right now." Oh.

Mondays are class 9-4, then juggling at 5:30.
Tuesdays are work, "free time,*" then band and gardening club.
Wednesdays I don't see my dorm from 9-7 for class, volunteering, and socialist meeting.
Thursday is a repeat of Tuesday minus band occasionally plus time at the Shoe, then Outdoor's club and hanging out with Kira and Gab.
Friday is Monday minus juggling, usually plus partying.
**

*"Free time" is generally not time that is free for me, but time that is free to complete all of the other necessities of life that cannot be completed during the rest of the week, such as opening a bank account or having a doctor's appointment or "being advised."
**Pending there are no basketball games I am required to be at.

And I love it. I imagine that a future life will be a little more leisurely. I imagine actually having time to read the Times with orange juice, instead of skimming headlines then finishing my ecology readings. But this is the most incredible life I could be living right now. I get into the city as often as I'd like. I still attend lectures and programs and see friends and hang out and giggle. I've even had two weekday naps so far this semester. I'm learning and doing so much, but it feels like classes are where I'm learning the least (except ecology). It's a wonderful way to be.

I Believe the Hawk Is Dead

Tonight, Temple's Men's Basketball played St. Joe's at home in the Liacouras Center. Their slogan, being the St. Joe's Hawks, is "The Hawk will never die." Accordingly, Temple's Wild Cherry fan section themed tonight, "The Hawk's Funeral." T-shirts were printed up, "RIP: The Hawk." Veils were given out, flowers, tissues. A cardboard coffin was crowd surfed down the student section while priests and nuns and people in suits mourned in the front rows. During the entrance of their team, the entire student section knelt and held their hands in prayer. Finally, once TU's victory was secured, our alum brought about the "I believe" chant to end with "I believe the hawk is dead." We went through three iterations of the cheering and jumping. It was marvelous.

Philthy

Excellence has become much more concentrated in my life, as far as the graphing of excellence over time goes. Philadelphia has opened enormous opportunity for activity. It's impossible to grasp how much I didn't do living the in the 'burbs and the ever growing expanse of things yet to do.

Once springtime becomes semi-permanent, I'll go on a murals tour of Philly. I'll get cheesesteaks from Geno's and Pat's and watch Rocky and visit the Liberty Bell. I'd like to see Viv. My first year here is passing by at an incredible rate. Hopefully, I will spend more of my time in metropolitan areas. Hopefully, I'll be seeing a few more than Philadelphia.

in Heaven, everything is fine

Last night, I went to the hippest house show I've ever been to. Ukulele, mandolin, banjo, harmonica, accordion, pump organ, glockenspiel, acoustic bass, and ocarina were some of the instruments in attendance. There were Ray Bans e'rywhere. Surprisingly, I knew quite a few of the people there. I didn't realize how strong my hipster association was. Advertised as a "candlelight serenade," it lived up to its title. Hosted in a basement with tapestries covering the floor, the entire party sat on the floor during the performance, which was indeed lit by candles and Christmas lights. The first performer, Jill, was friends with nearly everyone I knew, so we had a great first introduction. Her original compositions utilized the uke and mandolin, sweetly adorable songs that set the night. She wrote her own love song from a boy to her, the second about being friend zoned as a female. Giggly cute, that song included the phrase, "I'm not your bro, so when you put your dick in my face, don't expect me not to blow." By the third repetition of that line, the entire basement was singing with her in laughter. Her final song was a collection of nearly everyone I knew at the party singing, "In Heaven, everything is fine..." from the movie Eraserhead. It was beautiful.

The second performer was my friend Abi and her guitar playing friend in their band, Uandi (You-wand-ee). Her voice is some sweet and delicate gospel choir nostalgia. While the guitar went through intricate little rhythms, she sang of love and being really real. It was a very mature performance.

The last duo we stayed through was meh. The lead singer was douchey, and banjo man in the background didn't say much. We sang more of their songs though, so that made up for it.

I realize that these kinds of parties are few and far between. While I can hope that my life will continue to host intimate musical performances, it's not likely to last very much beyond college without significant effort. I don't know where I will go to sing in a group when I am older, especially as I cannot sing very well.

First Day of Work

Thursday marked the first day of my first ever job, and I shouldn't even be getting paid for something so awesome. After a two day training session with Temple, I was certified to enter the Time Out program, where students serve as companions to the elderly while their caretakers take some time for themselves. The gentleman I've been matched with is a real wit, a former boxer and gym teacher. He's a good guy and in great physical shape. From 9-12, I talk to his grandkids, a girl and boy, ages 3 and 1 respectively. Once we're good to go, we walk to nearby activity centers and get our work out on. I burnt 200 calories on the bike my first day.

Walking to work from the subway, I passed a pimp cane in the trash with a gold diamond on top. What luck! I stashed it in an ally during work, then picked it back up leaving. After getting back to Temple, I retrieved my phone with Matt and then checked out the abandoned elementary school. It was the most gorgeous day for February, stupefyingly so. We just wore t-shirts while circling the building, and upon finding an open door, were met with an eerie flow of freezing wind. The sun hadn't even remotely touched the inner halls. We'll go back with a flashlight sometime in the future.

Upset about having to go the basketball game, I was doubly amused to find a.) Kit-Kats can be purchased on the meal plan, and b.) I had a package! Picking it up right before the game, I opened it in the Liacouras Center with smiles. It was a care package from Mrs. G., complete with cookies, gummies, gum, Wawa coupons, granola, fruit pieces, and a leprechaun hat. Of course, I shared the goodies with my band friends, collectively raising spirits as apparently nobody wanted to be at this game. That statement was reversed by the end of the night. Juan's confidence is back with a vengeance, and the ladies went wild. We got some dunks, and remain undefeated in Liacouras, defeating Richmond, with whom we'd been tied for something. Katy and I walked back to our hall afterward, where I finished a project then hurried over to Gab and Kira's for another lovely night. Sam showed up after some time, and we ventured down to J&H for fourth meal. It was a wonderful time.

Harrisburg Protest

Tuesday morning saw me rise with the sun for a protest in Harrisburg. Students from four Pennsylvanian colleges gathered to fight recent austerity cuts that threaten state funding for higher education. With those cuts comes an inevitable tuition hike, as much available to be cut was already in previous years. The school buses left at 8, but not actually. Fortunately, the media turned out to support our cause. Unfortunately, no students did. Of the approximately 300 signed up to attend, ~65 did, including our entire student government. At least the ride was fun. Jacob and Abi turned out, both aspiring photojournalists. They're both politically aware and ideologically opinionated, so a beautiful conversation began from their meeting. I did manage to get some reading of The Botany of Desire in, so I was much satisfied by the transportation experience.

I'd never realized from my times there with HiQ that Harrisburg is kinda more town than city. Yes, it has skyscrapers, but maybe two unimpressive ones. The capitol building remains a lovely building, and the February weather was slightly more bearable than expected. Sadly, there was little actual protesting. Students from Temple, PSU, Temple, and Lincoln were gathered on the rotunda staircase as a backdrop to our student speakers. Some were excellent. Original poetry was read and our homecoming king gave an impassioned speech. Give him a cause to speak on, and I would follow. Most others were forgettable or unintelligible from my location. The only moment of group solidarity was during the Temple Gospel Choir. They sang Lean On Me, and the entire student body began swaying and singing together. It was almost like an honest to goodness ole' fashioned protest movement. Afterward, Temple and Lincoln students gathered in a circle for a step off. We lost by a lot. It was still a great exchange.

Our bus ride back had much more exaggerated stories from a few seats up, but quiet reflection for us sleepyheads. Jacob even managed a nap.

Share!

"My collective frustrations burst forth from my tiny body like bees from a nest that had just been pelted with a rock."
-Hyperbole and a Half (highly recommended)

Of the three parties I've been to this semester, multiple people shouted my name when they saw I'd arrived. Even at last night's "80s Frat Party," I stumbled upon a sizable number of band kids excited to see me in the mess. Danielle had the biggest hair I'd ever seen. Her ponytail was bigger than my head. Then I saw Gab, another one with huge hair. Her and Kira matched for the second party in a row. They're so cute. As expected, it was hot and gross and gropey. I never thought I'd be grateful to find ceiling pipes leaking on me. The live band absolutely made the night. We would've left after 20 minutes if they hadn't been playing dancy 80s rock (and some Beastie Boys?). Bein' my dancy-self, I got all danced up on, which I don't mind for one or two songs. I was making funny faces at Gab for one guy, but apparently he was cute. Oh well, not tryna take home guys at a frat party, or any party, really. Inebriation is a major turn-off. T-Pat picked me up when he drunkenly hugged me and offered beer, but he surprisingly left when I said I didn't drink. Strange... We left after the band finished around 12:15, walking arm in arm with Gab to help her toddle across the ice. Tim, upset that Katy was holding hands with Glenn, decided to be straight and honest with me. "We talked the first day, when you were introducing yourself and everyone and you said you used to be in pit but now were doing cymbals, and I haven't talk to you at all since that, which is a shame, since you were nice and I was really shy and now you have lots of friends, so I guess it worked out for you."

Super Bowl Party

Tonight after the orchestra, I called my mom to tell her about my day/how it went meeting the family I'll be serving as a companion for. I hadn't talked to her on the phone since Saturday, so I asked how her Super Bowl Party had gone. It was so adorable to see her get excited for it. She bought real cards from the dollar store with a fancy black/white scheme that she picked out from all of the other cards that implied what the function was about. These were classy things. We talked about what chips she'd have and where to put them on the table, and who she could invite, because she couldn't have a really big shin-dig because not everybody would be able to fit in her teeny apartment. It was the first party she'd hosted, in, well, ages! She wound up with about ten people on the invite list, and wrote her cards and handed them out. Only four of her friends showed up. Well, Caroline couldn't make it, so Tom didn't bother going either. And Barry and Angel went to visit a nephew, so they weren't there. And the people who did come, everyone except Jim left after an hour or two. "I felt dumb and really stupid for having this party. I guess I just won't have another one."

This was so much more painful to hear than I would've expected.

Staying and Touching

I didn't realize how hard it would be to stay in touch with people from back home. To remedy the issue, I've been writing letters at least 20 minutes a day for the last three days. Even so, it's hard to include everyone. I don't keep the same schedule as anyone still in GV, and I'm so-so with the Fb chat.

Postcards are my favorite. That's going to be half of my souvenir budget in Italy- super nifty postcards.

Leaving the country for the first tie is both thrilling and a little nerve-racking. I'm intimidated by the cost of living and language barrier, but also encouraged by the human awe that will be evident without translators. The whole city of Rome is a museum, and one of my ideal classes will be "the Roman sketchbook- drawing, painting, and sculpting the city." Currently, my application is complete and downpaid for. Registration opens up sometime in March, and I should start looking into plane tickets now. Unfortunately, one has to book both their incoming and return tickets before starting the semester abroad. I was hoping to stay in Europe for a few days past the educational portion. Depending on how my finances go, I may try to get a refund and stick around. We'll see. It's tentative.

Disillusioned

It is in the winter time I have found dissatisfaction with party life. It's too cold for pleasant and audible conversation outside, as everyone is crammed into a small space. I relayed this sentiment to Gab and Kira after Saturday's super party, and they seem accepting to the idea of generally leaving earlier than most. Too many drunks, too much straight Philly tap. At least I'm really hydrated all the time.

Next week, I've been invited to an 80's Party at a frat. Of course, I'll go for the novelty and experience of having been to a frat, but I have no interest in drinking or especially talking to frat guys.

I missed people tonight

In part because I laughed past the point of tears a number of times.
It was so good it was bad.

All I Do Is Win (And Show Up)

Current Extracurricular Activity
-Temple Community Garden, Media Team
-Juggling Club, Secretary
-TU ACLU, Assistant Marketing Person

-Planned Parenthood VOX, member
-TU Basketball Band, member (saxophone)
-TU Marching Band, member (cymbals)

-Wooden Shoe Books, Trainee
-Time-Out Respite Care Program, Trained (being matched)

-Future TU Rome Alumnus

A Night Inimitable

Last night was one of those nights where I even realized during the night that I was with people I love on a night inimitable. Around 10, I didn't have anything to do, so I texted up some friends to see what's going down. Jake was hanging with Kevin and invited me over, so I got my snow stuff on and headed over. It was perfect packing snow and falling in gorgeous sheets (eventually 15 inches), so we decided to venture on out into the night for fun. We stopped back at my building so Jake could get snow clothes, and on our way out to go to Bubba's, we stopped for a minute to throw snowballs at the kids in the courtyard and each other. During that minute delay, our home was invaded by a mob from another building, and we spent an exhausting quarter hour or so repelling the invasion after they stormed the gates with snowballs high. I made a kamikaze mission and got out relatively unscathed, and my friends also fought valiantly, but not everyone was so honorable (that's a joke because they're in the honors building). In the parking area, I caught my friends with some pretty good snowballs before Jake tackled me to the snow, and I bear wrestled him into a snow beard. Eventually, we got past that to made enormous effing snowmen in a Rite-Aid parking lot (I highly recommend you find that video). They were holding hands and had hats and tons of little babies and a kitten. We were still there when the plow came to destroy their beautiful world, so humorously I threw myself in front of the dozer. We managed to save two of their babies, entrusting one to a snowperson in the area. The other is in my freezer. I think when I threw myself in front of the plow is when I lost my phone and cards. We also busied around all over campus until cops told us to go home, at which point we retreated for hot chocolate, a dryer for our clothes, and Smash Bros Brawl.

Sunday to Sunday: First Week Back

Sunday: Moved in, met Danielle. Spent the day unpacking/hanging out with friends to catch up. [edit: Went to Kevin's 21st Birthday Party at the Misconduct Tavern.]

Monday: Woke up at 8 for Martin Luther King Jr. Day of Service with the Gardening Club. Running out to the bookstore with lovely ladies from TCG to prepare for classes/get added to the listserv editors.

Tuesday: Left 'rill early to apply for my passport at City Hall. Walked to Wooden Shoe Books to start my training session. Learned how to use a cash register/read a lot.

Wednesday: First day of classes, 9-4. Had massive lunch with friends and two basketball games.

Thursday: Visited to the student health center, applied for the Hart Passport Scholarship, went shopping for tapestries on South St. with my roommie. Walked up to the Kimmel Center for "College Night."

Friday: Second day of classes, one class cut short, another massive lunch with friends. Went to a show at the Maggot House with Kat and Matt. Brought the Pimp Goblet. Made friends. Got knocked over when massive boys started thrashing in the basement. Found "scarf-on-the-door" when I returned home so hung out with Matt until 2.

Saturday: Was interrupted in party prep by a fire drill, brought the Pimp Chalice to Doug's and wore supa fly Kanye shades (which both impair vision and do not protect from sun), had a lovely walk home.

Sunday: Went to a ska show with Matt and Ben, won a free shirt for skanking the hardest, but mostly because I was the only girl skanking. Hooray for boobies!

Leaving the World

When I was little, it seemed I was always leaving. Everything was new. I never returned to the same place twice. Now that I've been everywhere, it's blase. Oh, Italy again? Please, that was back in '74, it'll take something a little more refreshing to get an eyebrow raise out of me. These past few years have seen nothing but returning. To bolster some interest, a friend casually joked that death will be a first for me. But not, it is only a return to non-life. *sigh* The only leaving this world for me would be to perhaps visit Mars someday. I've been to the moon twice already.

50 Word Story

We switched roles. I'm not my mother; I'm her age. It's easier to love from this position. When she ran off with that vagabond, it broke my heart. Maybe someday she'll return and switch us back. At least now I can't have any more kids.

Experimenting with Different Genres

Once a upon a recent and otherwise forgettable time, two people met and fell in love. One more passionately than the other. After some months together, the woman, enthralled with her beau, suspected that he might be unfaithful. He "hung out with the guys" and "liked his alone time." Prime hours for developing and sustaining a mistress. In an attempt to try to revitalize their relationship, she went out and bought a beautiful golden locket. It fell suggestively across her chest and glittered with the beckoning call of "notice me, it's okay to stare." This was much appreciated by the boyfriend she'd sought to reclaim. In the first night after the locket, he wished he smoked for how much his performance deserved a classy cigarette break afterward. Maybe it was the little piece of jewelry in her mind, but he was far more glad that she'd stepped it up a notch after a lull. The next morning, she rolled over and immediately returned the necklace to its cozy resting spot. Intrigued by the object, he inquired as to what was inside. "Nothing yet," she responded, "but it'll be something nice, so like I can always have you near me." It warmed him to hear, and the rest of his day was spent smiling. When he got home, his lady had dinner all prepared and ready to go. Already smiling, he couldn't help but break into a bigger grin. Reaching over to gratefully, playfully hug his woman, a searing pain roared through his stomach. Unable to breathe, he looked down to the knife sliding out of him. It struck him with disbelief, then struck him again on the hand before he had time to gather a second thought. It was his lover, his cuppy cake, gumdrop bringing this horror against him. Not even a questioning gurgle could escape his lips, though evident in his eyes. Tearfully holding the knife, she sobbed, "I was going to put you in my locket so we could be together. Forever."

No Shit, Sherlock

Aunt Milly was known throughout the area for having one prized possession of incredible value. People in the area had talk about it for years, longer than anyone could remember. Whenever she came into town, she had an aura of pride, of ownership. It was obvious to anyone who knew what to look for. Some of those who came to knew what to look for were thieves from a neighboring town. Bad guys, indeed. They'd heard of this tremendous object and wanted to possess it for themselves. After all, how hard can it be to rob an old lady? One fateful evening, the men snuck around her house after dark, creeping through bushes and under the porch, sneakily observing every entry-way and exit. Finally, they decided on entering through a second story window, open to let in the cool summer night. Shimmying up a drain pipe, they tip-toed through the grandmotherly house. Finally, they came across a closet that so obviously held the prized object they sought. Peering through, their intuition proved correct, a lock box held a very obviously sturdy lock. For hours, the thieves pried and calculated. In frustration, one uttered profane and blasphemous mutterings. His whisper was met with the click of a shotgun Aunt Milly had come up behind the dastardly men in their schemes. Aiming her double barrel in their direction, she ordered their removal, with which they complied.

Later, after sharing the harrowing story with me, I hesitantly asked Aunt Milly what was in her safe box that was so valuable. Laughing and pulling me close, she speaking softly into my ear, "Honey, all this hemmin' and hawin' in town is a little overblown. You see, I am the inventor of the world's only uncrackable lock."

Finally Returning to Life

I drove over to my mom's to sing at the top of my lungs.
I watched an awful, awful horror movie with my mom.
I said goodbye to my dog.
She crawled into my arms.
I played every song I know on guitar,
and I lit some candles.

These things don't happen at school,
but there's so much more that does.

A Week of Fiction, Maybe Years

The end and I were already fairly intimate by the time the beginning of the story rolled around. Kurt Vonnegut once recommended that all fiction start as close to the end as possible, and I suppose our relationship was as tight as it was going to be without getting sweaty. These are lonely nights in the city. A small apartment feels emptier for the things in it. Confused thoughts were comforting, something to think away the silence with. Nothing ever got figured out. At nights, she lay quite still and fell to thinking.

Monodon Monoceros

Once upon a time, there was a silly sort of dolphin who could not see for lack of echolocation. All of his companions made fun of him for bumbling and stumbling about the ocean, especially comical for lack of things to stumble upon in the great wide sea. Eventually, it became so that fish would poke fun at him. Laughing with their scaley little fin-gers. At night, the dolphin started to believe that he could hear an endless chorus of plankton, giggling at his plight. It was terrifically saddening to see, a blubberous dolphin blubbering about his inability to echolocate. So, amidst all of this melancholy, the dolphin left his pod and ventured out to the lonely see, bumbling this way and that, but at least no one was there to laugh at him. For a long time he wandered, past wondrous chasms and glorious flocks of jellyfish lighting the depths like stars. Of course, the echolocation-less dolphin did not know he was in the presence of beauty, nor did he know what stars were or that they were considered beauty-full. He valued what he had, however. Pretty alright food, two perfectly good flippers, and a solid noggin. Otherwise he may not have been in able to bump into so many things. At long last, he came to a university of fish. He found experts in all the fine arts and sciences. Artist fishes. Mathematician fishes. Scientist fishes with little lab coats and beakers, though that was not appreciated at the time. He at long last found a place where he was not viewed as a freak, he was an object of science, though that was still not quite as good as being equal to other all things in his own right. The pre-med fish studied his brain. The fishes studying physics tested exactly how unable this poor dolphin was to see. The geologist fishes studied fishures, or so the liberal arts fishes liked to joke. After all of the prodding and investigation and conversation, one ingenious fish came upon a solution. They would modify the cellular code of the echolocation-less dolphin to contain the gene of a magical unicorn. Damn the scientific accuracy of such a proposal, they're fish for goodness sake, at least they were trying. Through grueling hours of science, the dolphin endured, at last waking up, still unable to echolocate. Distraught, he demanded why they'd ever subjected him to such an ordeal. He raged and cursed like the allusive sailors he'd never seen. Calmly, the lead fish doctor explained, "For now and ever onward, you shall be known as the narwhal and no longer bump into things. The horn upon your head will give you a warning of at least three feet, and the lady narwhals will be impressed by the vigor of your 'rod.' Please, go forth and prosper, we've done all we can." Realizing what this meant for him, the newly christened narwhal cried undetectable tears of joy into the dark and salty ocean. Thanking the good doctors who invested their time, he left the university and return to his pod. Hesitant to greet their prodigal, bumble-less friend, his rediscovered dolphin pod was silent at his arrival. They easily echolocated the stunning new horn and were amazed. Right before they met their death at the hands of the narwhal spear.

Pictures

This morning, I finally printed out pictures of friends on glossy, high quality photos. Some are old, some are unfocused, and some are more meaningful in memory than reality, but I'm glad to have them none the less.

"This Film Is Not Yet Rated"

I don't think I'd ever seen a female orgasm on screen.

While I'm still trying to figure out what Netflix's angle is on producing the film, it's a powerful documentary none the less. Censorship is most certainly existent, what with a few corporations owning 90% of the American media, but I'd never realized to what extent my cinematic experience was being censored. For goodness sake! The MPAA is comprised of anonymous, average American parents, though all hired and fired the white, rich Republican, Joan Graves, and every appeals hearing has two members of the clergy present. Rating discussions are attended by major studio heads, and the chairwoman, Graves, both votes in the rating and is the tie-breaker in the event of a deadlock. She was appointed by Jack Valenti, former press manager for JFK and loyal aid to LBJ. This was the man who left Washington at the urge of Universal Studios to start the MPAA. He knew money, power, and politics and was in the pocket of major studios. There is immense collusion between the powerful I'm not aware of. Sometimes it's sneaky, and I don't always know where to look. This is blatant. Though, the movie did have to point me where to look.

Krissy and Chloe Take PSU

Sunday morning, I buckled up with Lauren, Melissa, and Melissa's parents for the trip to PSU. Lauren's stuff took up the majority of the trunk, requiring a quick game o' Tetris, but we were out of GV by 10:45. Conversation on the way down went through lulls, and the toasty car gave strong inclinations towards dozing. It snowed nearly the entire evening we were there. Melissa's parents treated me to lunch at The Corner, though our wait was overly long. The time spent getting to know her parents much explained why Melissa turned out as she did. I loved meeting her friends. Grace, her roommate, is wild, and their interactions are endearing. We caught dinner en masse in East, then retired to Grace and Melissa's room for more conversation. Around 9-10, we made our way to Jeff's room and hung out with his crew. I was moody and irritated by the group dynamics. The night was not so good, and I slept badly, but the morning made up for it. After a walk that lapped both of our campuses, Krissy and I sat in on Matt's engineering mechanics class and understood the first day concepts! Unfortunately, we were half of the females present. Though Matt had another class, we met up with Lauren and Melissa for lunch, with Jeff joining us after his 12:00. A few minutes were spent conversing in Jeff's room with live background music before heading off to Intro to Archeology in an Indiana Jones hat. Getting there early, we elected for pictures with the Nittany Lion. Monday Archeology was only the recitation of 15 people, so we were pretty easily called out as non-natives. Krissy and I 'fessed up our visitor status, and the TA was fine with that. Back in Melissa's room, we watched "My Soul to Take," filmed down the street from Sam in CT. It was pretty alright, and a good way to spend some time. Dinner was exciting for seeing Will S., and afterward we hung out with Jeff's bunch again. Melissa and Krissy left a little before 11, so we watched the Daily Show then went with Matt and Jeff to another buffet. MINI M&Ms! :D I felt a lot better after hanging out with the guys. Night saw fitful sleep, but the morning was nice. It was a sad goodbye to everyone.

Words were missed then, some apology...

I've never loved fearlessly, even the first time and even in the summer. While it's something I hope for, it's not something I expect to achieve. My brother I love completely and without reservation. My friends I love warmly and for my idea of them, even if that concept is not accurate to their reality. It's hard to thoroughly know someone to love "the real them." I love concepts in the interim, striving for that full disclosure. It is being in love, however, that is scary. It is something with finite end, but changes relationships despite that previous knowledge. I know that this cannot last, that my silly girl thoughts are born of naivety and impracticality. This is not beneficial. This is creating a terrible model for the future. Still, it feels good. It would feel even better to abandon thought and "do." I'll forget that it will end and hurt and ruin beautiful things so that there is more sweetness to remember when the pain finally does kick in.

I am battered by the tumultuous nature of "us." I hate how easy it is to fall back to indulgent habits. I am plagued by a sense of powerlessness and a guilt for feeling powerless.

This is not how the real world works.

Dumb Girl

After the party Friday night, I arranged a ride home with a couple returning to West Chester, though the driver was obviously somewhat intoxicated. Being me, it was a scary mix of two fears already intimidating on their own: cars and alcohol. Calling my mom, I walked down to the corner to get the street address. She didn't pick up. Having guests in the morning and with the expectation of snow, I accepted the ride home. I will never tell my mom or dad. The route home was essentially 95 to 202. High speeds, late night, getting over a recent snow. There wasn't a lot of swerving, but not a lot of consistency in the lanes, either. I thought of when I'd started driving; I'd draft texts of love, hoping, in the event of the worst, my friends and family would be left with last words. I began to draft with an unnecessary sense of finality. I thought of what I could leave in 160 characters. Finished, I sang to the too-loud music. If anything, going out singing wouldn't have been so bad. "Dogs" by Pink Floyd was on coming out of an exit. We nearly hit a corner support of the ramp before jerking back into the lane. The girl in the passenger seat looked back at me with relieved "woah" eyes.

. ......... ...........

I need to reexamine my concept of a relationship.

First Adventure of 2011

I'd promised AJ that I'd take him building spelunking, whether he visited me in the city or not. While the Bethel Mansion had long promised an interesting exploration site close to home, only my brother had actually gone to visit its depths. The place is in fairly good condition for the number of windows that have been knocked out. We came in through the front window most devoid of glass, opening into a wood paneled den, immediately adjacent to the (grand) entryway. It is far too grand for us. The entryway is domed with golden scrollwork on shimmering blue. Water dripped onto everything, at once startling us for very closely imitating the sound of footsteps. Well, AJ rightfully imagined it to be the sound of walking. I imagined it to be the sound of a zombie eating brains. After all, the mansion is a lovely place to stage a film or a terrifying, small-town massacre. It's an interesting subject of exploration. Although we did not find the basement, nearly every room was searched. Upon finding a pantry sort of room, AJ found a large and beautiful locket of an owl, obviously meant for me. While it may only be beautiful for its history, that frequently happens with people. Later, on the roof, we discussed the pleasantries of living in such a building. I imagined myself a summer child, and the broken house as an extended fort.

Another night at Tom Jones.

Tomorrow night,
another night at Tom Jones.

Inputting, Outputting, Offputting

These past few days have felt like there is not enough time to learn everything that I want to. Today heralded my discovery of iTunes U, so the afternoon has been spent downloading various lectures from various prestigious universities across the globe. Open courseware is phenomenal, but I'm not sure if I have the time to actively focus on a lecture. Theoretically, the plan is to listen and attempt to draw everything that is being discussed. This serves both as a way to entertain without visual stimulus and to keep a rather eccentric set of notes as evidence of production. However, with all of this information I have yet to absorb, I wonder when I will devote time to the more fulfilling act of creative production. Of course, I have to have information to work with before I can make anything worthwhile, but I can't learn all my life AND make all my life. Luckily, making tends to infer a certain learning by its own right. It's an interesting perspective I'd never looked at before.

Holy Days

My favorite holidays are Halloween and New Year's. Both provide a reinvention. Halloween, for one night, a chance to be something more than anything I will ever be. I can be blatantly both witty and sexy. New Year's, the fresh start that is just another day, is a symbolic starting over. There are daily improvements I can make to myself and often try to, but for longstanding achievements, it is a good motivation. This year, my tentative resolutions include:

Host an impromptu art gallery OR have my art hosted by a legitimate gallery OR put up 5 pieces greater than 6x6" OR greater than 5 pieces of smaller art OR any combination of above
Get a literary work published in a forum reaching greater than 10,000 people
Compose an album of more than 10 songs, with at least half longer than 2:30 min.
Pull an all nighter
Sing all the verses of 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall
Create a three minute film OR produce a documentary
Visit a foreign country
Write my manifesto
Write at least two letters to local representatives
Self-publish a satirical newspaper OR a semi-weekly guerrilla commentary
Write and submit articles to a Temple news publication, The Daily News, The Inquirer, and one additional media source
Attend a Phillies, Flyers, Eaglesr, and Union Game
Make out in the Kimmel Center
Watch Rocky
Eat a Cheesesteak
See the Liberty Bell
Visit the Academy of Natural Sciences

Last Night, When We Were Young

Neither snow nor rain...

Antiques Road Show last night showed clips in which people, by sheer luck, rescued pricey objects from the inevitable destruction of a dump. Jeff came over slightly after its conclusion and left slightly before my adventure to Tom Jones. His curfew was retracted some hours as his parent's wintry response to the hazardous roads. At TJ, for the first time in two years, I was conflicted; I was not in the mood for breakfast food. There is only one other time in the history of me and Tom Jones where I did not order the Blue Ribbon Special. Eventually, after stalling the waitress, I settled on the mozzarella sticks, an economically poor choice, seeing as they are $4.19, as opposed to the staggeringly cheap $3.79 of the unrivaled BRS. Also, another poor decision was that I saw Donna F.. It'd been a while since I'd seen her, and she was sitting far away. I called her name. Not Donna. However, I was in Tom Jones after midnight, so hopefully her party assumed some sort of inebriation. Dinner was delightful. Conversation was pleasant, and two of our party utilized their fancy iContraptions to call up "Talking Earl" and "Talking Carl." These apps are adorable little functions in which the users may speak to the cute lil' pixel blob on the screen, and it will repeat what they said in a high pitched squeak. It was brought to our attention that when reflected against each other, Talking Carl and Talking Earl will eventually reach a horrifying, high-pitched singularity of shrieking white noise. I unnecessarily laughed to tears. We left and came to settle in to one of our warm and interesting rooms. I do not subscribe to the culture of things, but there were many intriguing things in this room. We talked for hours, the others lightly imbibing at the outset. I was made to try the taste of Peach Schnapps for its non-alcoholic taste. Now, my total alcohol consumption has been less than three ounces of peach flavored beverages. Only peach flavored alcohol. Why peaches? We wound up leaving around six in the morning, and getting dropped off, my dad was up. Oh shit. I waved to him, said good morning, and went to my bed.

Media de Gracias

I had a rather lovely wikilinking spree inspired by investigations into international academic competitions and googling "notable prankster wiki."

By the graces of Mrs. G. and Netflix, I've watched four documentaries in three days. I dislike the informal documentary practice of referring to a practice or object as something else, perhaps calling a corporation a shark, then showing a clip of a shark for good measure.

My little brother outgrew frolicking in snow before I did.

The dark roots are starting to show, so I suspect I'll be dyeing my hair back before break is over. I think I lose my blonde forever after this.

The next time a guitar string breaks I'll paint the body.

I don't have a face for emotional strain.

For whatever reason, people see fit to give me an overabundance of fancy, black lady-gloves. They're totally non-functioning against the cold. I'm gonna have to start committing crimes to put them to use.

I wish American politics had a satirical political party. There are countries out there with more than one party competing for the silly vote. Seriously.

At this moment, I may possibly have the best series of Wiki articles I've ever had open at the same time. It's been a wonderful night.

Christmas Eaves

Freshman year, sometime during my first winter break of high school, I contentedly ate milk and cookies, all PJ'd up against the chilly evening. Though my face was never to appear on any milk carton, I was about to get kidnapped. From the night, a terrifying figure appeared at my door. The cold air that rushed into the house with him chilled my bare toes. It was ye olde section leader. I finished my cookies, assured that I would not leave the car and would not have to change out of my pink PJs with cats wearing hats. We drove through Katie's and Wasiq's neighborhoods looking out through the windows at Christmas lights. Though I cannot remember any singing or talking between us, the night has a sense of laughter. Despite the previous assurance, I had to evacuate the vehicle in order to ask Laura which house was Wasiq's. Knocking at the house we were directed to, Wasiq's hot older sister answered the door. But Wasiq doesn't have an older sister. We thought perhaps we'd mistakenly knocked on the only other Pakistani house in GV. Even better, it was simply that Wasiq's mom has got it goin' on. Tragically, Wasiq would not leave his house to join us in seeing the lights.

One of the very few regrets I had in not driving until this past summer was my inability to imitate this night with my freshmen buddies.

"No! Not Tiny Ira! What could we have done against such a lovable scamp?!"

Censorship Wreck

On this blog, I almost never directly reference Jeff except in recollection of daily activities. Being a teenage girl, thus subject to emotional afflictions, and this blog, being quite generally a public diary, it is perfectly natural that I should write frequently about the relationship that has unequivocally influenced my adolescence. The pertinent word is public. This material may be found at any time, by any associate of mine, with or without my knowledge. In addition to the potential strangers, there are the recurring few who ever so occasionally check in on my scribbling.

Pens are mightier than swords, and keyboards are faster too. I recognize that everything I write here can create direct, real-world consequences, not necessarily negative, and not necessarily directed at me. Until I alter the privacy settings, it is in my best interest to publish without conflict, necessitating censorship. Still, there seems to be a number of times when my vague and cryptic posts retain their subject despite redacting. Analyzing my own writing, I've concluded immaturity. However, the personal necessity of public censorship in otherwise intimate content leads to an interesting approach in analyzing literature outside of myself.

Currently reading Bridges of Madison County, I've found too much presence of authorship as a result of this thinking. The novel claims to be reconstructed from diaries and public sources, such as newspaper articles, accordingly, I'd expect a gritty, truthful feeling to the book. Unfortunately, the poetic style, while nice, seriously detracts from the reality. Life doesn't happen so sensuously, destroying any belief I could've had in the content.

Nonfiction for Emily

No, you are not beautiful in the sense of ideal Western aesthetic. It doesn't mean you couldn't be; there's face paint and computers and surgeries and little deceptions to perfection. I mean, you are pleasing to the eye: pretty, cute, hot, sexy, things vary depending on how you aim to appear. But you are not a picture. You feel beautiful to me. My beauty was found karaoke'ing in a basement in Chinatown, in a capella where no other music could be found, in a corn field by moonlight, in being young and without obligation, in running through rain and children and parents to reach the car and pancakes. Beautiful beyond the eyes, something to remember. Your beautiful is something frail, something that can be lost, a little magic that may be outgrown. Your beautiful is not a look, it's not something I see. It is the essence of you. You are worth fighting for, I just don't have a 1000 ships.

Disreguardian Angel

An inexplicable presence.
These people who so effortlessly enter my life and change me with disregard for my self, I love them. I'm learning so much from them and with them, even if it's not going to be for their eventual benefit.

Sometimes, I feel mature for recognizing my love but not always acknowledging it. I've never supported myself. I've never lived on the West Coast. There is so much living I have yet to accomplish. Still, I know that love is there. It's not waiting; it will exist despite me.

I can't stand the thought of being someone's manacles. I can't stand the thought of people I love missing their world because of my actions. Mrs. G. says that the prom picture affixed to her fridge is a warning to high school sweethearts, not that it's very effective.

Being the center of someone's life is an awful thought. I want someone who does, not someone who solely appreciates the done. And anyone who thinks I am interesting enough to focus on does not have high enough expectations for excellence.

Tonight, I chatted pleasantly with pleasant people. I laughed.

Realization While Watching TRON

I would like it if Dip n' Dots produced tiny ice spheres to replace ice cubes.

Stupid, Useful Nightmares >:(

I'm going back to Philadelphia shortly, but I woke up an hour early due to overzealous clock setting. Not putting up with that kinda poo poo, I took care of the morning routine and found time for a little more sleep. During that sleep, I had a dream I forgot all of my ID cards to get back in the building, and my dad was really mad at me. That totally would've happened if I hadn't just dreamed about it happening. Awesome. I woke up from that terrible dream and made a mental note and hit the snooze, 'cuz fuck it if I still didn't have to wake up. During this second dream, I was playing a game of marco-polo with savanna creatures in the watering hole. Oh, and I was also a lion, to keep that in mind. While hiding with another lion behind some rocks, I asked her name. She was also a human-in-animal-disguise, but by revealing my similar status to her, I got turned back into a human playing games with a whole bunch of lions. Playground equipment nearby remained from an abandoned settlement, so I began to climb as means of escape. At the top was a hanging bar and a hanging bicycle whose chain had broken. I got the notion in my head to sit on the broken bike while holding onto the hang bar at the very top of this dangerously swaying contraption. Accordingly, my fear of heights struck in AND there were lions at the bottom if I fell. Then I woke up and put my ID cards in my pocket.

Resolutions (Done)

2009:
Learn to drive
Do a sport

Watch the following films:
Dr. Strangelove
Requiem for a Dream
Apocalypse Now
American Beauty
Braveheart
Alice's Restaurant
Fight Club
American History X
Office Space
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Be able to name and play 10 guitar chords
Bike and walk more
Sneak out at least 3 times
Visit Philly, New York
Set off fireworks
Get "something" pierced
Dye my hair a different color
Try to meet Pete Seeger or Tommy Smothers
Reconnect with Kyle
Practice break dancing, surfing
Graffiti something
Get into a college
Go out for breakfast
Learn to jump safely from heights
Ride a roller coaster
Practice getting over different fences
Design and wear my art
Vandalize a bathroom stall
Think of a senior prank
Be section leader
Ask more questions
Learn to play the electric mandolin

2010:
Go streaking
Become an NPR member
Donate to the ACLU
Build a snowman
Learn how to change a tire
Watch the launch of a space shuttle
Learn to roller blade (backwards)
Go to a protest
Go to college

Read these books:
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
A Streetcar Named Desire

Watch These Movies:
The Sound of Music
Rebel without a Cause

Resolutions (Left to Do)

2009:
Watch an Inconvenient Truth
Get my passport
Learn to ride clutch
Read at least 10 books from my list and A People's History
Get drunk
Practice piano
Watch all of Dr. Who in one sitting
Reconnect with Kristin

2010:
Get a working copy of a Zeppelin and Stones album
Send a letter to Jon Stewart
Start a webcomic
Build a wall mount CD rack
Learn to tango
Learn to change oil
Send a message in a bottle (in progress)
Plant a tree
Sleep under the stars
Learn to juggle (in progress)

Read these books:
Wide Sargasso Sea
Pride and Prejudice
Pride and Prejudice and Zombies
Heart of Darkness
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
The Age of Innocence

Watch these movies:
The Godfather Trilogy
Lawrence of Arabia
Singin' in the Rain
Annie Hall
Deer Hunter
Schindler's List
A Clockwork Orange
Good Fellas

Old Hearts, Old Haunts

A Thursday some weeks ago, Jake returned home to visit his girlfriend, Lisa. I'd invited him out to Temple's Got Talent, but jealously commended the excellent evening ahead. Later, after being wildly impressed by the talent at my fair university, Facebook informed me that my friend had been broken up with during his evening home. It hurt to see such a good couple go down, myself in the lingering pangs of self-pity for my illegitimate loss. However, that put me in the right mindset for reading his "I want you back" letter. The sweetness in his rambling, incoherent letter was more affecting for its sense of desperation. Despite the hurt, they are young and in love.

Even though I was in a similar situation, the letter was alienating. It felt so young. I've played the cynic so long it's habitual, and the passion is unsightly to me. How old I feel. I used to wish for that sort of ideal abandon.

Glittens or M'loves: you can't fail with a mitten/glove combo

"It is this on-the-fly fabrication that Nietzsche defines as the artistic essence of humanity, and in casual company, it is otherwise defined as bullshitting."
-Another bullshit essay for a bullshit class


Conceivably, I could make my own rainbow tie.

I made Christmas cards for most of the night.
It's going to be weird/wonderful having a whole bunch of people I can't just hand them to.

Quilty

I cried three separate times watching American History X.



Whenever I examine my life, I see other people. I am a collage of beautiful things other people have impressed upon me. Whatever I admire in someone else, I strive for in my self.

Titles for my "Mosaic" Posts

Truth Exists Beyond Human Consciousness
Dao It All Night Long
Qu'ran and On and On
Gilgameshed with the Bible
Enkidu or Don’t
Destruct-shun
A-tempted
Showmaniac
Rorschocking
How Many Psychoanalysists Does It Take to Screw in a Penis?
The Tickle Finger of Fate
Mixed Media
Linguistic It to the Man
Ocularcentury
Apolojesus
Martyrdumb
Promise-cuous
Keep Your Kierkegaard Up
Buy-ble
Textual Content Warning
My Confessions to the Mosaic Police

Time (Takes Time)

The Broad Street Line (BSL) held their winter concert tonight. It was beyond my expectations, especially as I'd been to every one of their performances except the Eagle's game. Their repertoire was far more extensive than I'd realized, and they'd saved crowd pleasers "Good Girls Gone Bad" and "Forget You" just for this performance. Good Girls Gone Bad was my favorite piece of the night and tremendously done. I don't know why hip-hop seems to translate so favorably to a capella for me. Additionally, they performed two Ben Folds pieces, "Time" and "Effington." I reminisced to Katie R. and Jeff discussing their inability to play Smoke at some party in the D.'s living room. For tonight, I made a sign "I''d Ride the Broad Street Line." Broad Street Line is even in orange, you know, a little shout out to the actual subway. That was a fun ice breaker with the guys, getting them to sign it at the after party. Slightly awkwardly, some alumni also thought it was "classy." While interesting conversation, "they old as fuck."

I don't know what I want. It's not entirely accurate to say I don't want anything, but it's a close approximation. Tonight's shindig wasn't a band party, so I was roughly free to make out with any passing stranger. Not a single passing stranger caught my eye or interest. I targeted Ben earlier in the night, but I just want to make out at a party for the sake of making out at a party. I don't normally have the drunk defense, and the one night I got to use it, I got a creep dancing up on me. That was super short though, to note.

I'm treading a very unfortunate line. I'm being less oblivious to sexual tension than usual, but I think his girlfriend noticed it before I did...

Slatternly Trollop or Vainglorious Jezebel

Parties here make me feel pure and bright, much like the pit parties of another freshman year. It's a much stronger sensation now because I'm more self-aware. Being bright and joyous came naturally four years ago. For me, it persists. A friend recently confided that he's admired me for that, that in some odd way, he looks up to me. He asked that I never change. Of course, there will be wholly necessary developments to change me, but I profoundly hope that this current essence remains.

Early evening, rollin' up to the party, it's exciting to be welcomed into a place where I know nearly everyone and will meet more by the time I leave. There are moments when I double up in laughter, hear stories from a dark and terrible past, learn more about people I've recently met. Last night, I sang Britney Spears and Christmas carols. Again, my fabulous contact drunk conveyed the appearance of actual intoxication, but that merely impresses the people who are new to the fact of my abstinence. A number of people have expressed their undying appreciation for me during these drunken revelries. I expect they do not remember in the morning.

By the end of the night, there's a soft point where I wander a disconnect through the party. My friends who are sad drunks are sad. My friends who are otherwise are beyond the point of conversation. I've learned not to think about pit parties during this time.

I couldn't have ever imagined what it's like to be high, and I feel even less of a familiarity with the sensation of drunkenness. It's one of the few unknowns that would be more terrifying if it was pleasant.

Woody's

Woody's is a gay bar/club in center city and the location for Mitchell's birthday party last night.

I was excited to dance. I'd never been to any sort of club in my life, Kacey had raved for years about the excellence of this particular venue, and my hair cut + hoochie dress were dying to be tried out together. The evening leading up the outing was fun as well. Jake, Austin, Bubba, Kevin, and I played chirades in my room. At one point, I suggested only literary figures, and eventually chose Tennessee Williams. To illustrate my chirade, I chose Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, one of his central plays. Unfortunately, after getting "Cat __ _ Hot ___ Roof," they persisted in naming Dr. Seuss. Realizing my mistake, I switched to "A Streetcar Named Desire," which didn't take too long for them to figure out. Unfortunately, nobody, including English major, Jake, knew the author.

From ~9-10:30, I hung out with Matt, relaying to him the lecture on the geometry of music and generally talking about the interrelationship of music, math, architecture, and linguistics. We caught fourth meal, and I had too many mozzarella sticks for going clubbing in half an hour. I arrived back in my room at 10:40, giving me roughly 10 minutes to get into my dress and put on a little make up. Luckily, I'm not actually a girl and it worked. Dress. Pants. Eyeliner. Eyeliner. Lip gloss. Go! We met in the lobby of my building and headed to the subway! Tragically, we learned a party member did not bring an ID with a birth date on it, so she had to go back and rejoin us later. Her night was generally unfortunate about being inconvenient.

Club! Coat check was mandatory, an additional $2 to the $10 cover charge. It's up some stairs in a red lit room with a raised wooden dance floor. The DJs are phenomenal. Everything was expertly done, and I immediately set to dancing. Within a minute, I'd found a dance partner, and within 5 minutes, I'd been licked and declined further dancing with that particular person. Being my first experience there or at any club, I awkwardly danced near friends for a while before setting off to dance like my enthusiastic white self. It was the least discriminatory place I'd ever been. I danced with guys and girls, old and young, black, white, Hispanic, and Asian. It was wild and also very hot. Water was $4, so I gave no damns about drinking out of the sink. Two persons expressed interest in taking me home, one female, one male. That was flattering.

Afterward, the majority of our party went to IHOP for celebratory breakfast foods. IHOP serves neither sides nor rootbeer floats, but it is possible to order a scoop of ice cream and a soda for the unreasonable price of $5.19 + the going tax rate, which was $0.38 for me. Mitchell knew the server, and being the only patrons of the establishment, we all sat together creating pornos from movie titles or sharing ones we'd already heard. It started with a mention of "Saving Ryan's Privates," and progressed to "Guy Hard," "28 Gays Later," "Bitanic," and the eventual mention of "BI-HOP." We took a cab home, being nearly 3:30 in the morning, and I slept until 11. Lovely.

Trash and Plans

Talented People

Interesting Graphic

Pseudo-Science Made Real Science
(and job that I kinda want)

Today, I stole a number of lovely things from the Tyler disposal bins, but tomorrow is the official clean out day, so tomorrow is gonna be wild. I'm going to Woody's tonight for the first time, followed by late night IHOP. Abi is going to call me tomorrow at 6:45 to see if I'm still down for swimming. That's gonna be baller. We're going to go thrifting as well, is the plan, with a late night Temple-Georgetown game I have to play for. Call time is 8:15, and we always get there 45 minutes early. :P

Exciting!

Last night, everything bad or unpleasant that had been dwelling on my mind broke and left me. I'm so utterly relieved.

Wrexploring

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L1jfa68LrRI


I walk really close to the wall when I turn a corner, which sometimes means I almost bump into people.

Finally, of the two remaining movies on my 2009 Resolution list, Colin has graciously offered his copy and couch for me to finish American History X.

Beautiful Lecture

This afternoon, I attended a joint colloquium held by the music and mathematics department on "The Geometry of Music." As far as anyone was aware, it was the first time those two departments held any formal collaboration. The lecture was hosted by Princeton composition professor, Dmitri Tymeczko. His initial intent, in first attending Harvard, was to become a student of mathematics. Eventually, he discovered music to be his true love. For a brief time, he also studied philosophy at U.C. Berkeley. Additionally, he is attractive. Surprisingly, he spoke with elegance and personality. The circular, repetitive nature of the piano keyboard he described as the Maria principle: "ti, a drink with jam and bread, and that brings us back to doe!" "What takes six weeks of education for a new musician to compose, takes similarly forty-five minutes of programming for the computer science student." This was in reference to the brutally statistical nature of creating consonance.

1. Melodies move by short distances or "conjunct melodic motion"
2. Harmonies are structurally similar
3. Chords should be intrinsically consonant
4. Limited macro harmonies, in that a composition should use between 5-8 notes within a few bars
5. a Tonal center is present

By creating a computer program to generate a random series of notes, he would then apply limitations to the series. Melodies would need to move within 2-3 notes of the original. Harmonies would stay within the same keys, major, minor, harmonics. This was the introduction for the students of music. From there, he elaborated on geometry. While notes are usually perceived as a discrete concept, a repetitive octet, they are, in fact, continuous, with infinite tones between the traditionally defined notes. Because of the repetitive nature described earlier, the tones can be displayed as a circular form. For his presentation, colorful circles would represent locations on the keyboard, then illustrating the geometric patterns between chords of a certain key. He illustrated Chopin's prelude in E minor with a hypercube of related chords. With my limited knowledge of both music and mathematics, I could not understand the full concept, let alone relate it, but I loved it. At once, he described the melody of an atonal chord as, "restless shimmering within stasis." It was a convergence of knowledge beyond anything I'd ever seen. He created three dimensional models of music that he intents to sculpt. I understood the ability of Iannis Xannakis to construct music based on architecture. I felt privileged beyond measure to witness a man use the beautiful, broken English language to convey this idea of music as mathematical notation. Linguistics. Music. Mathematics. Expression of importance, in my lifetime, occurs nearly exclusively through these systematic notations.

"You have a good memory right? Like, you remember stuff. I like that about you. When I talk to you, you remember who I'm talking about, the stories continue into each other."

I didn't realize that this was a unique thing.


During the party on Friday, I walked up to Max and TA Jeff during the last word of their conversation. Jeff was having his lady friend over that night, and Max finished with, "...she's gonna come over, suck your dick, then fall asleep on the bed together!" With that, they noticed I had been in earshot. Jeff gave a "Max, in front of Chloe?" kind of look. It was endearing to me that they felt the need to protect my innocent ears. I fear that I am giving an innocent vibe. It will eventually benefit me to not have randomly hooked up with a band guy. I've never waited for a guy, and by that measure, I've never had a guy wait for me. I've never fucked a boyfriend. I don't have sensuous sex. The guys here don't have to know that. I can evoke tenderness. It'll take some work. It will take some resistance. I'll have to finally say "no," but in return, it will be under my power to finally choose, "yes."

Last Week

It's hard to explain what happened. Nobody knew I had any sort of obligation, let alone my most important relationship. I never earned the title of girlfriend. There was no beginning. There was no anniversary to celebrate. But there is definitely an end, and I have my own sort of sadness. It comes up when they ask about my hair, when we talk about boys. They tell me, "I don't know this guy, but he's a douchebag and you're way better off without him." "He's a dumbass for dropping your gorgeous ass." I say, "But no, he really is my best friend. I'm going to see him all the time over break." Most girls tell me that's not good. That I need time away from him to get over it. Guys ask me if I'd still do stuff with him.

I could've gone home with anybody on Friday. Though, to avoid dumb mistakes, I've sworn celibacy into the new year.

Last Nights

Friday night was the formal band party at the Maggot House. Tina lent me her "freak 'em dress;" Shay did my hair and makeup; Katy lent me her pearl earrings. I felt pretty as a politician's wife. Girls complimented my hair with warm words. Guy complimented my look with their eyes. Poppa Max told me to go break some hearts, I was lookin' so fine. Katy, Kat, and I hung out during the preparations process, reading Cosmo, talkin' 'bout boys. We eventually went with the unanimous decision to roll out in jeans and hoodies 'cuz it was so cold and windy that night. Upon arriving at the party, John D. scorned the lack of fancy, but soon relented once us ladies squashed up in the bathroom to strip down to our lil' dresses. As this night was a "fuck boys, I just wanna dance" kinda night, we were pumpin' the hip-hop jams. A few of us danced, but only during "Roses" was there a large chorus. Being at the Maggot House, there were a number of non-band kids present unaware that I don't drink. Dancing as I was, dressed as I was, there were some strong indicators that I was drunk. However, in reality, myself being a sober fox, I caught a number of guys staring and took notes on who ogles the drunk chicks. At one point, a kid passed out near the bathroom and started throwing up. John D., like a drunk child-ape, danced around hollering, "Look at this kid puking! Look at the kid throwing up!" I told him to shut up and helped move this kid into the bathroom. He almost pulled the porcelain top off the toilet onto himself, but I grabbed it before anything shattered, including his nose. The other guy helping me commended the catch and was surprised to find I was sober. After that, I wandered aimlessly through the party. I introduced Kira and Gab to a whole bunch of people no one involved will remember, but otherwise the night was over for me.

~~~~~

Yesterday, Matt came with me to the Divine Lorraine to help me film/stencil/fight off crack heads. He came over around 2, so I could have company while cutting out the stencil of Divine on the body of Jesus. (Of course, wanting a larger stencil but only having cardboard, I stupidly forgot how much I hate cardboard as a medium.) This abandoned hotel is two subway stops away, but eff paying for that, so we walked. To note, we saw a hot pink stretch Hummer on the way there. A garish contrast to the dilapidated elegance we were about to see. After circling the building for a way in, we discovered a wrenched open door that required a bit of maneuvering to get in. Being my lithe-self, I managed it pretty easily, but Matt is tall and geometric and almost got stuck. The door that we entered through was immediately adjacent to the basement, so that was our first, horrifying stop. While it would probably would have been perfectly quaint if well lit, the flashlight we brought was not sufficient to dispel my slight fears of humanoid, Quarantine-esque mutants. Not wanting to carry around my stencil for the rest of our exploration, I sprayed it near the doorway and abandoned the cardboard to its fate. The first floor still retained a lot of elegance. While it was also the most trash-bedecked, there was evidence of crown molding and columns, the two pink marble staircases arch up on the North and South sides of the building. For the entirety of our adventure, we elected to use the South side staircase, and for good measure, as we later found out. Once we were ready to start heading upstairs, I took a moment to film some of the original architecture while Matt investigated some other section. Once I put down the camera, I noticed my shadow was cast unusually dark across the room. I turned to my right as Matt entered the room and noticed my shadow hadn't moved. Within that very short, very terrifying moment, my shadow vanished out of sight. Less than a moment later, I was calm again, realizing it was just the benevolent resident homeless person. He told us it was fine if we took pictures, though that moment of horror was perhaps influenced by my thoughts of basement dwelling creatures. Every floor held new works of graffiti. There were more interesting things on the outer balconies, but as it got colder and darker, we more hurriedly took to the stairs rather than leisurely looking at bad tags and mediocre pieces. It was interesting to note that there was not a single other piece of stencil work in the building. While I recognize it's mostly a white thing, I thought it would be more prolific. Finally, we reached the top floor, home to an enormous atrium. I went out onto the balcony and took pictures of the city. It didn't take long for us to find roof access, the first time I'd roof'd it in Philadelphia. It was unbelievable. I was more fearless than Matt, but that also came with me almost stumbling backwards on a very slanted eave. There was more excellent graffiti on the roof than there had been anywhere else thus far. I freehanded a mark for myself, but Matt and I agreed to come back when he had planned out something for him to write. Part of it came with sadness and being alive and higher than the rooftops and losing the feeling of something important, but I wrote "invincible summer" and meant it.

Hair Me Out

Of course, the recent hair dye was part serendipity, part brash spontaneity to prove I'm *a strong and independent woman.* It does make me feel sexy. It does make me feel older, and that makes me feel like someone else. My mom told me the story of living in California with her cousins who convinced her to dye her hair blonde. The red-headed roots coming back in were absolutely atrocious, especially her eyebrows. (!) This is just a phase. I wholly intend to dye my hair back to natural once my roots start growing in, but it's something to try. It's my wild without booze or boys. I never would've heard my mom's story without a similar prompting. One of her patients said I was pretty. I'm not used to that adjective except in "pretty cute."

I abandoned sad songs in favor of pop punk today after so many people liked both my picture and status. It's an all-over, dirty self-indulgence.

Currently, I have stolen hallway decorations from 3/7 of Temple's Residence Halls. Awesome.

Avalon and I screamed together during the Sand Crabs game. I was excited to wind up next to her, since I've been scared to approach how awesome she is. We wound up getting fourth meal after the game and talking for a bit. She didn't know I was a freshman! We're going to get matching Crab shirts though if I make them over the weekend. There have been more people in our fan section, The Tide Pool, with every game. It is one of the most absurd things I have ever taken part in. Not to propagate rumors or anything, but word on the street is that one of the players' mom is making a crab mascot. I love band. So hype!

*big hugs for Tina*
I hadn't expected to find anyone to talk to.


Mrs. K. once expressed to me that she didn't understand why people listen to sad songs when they're sad; it's only counter-effective and prolongs the pain. It's my temporary indulgence. I'll be alright shortly. If I were busier, it'd be better faster, but band activities have mostly petered out.


I ran today.

Thanks-living

Loss prompts gratitude, even if that loss is only imagined. I've had a lovely last couple minutes eating green M&Ms, being thankful for everything from friends and family to apple juice. It's a beautiful life that I have apple juice, that I may never lack in apple juice.

I spent the evening out with Jake, Austin, Bubba, and Kevin. We baked a funfetti cake, or, Kevin did while the rest of us watched. A comment on scars prompted storytelling. I convinced 3/4 of the guys that my convection oven burn was, in fact, a chemical burn caused by the tentacle slime of a particular species of octopus. The truth behind their scars were more interesting. There are generally many more "dumb things you've done that caused injury" stories among guys than girls. However, providing everyone lives, they do make for excellent listening.

Perhaps it's in taking tips from Ceci, but I get a pretty good reaction from my storytelling. Admittedly, I like to think my stories are fairly fantastic as far as content goes, but a good delivery is indispensable. At least half my recent stories involve Jeff, though I sometimes hesitate to say his name repeatedly, as if my only adventures happened with him. Some nights of stories, it's true.

Family

There is such an undeniable dynamic to family gatherings on my dad's side. Joe and Mike are funny. Joe is very nearly a cynical anarchist respectably informed on global politics. Jeanne laughs like a hyena. Kathy is a concerned, rich liberal. Grandmom is very quiet. Kathy's daughters are very laugh [edit: what?]. There is a lot of time spent laughing. I wonder if it's not a very hard dynamic to join, realizing that everyone there is in my family by birth. No wives or husbands.

Full of Thanks

Appreciate is my verb. It's what I do. To exist in this time in this place, with these details of my life, I've cried more for joy than any grief since the beginning of summer. If you're reading this, I am who I am, in part, because of you. Thanks for your part in my life.


What do you want to be when you grow up?
Happy.

24

Yesterday following band practice, I caught a very quick dinner with a few guys from drumline and scuttled off to Drexel to meet up with Steve and Joel for "Philacapella." The groups were phenomenal, consisting of Temple's lines, "Broad Street Line" and "Singchronized," Swarthmore's "Mixed Company," F&M's "The Poor Richards," and both of Drexel's groups, "8 to the Bar" and "The Treblemakers." Wow.

Waiting in the lobby with Steve, I high-fived Kevin from BSL and generally made a scene of myself fan-girling the group. Rob gave Steve and me the "call me" sign, and Steve twice declared his intent to call. Dana came over and hugged me after Singchronized finished practicing, firmly securing my earlier statement to Steve that "I'm kinda a big deal with Temple a capella."

F&M's had the most professional group, but I'm biased in that they had a mash of "My Girl" and "Remix to Ignition" (kinda my jams). Broad Street Line was amazing as always, and I finally got to hear their rendition of "Semi-Charmed Life." Singchronized did a great performance of "Somebody to Love," though unfortunately, Pro Musica has set a very high bar for my opinion of that song.

I was supposed to watch The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen with Jake and his roommates, but Jeff texted me during the concert and wanted to come up and see me (mostly because GV extra sucks without its inhabitants). We talked most of the night, and he finally met my roommate. The morning was short lived, but we shared bowls of Honey Nut Cheerios fo' breakfast.

The zoo! It took a little time to figure out the trolley system, and a later negligence was almost detrimental, but I jump ahead. So, with my free museum admission, I got there a little early to scope out my hopeful future place of employment (aka look at penguins). The weather proved to be brisk but beautiful, and my time was well spent. The lecture portion changed which program I intend to apply for, so now I have to go about getting a letter of rec.

Leaving the zoo, I discovered the trolley only accepts exact change, and I am not paying $10 for a ride home. To get from the zoo to the trolley, one had to pass under this bridge where a guy was playing bongos. He talked at me a bit when I passed the first time, and when I came back rejected by trolley fare, he asked me where I was going and what I was studying. I told him I didn't know, just going, and studying everything. He called me a crazy motherfucker and laughed, but in a good way, a way I could relate and agree with. Returning after purchasing a postcard to break change, I gave him a dollar. We talked a bit. Shared our percussionist history. Talked about being musicians and artists and having a beautiful personality. He invited me over anytime. He's the curator of his own museum. We hugged.

After getting back from the zoo, I finally finished up my postcard from the Franklin Institute and wrote out the one I got at the zoo with a hippo on it. Respective recipients should expect them to arrive in their mailboxes soon, though I know one will not be at his mailbox for a while.

Carbon Updating

the antonym of a euphemism is a "dysphemism"

I got a hold of my first loaf of bread since coming to school. Between classes, I contentedly read Free to Choose and nibbled on little chunks.

Returning from programming, there appeared to be jugglers in the multi-purpose room on my floor. In my investigation, they invited me to learn, so I spent a half hour standing in a corner working on the form. I have the rhythm down, but need to work on staying in the xy plane. How lovely that such things happen at college.

My enormous marigold is verging on the point where it must leave my NPR mug and set about to being dried.

I'm out of Sharpie pens, picked up sidewalk chalk, and wrote a message to be put in a bottle. The letter describes my time at college, the boys I have loved, my family, and who I hope to be.

During floor decorating tonight, I made the most anatomically disproportionate hand turkey and the flyest top hat a turkey ever done wore.

Abrahamic Discourses

and yes I said yes I will Yes

I am the demonizing Abraham of Kierkegaard.

I Feel Unreal

I am mentally unable to put this feeling to coherent words. It's a shame that I must think so verbally, instead of trusting the sensation.

My head lapsed backwards in some unpleasant constriction of muscles. The muscles are sore. Maybe from sleeping on the floor. Maybe from headbanging in the rain. Is it a normal life I lead that these things happen? My neck is definitely not sore from work or stress or the mundane.

All of the songs I haven't listened to in so long sound like human beings with their little vocal flaws, and the instruments in the background are louder than I've ever heard them. I'd never heard the jingle bells in this song; they are so delicate. The handclaps in another sound mechanic.

Cracking knuckles is the sound of our tragic origin.

People seem to swirl about me more ideas and icons than human beings. It's so hard to stumble into a conversation. First, we must establish a conversation, then I can invite them over to talk and to make them into real human beings.

First Day of My Life is terribly sad. It is a sweet notion that another human being can inspire life and love in another, but I want to be alive even if I am alone. I will be in love with myself, and critical and frustrated and angry sometimes, but that's how I'll grow.

I want to be an idea to most people, and me to myself and a select few.
I want to be a muse, and I want to make people fall in love with the idea of me.
I think I've inspired art here.
It is presumptuous, but I suspect I am why a boy tried flyposting, and I suspect it is because I stenciled, and because Jeff inspired me to stencil.
Making art is thrilling and terrifying. The feeling is more art than the product.

I want sidewalk chalk. I will transform it wall chalk somewhere it doesn't rain.

"the miracle of faith consists in the fact that Abraham and Sarah were young enough to wish"

I cry more with each successive re-reading of Catch-22, though I only ever re-read my favorite chapters.

Boys to Men

Gab T. has adopted TJ as her new best friend, but he's still wants the scoop on her mixed signals. He's never dated anyone younger than him, not that the one year difference is extreme or anything. Similarly, I've only ever been attracted to one guy younger than me, and not many my own age. Last night was Phi Mu Alpha's Fall Sinfonia, and I was much amused. It was also distinctly noted the difference in age between the guys was physically evident. Girls, I can't tell, but guys are easier to guess.

I'd never noticed the word sign in signals.

Next Semester, I am currently registered for:
Mosaic II
Principles of Ecology
Calculus II
"Dramatic Imagination"
Nature of Crime
Collegiate Band

The first clears up my "Intellectual Heritage" General Education (GenEd) requirement. Ecology is requisite of my Biology minor (two more classes to go!). Calculus is for funsies. "Dramatic Imagination" satisfies my Art GenEd, though I'm curious to see if it will turn out as exciting as its title. With the completion of this and the first, I have completed the entirety of my GenEd requirements. Nature of Crime is part of an interest exploration as I've never had exposure to the "Criminal Justice" field. All of these classes are Monday from 9-4, with a 50 minute block for lunch, and an awkward 70 minutes between my first and second classes. Collegiate band is my only class on Tuesday, and I will be playing mallets with one of my favorite people, Matt S.. It's a good lineup.

Sweet Mates

During dinner, I confided in Tina my habit of judging my friends based on if they would be a liability if we ever got in a bar fight together. I told her that if anything ever happened, I would fight for her, but more likely, take a beating for her. It's okay, though. My strategy is the one proposed on Hey Arnold, "you wouldn't hit a crazy girl, would you?"

Surreal Life

"She had the clap so many times it amounted to applause."

Nick is currently engaged in puking in my bathroom.


Friday night saw the commencement of basketball season and my time as a saxophone player, which has infinitely more buttons than cymbals. Since Oct. 24rd, I've put in approximately 5 hours of practice, and to my delight, I played some right notes at the right times! And, to my surprise, I can kinda sight read! The only difficulty is in associating the notes with finger positions, which will come with time. As the first game of the season, they had an impressive half-time show from a world class juggler. For his final act, he juggled ~4 flaming pins and accidentally set the floor on fire. One of the songs he performed to was Explosive, so I set to good reminiscing.

Post-game, I hung out with Katy in anticipation of a "study session." While other band parties had gone under the guise of "study sessions," this one piqued my interest for being more intimate than usual on the Fb invite. Only twelve people were invited, and they seemed to all have activities of a certain persuasion in common. I believe that I was invited on the merits of my brother, but regardless, I was excited. How fantastical an evening! The sousa girl, who I particularly admired and believed "too cool for me," found that we have the same pair of crazy socks. For two hours I gave back massages, and only three people were the recipients of massage. After leaving for the evening, Katy and I stopped by 7-11 where I picked up some chocolate cake, and nearly wept for how fortunate I am to have the opportunity to wantonly get chocolate cake whenever I may please. It was a good night.

Last night, however, was even more absurd. During the day, I spent three hours working the Temple Gardens, then went to celebrate our president's birthday at a vegetarian restaurant in China town, called New Harmony. Firstly, the food was fantastic. Secondly, it was a karaoke restaurant. Our special party gathered in some basement in China town to sing "Colors of the Wind" and dance to "Funky Town" after we gave up on singing it. The karaoke "Happy Birthday" song went through >6 refrains of the chorus. Finally, we sang together "Bohemian Rhapsody," and I was so grateful for how surreal the situation was. After finishing up with dinner, I waited outside the restaurant for Nick to show up so we could head to a Temple party. He was already slightly intoxicated, so we sang through China town and talked about serial killers on the subway. The party was amazing. It was Alexis' birthday, so I made her a card. I sang and "sat danced" to every song. I met new people and further solidified friendships with others. Once again, I back massaged, and I made quite a name for myself. Hoorah!

Here: You, Me

may angels lead you in
I think I like everything sung better.

Intramural Basketball:
The Boyer-Esther College of Music and Dance has spawned their own intramural basketball team, the "Fighting Sand Crabs." I don't believe there's a lot of dance representation on the actual team, but as a member of the "Sand Dollars," I've vowed to boogie oogie oogie and throw in some hair flips. Their first game went smashingly. Undefeated. The second game was tougher. The "Delco-Bros" were tough competition, and Mikey M., a key player for the Crabs, is a Delco-Bro himself.

Okay, let me break down what is interesting about this team. They're hilariously serious. First off, there was a cheering section. I doubt there'd ever been one beyond girlfriends or whatnot. Secondly, there was a pep band for half time. Thirdly, Singchronized came out to sing the national anthem, but were turned away. Fourthly, we have a dance team, the "Sand Dollars," captained by our very own Delco-Bra, Dana M. Fifthly, they held a post-game press conference back at the coach's. We gathered up our cameras to create the illusion of press-media. We questioned the coach and the players, all of it filmed in front of a Temple flag.

How absurd.

Need to Right

The man who was interested in my mom is dating someone else now. She swore he was only a brother-friend, but I think she was sad to tell me.

This is an article about a collaboration the president of Temple Community Gardens has been working on. She's the sweetest thing.

Lil' brother!

3:24pm

Big sisterrr!

[conversation]

3:42pm

i see i see

but i gotta go my ride is here. when i find my phone :[ ill text you

3:42pm

hahaha

I texted it a couple nights ago

:(

3:43pm

see ya chloe love you!

3:43pm

have fun with yo' ride and stuff

love you too!

lots and lots!

I'm going to take a moment this afternoon and read a chapter from Catch-22. When I glimpsed Tina bringing home the mysterious beret'd stranger who reads, I told her to introduce me, that I would pretend to read, and that it would be a fortuitous meeting. Unfortunately, while I did not meet him, I re-read a forgotten chapter of this, my favorite novel. Later, Tina recounted that from all of my silent eye-contact with mysterious stranger, he feels he knew me in another life. However, she also informed me his favorite drug is cocaine. So, while he may someday become the mysterious beret wearing acquaintance, he is perhaps too much for me.

Notes

Viv's happy statuses make me smile, but also reflective.
If it works out for her, or for Joe & Meg, then I will believe in love.

I think that I should like to get a few more sweaters for the upcoming chilly season, perhaps two or three with buttons that are not itchy.

The Cleopatra Exhibit at the Franklin Institute wasn't as well curated as I would've liked. Our audio narrator was an awful voice actress, and narrated in the first person with emotional sentiment. Ugh. While the artifacts themselves were certainly interesting, everything was so forcefully attached to the history of Egypt's last pharaoh that it rendered without cultural context. However, it was nice that my mom and I got winded together after flights of steps and had to sit down together. Damn young people taking up all the benches.

These stretches of sleepy illness produced so many dreams. Since coming to college, my lack of remembered dreams unsettles me. Maybe it's the lack of sleep routine or stress of change, but unsettling none the less. Most of these sick dreams touched on themes of summer. After all, my temperature regulation had me sweating spoonfuls.

I want to do installation pieces rather than stenciling. They're often more difficult for objectors to spot, and mine in mind don't cause property damage as vandalism. However, they're often bigger, unwieldy, and more time consuming than a small-medium sized stencil. And, while I like to claim that this sentiment is the result of a fear of cameras, I'll likely never do either.