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."