Tuesday, December 15, 2009

New Blog!

Hullo dere,

In preparation for my time abroad in Amsterdam, I wanted to give my blog a makeover and change its URL (the whole "attractivegenius" thing is getting too tiresome to explain).

I imported a few of the entries from this one onto the new one, but no subsequent blogs will be posted here. For all new posts see lesadventuresdulorax.blogspot.com.

Radiant Cool Eyes has expired.

Au revoir!

The Little Steampunker In Me Is Bursting With Excitement

So, PC knows that it is losing to Mac. It also knows that its desktops are losing to laptops. Solution? Make the PC desktop look like a combination 1950s television set and typewriter so that all of those fashion-crazed Apple hipsters will jump on the PC bandwagon (for at least one of their computers, that is).

The computer doesn't exist yet, but it should. It has hipster and artist written all over it.

Gorgeous, no? So sleek and unique. The keyboard even kind of looks like the older iMac keyboards from a distance, but up close, it is even better.

It's so hot. A keyboard that looks like a typewriter? Yes please! I would shell out a good deal of money for this alone.

The remaining details mesh 1950s kitsch with steampunk class.

(via Yanko)

Seriously, if this concept comes to fruition, I will be buying one. No clue about the specs or its comparable performance, but I can't bring myself to care. It is the hottest technology I've seen since the Magic Mouse.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Rules for Surviving Finals

I was going to make a Jabberwocky and Finch video about this, but don't have the time or resources. So now it's a blog.

The reason I have no time? Finals.

This is my first semester to truly feel the brunt of finals. In the past, I've had a handful of final papers and some brief language exams that mostly fell during Hell Week (the week before exams has a very telling name, doesn't it?). This semester, I had a research paper due during finals as well as three exams each at 8:30 in the morning.

My roommate (who this semester has been dying a long, drawn out death called Organic Chemistry) and I began studying Friday evening. Since then we have stayed up until at least three every night studying, woken up at 8 to begin studying again and quite honestly done nothing else.

We've been studying so much that I even strained my eye. I thought it was pink eye, but the nurse assured me it is just a reaction to the nonstop reading I've been doing. My eye itches and hurts so badly that I can't wear eye make up. So those purple circles under my eyes? Way more noticeable. The only way my eye doesn't hate me is if I wear my reading glasses. I hadn't been wearing them all week (probably why I strained my eye in the first place) and when I put them on this morning, it was like I was seeing the world clearly for the first time ever.

It was during one of those droning hours of studying, squinting my eyes to see the dull print, that it occurred to me that finals are a lot like zombies.

They haunt your mind all semester as a vague impending specter. While you're trying to fight them (sometimes referred to as studying), the act of survival consumes you. Nothing else in the world matters except to survive finals. You stay up all day and night trying to stave them off. When they finally catch you, they eat your brains. You're left with a vacant skull and maybe a few pieces of mush about verb conjugation and linear regression.

At this point, you have become a zombie. The whites of your glazed eyeballs are circled in purple, your brain is gone, your limbs are stiff and you crave nothing more than human blood.

Oh wait, maybe not that last part. I think my metaphor got carried away. Maybe some people crave human blood when they're done with finals. I don't. Just to be clear.

I am not yet a zombie. As you may have noticed from my sentience. Being one of the few non-infected students left on campus, I thought it may be beneficial to share how I came to survive for this long. My survival is thanks to Columbus' list of rules in Zombieland.

1. Cardio
Combative studying requires staying up at all hours of the night and day. Being active is a part of being intelligent. Coffee, sodas and adderall will only last you so long. In order to retain optimum levels of energy, you have to work out, which brings me to my second rule:

2. Limber Up
Good stretching can give you hours of extra energy, but it is also important to do before sitting down in order to avoid stiffness or cramping while in the midst of a brawl with a zombie, by which I mean a study session.

3. No Attachments
You'll lose friends during finals. Better to not make them at all.

4. The Buddy System
In punitive contrast to Rule #4, you need a buddy. A partner in your guerrilla studying has got your back if you get overwhelmed or distracted. This rule only works if you keep in line with Rule #4 (otherwise, you may end up making a friend). To avoid wanting to have fun, don't even learn each others names. Refer to each other by major.

5. Double Tap
Just like zombies might not be dead on the first shot, you probably have not studied enough for an exam on the first go. One more shot will go a long way to ensuring your survival.

6. Don't Kill Bill Murray
This wasn't on Columbus' list, but definitely should have been. It Columbus' fatal flaw. Had he remembered this rule, things may have been easier for him. Don't kill Bill Murray and you should be able to survival finals.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

The Tell Tale Heart

Yesterday, I went to the Edgar Allan Poe exhibit at the Harry Ransom Center at UT (which will continue through the end of year and is completely free). This year would have been the author's 200th birthday and cities all over the nation have been holding festivals, exhibitions and parties throughout this year to celebrate.

While this exhibit was nothing compared to some of the macabre graveyard parties I had hear rumors about in Baltimore, it was still cool to say that I did something to participate in what I consider an iconic year for literary hipsters.

I found out that Poe wrote a lot more than I realized. Certainly the giant tome of his complete works I saw one of my friends toting around in eighth grade led me to believe he wrote quite a bit, but I was unaware that he wrote a novel or so many poems (and even a few sonnets). It also became obvious by the many paintings, sketches, letters and reviews created by Frenchmen, that the French must have been crazier about Poe than modern-day hipsters.

Eventually, I figured out that after Poe's demeaning death (brought on by Rufus Griswold's slanderous obituary), Charles Baudelaire essentially fell in love with Poe's works. And, like you do when you're in love with something, fought tirelessly to give Poe the reputation he deserved. Cue the explosion of Poe translations, artwork and man love in mid-nineteenth century France.

For one, I found this exciting for the opportunity to read Baudelaire and Poe at the same time. However, the cooler thing about this connection is what it means for those of us who are on a passionate, albeit halfhearted, adventure to uncover the hidden meaning to Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events.

Most older readers (or those who grew old while the series progressed) can easily identify the man in charge of the Baudelaire childrens' affairs, Mr. Poe, as named after Edgar Allan Poe and Mr. Poe's eternal coughing as a throwback to one of the many ailments that led to Poe's death. Until now, I've always thought his namesake was simply due to Lemony Snicket's own gothic interests and style. However, I have finally made the connection!....and desperately wish there was someone I could tell other than my partner in literary pursuits who would care. Alas, no one at the exhibit yesterday was particularly intrigued by my discovery.

As I slowly glided through the display boxes and many portraits of Poe, it was difficult to remember that this was the man who had once written such genial poems as "Annabel Lee" and "The Bells." Reading on through the disturbing artifacts of his life, I could only recall his terrifying stories such as "The Fall of the House of Usher" and "The Cask of Amontillado."

I was in a dark room set aside from the main exhibit viewing the more grotesque images that have been created of his stories when I noticed you could hear the loud bass of music coming from next door. This is something I've been wondering about Austin recently. A lot of the venues where full-blown concerts happen are directly adjacent to other buildings and apartments. Surely there's got to a pretty expensive noise license to get for that. But what venue was next to the Ransom center? Weren't we in the middle of campus? And no red light lasts that long. It couldn't simply be coming from a car.

I mentioned the sound to my friend who was viewing the paintings with me. He paused to listen. I continued studying Arthur Rackham's watercolor of "The Pit and the Pendulum."

I was staring into the empty eyes of the demons in the background when my friend commented that the bass  was too inconsistent to be coming from music. I listened, not taking my eyes off the watercolor painting. The sound was a bit odd. Not something you would hear in music and, come to think of it, I couldn't hear any background noise that would be the music to go with the bass. It was a very clean beating sound, almost like a...


Had the museum done that on purpose? In the creepiest, most poorly lit portion of the exhibit did they have a recording of a heartbeat playing all day?

Or were we going crazy? Usually if two people can hear something, you can be assurred you're not going mad....but wasn't the sound of the heart beating supposed to be a sign of a guilty conscience? If that was the case, than anyone who had done something wrong could hear the heart. Or perhaps Poe is a distressed spirit, upset with the way the nation is putting his most personal items, failures and humiliations out on display, and anywhere people go to see celebrations of his birthday this year, you will hear his own heart beating. A sad, unfinished heart beating.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Amsterdam, Here I Come

I can finally say, with complete confidence, that I will be spending this coming semester studying at the Universiteit van Amsterdam in The Netherlands.

This means that I will finally have a use for this blog!

As a blogger for my university, there will undoubtedly be many things I should not or cannot write about on that blog. Therefore, I'm going to use this blog as a sort of rough draft version of my real blog. I'll write my real experiences and thoughts here (with pictures, of course!) and then edit it to go on the real blog.

I'll also post contact information here. Stay posted for more exciting Amsterdam updates!

Saturday, September 26, 2009

You Have To Be Cool To Be A Blogger

...which is why I am not a blogger.

Well, technically I am. For my school, I mean. This is not a blog. Not really. I don't consider it one. I mean, not a real one. This is a play blog. Do you get it? If not, then I justify my point of why I don't deserve to call this a real blog.

Anyways, I came to the conclusion that you must be cool to be a blogger in attempting to write my student blog this evening. Usually, I write my blogs about once a week and there's no problem. This time, however, I got a reminder email from my boss telling me I had one due. The first thing I thought: but I have nothing to write about. I have literally done nothing blog-worthy in the past week. The most exciting part of my week was making waffles and watching Muppets From Space. But I've already talked about waffles in another blog and I'm pretty sure everyone would assume I was high if I was watching a muppet movie while eating excessive amounts of food.

That's another thing. I can't imply anything about drugs or alcohol usage in my student blogs. Now, I'm not a huge frequenter of either of those, but a lot of my stories are so ridiculous and lame that most people would assume I was on something and therefore I can't write about it on my student blog.

But I digress.

You must be cool to be a blogger. The other student bloggers are really involved on campus or doing internships. Me? I eat waffles and make couch forts. Seriously, that's all my blog says about me so far.

I hope that one day I'll be interesting enough to be a real blogger, but until then I'll stick to these pointless, self-absorbed blogs for my close friends.

Friday, September 18, 2009

So, um...Guess I don't use this blog much anymore

My semester is pretty packed with other interweb outlets. Ergo, I haven't thought about posting on here for quite some time.

Next semester, I hope to use this as a travel blog for all of the things that I can't write on my SU blog.

Until then, check out my other projects for the semester:

My SU blog:

Jabberwocky and Finch:

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

My Current Idealized Life Plan

Finish up this last semester at SU(cks)

Study abroad in Amsterdam

Transfer to NYU where I will live with Kate and Leslie

Go to grad school at Stanford and live with Joanna

Get my doctorate at Cambridge? Perhaps...

Become wildly successful and live a badass life in the realms of art and academia

Ahhh...I love my future

Saturday, July 11, 2009

To Do List

After my vacation next week, I know that summer is going to fly by in a second and I have so much to do.

Finish renovating my room
Put all of my books on shelves organized by the Dewey Decimal System
Pack everything for college
Read The Omnivore's Dilemma
Read at least a few other books on my giant list
Complete admissions video editing
Edit a video for scholarship
Edit a video for NYU Film School app
Make a video to "Let's Get Fucked Up"
Make Kate's Solipsist film
Go to the Bollywood theater
Send out StuFo letters
Begin study abroad and transfer applications
Go to the Army Base with Kate
Go to more thrift stores
Get my typewriter fixed
Make a dermatologist appointment
Sign up for online health insurance
Laze around by a pool
Watch some foreign movies with Kate
Get around to starting that podcast with Joanna

to be continued...

Monday, July 6, 2009

1...2...minus 1...oh 2...3...(2)

Sunday, June 14, 2009

Poll: Majors

I don't know how to post a poll within a blog. So just leave a comment please!

Which concentration should I choose?

A. Comparative literature
B. Linguistics
C. Medieval studies
D. Comparative religion
E. Film production

Sunday, May 31, 2009


There are things that I just don't understand
The whole world. It's so

But I can't take small doses
Nothing small
I need more
Always more

I stand too firmly
My feet don't flow with
everyone elses'
They stay
Not moving
Not seeing

A glance caught
A step taken

Nothing changes

I return
Not understanding

All I see is red

Friday, May 22, 2009

Children of the Revolution

Tonight I finally heard the Bono/Moulin Rouge version of Marc Bolan's "Children of the Revolution." As usual, I like the original better, but I listened to this one as I drove past a crime scene near my old house. All the flashing lights of authority, the speeding of my car in the night and the spirit of this song awakened my eternal desires of innocence, freedom and charging against oppression.

The experience inspired me to unearth an old poem of mine. I don't have a time stamp on this poem, but I believe I initially wrote it in seventh or eighth grade. It serves as a prologue to the novel I've been working on since seventh grade. Though unwritten before then and sparsely added to for a few years now, the story is always alive in my mind. So, here's my poetic narrative version of "Children of the Revolution:"

Links of a chain,
jointed with strength and passion,
on the plain
of creation.

Feet firm
locked in the fresh grass.
United shoulders confirm
confidence to surpass.

The bleak eruption
in the heavens above
echoes the corruption
of a land once filled with love.

Clouds converge.
Darkness attains.
Thunders surge.
Battle reigns.

Through the damp and hurling winds of strife,
a crusade for salvation
becomes a fight for life.
Faith is replaced with desperation.

Last breath.

All is gone.
And, yet, with the rising sun
all is reborn.
Resurrection when the worst is done.

Warmth sheds on the innocent
and denies the criminal.
Grass reeds sing in merriment
a song that is eternal.

Love is no longer torn.
Life returns from execution.
A New World is born.
Thanks to the Children of the Revolution

Sunday, May 17, 2009


There's this epic blog entry I've been planning. And I do mean epic. Best effing night of my life. For some reason, I keep forgetting to write it whenever I actually have the time. I've also been determined to not post another blog until I get this up. So...that's why I haven't written anything. Ok. Cool.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

An Illustrated Blog

The rest of my birthday continued much in the same vein. In addition to Kate's song, I also got a singing voicemail from Kelly and an awesome song from Max. The one from Max was particularly special because I currently have songs from him about just about all of our other friends, but this was the first one about me and it was amazing.

Around four o'clock, as I was finishing the editing of some videos, I received a call from the campus post office. I already knew I had a package because they sent me an e-mail so I was pretty perturbed to receive a call. They told me that I had an edible package waiting for me and I had to come pick it up immediately. An edible package? What is that like the edible diapers on that SNL commercial? Turns out, my dad sent me a bouquet of chocolate covered strawberries! I didn't even know such things existed. Also, my main source of delicious chocolate covered strawberries has been over a thousand miles away from me for months! Due to all of the other food and candy people have given me (six York Peppermint patties, two dozen cookies and brownies, a loaf of french bread), I wasn't able to eat them all in one sitting so they're kind of melting in my mini-fridge right now....I've had to put ziploc bags around each strawberry and wrap the pot in paper towels...yeah, it's kind of a mess.

Another great little birthday surprise came from my suitemates. They left a little message on the back of our toilet stall door. I can say that I've never before read a birthday greeting while in such a vulnerable state.

So the whole birthday thing turned out fairly well. People have much more desire to show how much they care when you're far away from each other, which is nice because the caring thing is what I really like. I've never been big on material presents. I just want to know that people care about me. I'm a needy attention seeker in that way.

Tonight also ended up being a lot of fun. I had been sitting in my bed since returning from my French exam at 10 am this morning (no joke, I actually stayed in bed watching The Office on hulu and sleeping for eleven hours ---- ps, I now have a major crush on Jim) and had totally forgotten that tonight is the traditional Midnight Breakfast. Every week of finals, some of the faculty and staff serve the entire student body breakfast in the Commons and there's karaoke or Rock Band as well. Last semester, there was a horrid sleet storm the night of Midnight Breakfast so my friends and I opted not to go. This year, however, my lovely suitemate invited me to go with some of her friends. I am so glad she reminded me about it. I had fears about going to a place where most of the student body would be (I have a whole list of people who I have a lot of trouble being near and, as a result, stick to my room as much as possible), but it ended up being a ton of fun. One of my favorite professors (who I have been awkwardly corresponding with via facebook message for the last few days), served me a cinnamon roll, which I cherished greatly because she said that every cinnamon roll was special and therefore we got to choose which one we wanted. Here's a picture!

Clearly, I did not participate in karaoke, but watching it was a ton of fun. When one group went up to sing "Hakuna Matata," the entire commons joined in the chorus because it is so apropos for finals week. Actually, most of the commons joined in for all of the songs. My personal favorite was when the group of cute (read: awkward) RAs sang a song from The Little Mermaid. Note: I hate The Little Mermaid, but they were so adorable singing it that I couldn't help loving it.

Basically, Midnight Breakfast rocked and so did my birthday, but I still cannot (absolutely, positively cannot) wait until I get to go home. Despite these little pockets of happiness, I'm still pretty miserable here. I long to see all of my friends and chillax at all our old haunts. I haven't yet found the kind of fun here that I have back home and I really really miss having fun.

Monday, May 4, 2009


It's hardly begun and technically I won't even be 19 until 5:25 pm, but I'm having a great day so far!

Around 11 last night, I began being bombarded by facebook wall posts saying happy birthday and soon after midnight received phone calls from my two best friends, Joanna and Kate.

All of the greetings, texts, videos/singing grams have been wonderful...


Well....that may have just surpassed everything I was going to say, but I'll try to get back to the direction I was going.

Up until the box of my three all-time favorite types of cookies + death by chocolate-esque brownies, I had received two gifts that aren't actually gifts at all, but have made this day really great.

Soon after midnight, I remembered that a professor had mentioned to me in passing that he had posted grades already. I decided to check online. You have to understand that I royally screwed up a few times in this class. I did not put my full effort into any of the essays and, for the first time in my life, I did not make a 100 participation grade (in fact, from what the professor has implied, I almost failed the participation grade). I was so prepared to accept my first B in college, I was even planning an emo blog entry about how I ruined my chances of getting into Phi Beta Kappa. Well, I'm sure you can guess, when I went to look up my grade, I had succeeded in making an A minus. Considering A minuses are not a 4.0 at SU, I didn't think I'd ever be so happy about an A minus, but I fully started screaming and ran into my suitemates' room to share my joy. Seriously, I could not have asked for anything better.

The other not-actually-a-gift gift is that someone who I've really wanted to get to know better sent me a birthday message via facebook and we have been corresponding all morning. It's exciting, trust me. Maybe not as exciting as a cookie gram or a singing Harry Potter birthday card, but it's still pretty damn exciting.

I don't think I've ever gotten this much recognition for my birthday before. There were always little surprises here and there in secondary school (usually "Josh Brownies" from Josh or giant potatoes from Quirks), but I have never felt such an overflowing warmth of friendship and love from so many people on my birthday. I'm certain it's because we're all so far away from each other now, but it's way special none the less.

There will be more birthday ponderings to come, but for now, a huge thank you to Joanna and Max for the cookies and to Kate for the video!!

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Fire Alarms

I had just returned from class and sat down to write this blog when the fire alarm went off.


For the third time in the past fourteen hours.

Last night, I had just stepped into the shower when the fire alarm went off. I madly dashed around my room stark naked trying to find clothes and hoping that my RAs wouldn't walk in to make sure I was evacuating.

We were finally let back in, I took a shower and fell asleep. At four am, the blaring erupted again. Frustrated and exhausted, I dragged myself downstairs with the rest of the herd and hoped that no one noticed how revealing my drawstring shorts were with no underwear on.

In my lifetime, I've had some pretty interesting experiences with fire alarms. Last winter, the fire alarm went off five times in one day. As soon as everyone had piled back in, taken off their coats and scarves, the alarm began again. And again. And again. And again.

In high school, our fire alarm had a knack for going off anytime the theatre department hosted the One Act Play competition. Without fail, as soon as the visiting schools had put on their costumes (often Victorian formal wear or togas), the alarm would go off.

The fire alarm went off on the very first day of sixth grade because it was a new building and there was some sort of malfunction with the ovens. That particular instance was recorded in several newspapers who had been on campus reporting the opening of the school's new building.

And then early elementary school was rife with instances of "fire drills," which were actually evacuations due to gas leaks.

However, my very favorite fire alarm moment comes from my sojourn at Cambridge University. One night, around two am, we had just returned from a day trip to London. A few of my friends and I were on our way back from doing laundry in the next building over when we heard the fire alarm go off. We stood outside the building and watched hoardes of screaming teenage girls run out of the building --- the majority of them dripping wet and wrapped in towels.

My roommate, a hyperactive "goth" (I don't really know how those properly go together), found me on the lawn and told me her account of what she had been doing when the alarm went off. Apparently, she -for what reason, I'll never know- had been jumping on my bed when the fire alarm went off and, for one wild moment, had thought it was the police coming for her because she wasn't supposed to be jumping on my bed.

We all had a good laugh at this and soon the Porters were letting us back inside (now that I look back on this, I don't ever remember seeing any firemen). My roommate and I got stopped as we filed inside with the others. One of the Porters escorted us into our room where my bed had been turned on its side. Behind the place where my bed had been was some sort of square electrical thing. The Porter told us that it was very sensitive and that hitting it was what set off the fire alarm.

Crazily enough, my roommate had indeed set off the fire alarm by jumping on my bed.

Now if only the problem with the alarm in Mabee could be solved so simply. I fully expect that alarm to go off as soon as I lie down for a nap.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Lily Allen

Lily Allen is going to be at ACL!

In honor of that, here's her song "Smile," which -incidentally- fits my life perfectly right now (or maybe that should be "sadly").

When you first left me
I was wanting more
But you were fucking that girl next door
What'd you do that for?

When you first left me
I didn't know what to say
I've never been on my own that way
Just sat by myself all day

I was so lost back then
But with a little help from my friends
I found a light in the tunnel at the end

Now you're calling me up on the phone
So you can have a little whine and a moan
It's only because you're feeling alone

At first when I see you cry
It makes me smile
Yeah it makes me smile

At worst I feel bad for a while
But then I just smile
I go ahead and smile

Whenever you see me
You say that you want me back
And I tell you it don't mean jack
No it don't mean jack

I couldn't stop laughing
No I just couldn't help myself
See you messed up my mental health
I was quite unwell


Thursday, April 23, 2009

Elaboration to the Subtitle

I hated him.

That stupid shimmering crucifix appeared around his neck looking like the thin gold necklaces of mustached men in the seventies against his tan skin. He always takes souvenirs. What girl did you fuck and take that off of?

The coke makes him angrier, but I deserved the cold shoulder. I deserved the rage that followed me for the rest of the day. Ashamed of myself, but knowing that he has earned every harsh word I've ever uttered to him. We still weren't square.

We were no longer going to remain friends. That much he had made clear when he refused to speak to me, refused to look at me as we, along with the other angelheaded hipsters, hollow-eyed and high, trekked to the Story Tree --- his friend's invitation, not his.

Yet, there it was, a curious offer to go on a late night errand. Modest, subdued and apparently meaningless as usual.

No talking on the drive. No talking while there. I make an attempt on the way back. No talking.

He strikes the match. The smell is intoxicating. Thicker than the swarming smell of gasoline. I love it. The matches are better than the cigarettes.

He takes a drag and begins to talk. Papers, professors, academia. The customary arrogance, an increase of hardships. He's not going to drink tonight. He wants to sleep. He can't sleep. He's killing himself. I'm happy that he finally knows that he's killing himself and happier still that he, for once, is not enthused about this, his mortality.

Apologies. Intense, unaccepted apologies. Misunderstandings resolved that barely open my eyes, but calm me slightly.

A confession, reassurance rather, follows an unnecessary apology (he never would've breached forgiveness for such an act in what seems like a previous life). With the confession, he takes my arm, arrests my hand, situates his own----------- the tears fall. It was supposed to be funny.

The night rolls on. Cigarettes matches. Matches cigarettes. Music. So-called students passing all around in the haze of the night. Mad from study break. Music. The hum of the car.

The disc player changes to the mix I made for him when we were in love.

The talk is still sporadic, academic, neurotic. I watch the passing so-called students riding stolen golf carts instead of watching his face.

Why he does it? I don't know. He questions me. I avoid, at all costs, being struck by the Imp of the Perverse. I avoid. I cast aside. I turn away. The night rolls on.

I'm looking at him now. He's talking and I'm looking at him. His hand has moved. He's talking and I'm looking at him. She needs to stop, I agree with his words. I need to stop? He misheard me. I spit out my reply. Too hasty.

Too hasty? Who the fuck cares anymore? I pounce.

I will not regret what has forced me to tears for the past three weeks. I will not sit idly by when, for the first time in three weeks, I am ardently happy.

He hands me the white-tipped, brown bud. Windows up. Reverse. Turn. Tires squeal on to highway twenty-nine.

Rocketing down the narrow country road, streetlights spasmodically flood the car with an opalescent haze. We become ghosts. Illuminated to the world. Whispers of the immured past.

We slow and turn into a small church. Park in the field behind the building. I don't waste a second. The thrill has electrified me. My body is on fire. Ravenous. He has missed me. He has missed me just as much as I missed him. Why did I ever doubt?

My mix is still playing in the background. Take this sinking boat and point it home, we've still got time.

Maybe not, but the cool night air knows no enemies. In the dark night with the crisp smell of grass, I lean my head back and can't bring myself to care about a thing. I have felt happiness.

Bless me Father, for I have sinned.
I hated your stupid crucifix, and I still do.
But, Father,
I will not apologize.
No, I will not apologize for desecrating your land.
For I have sanctified it with more love than your parishioners shall ever know.
You will never know, never understand
the feverish power within and without that detonates when two as one are
starving, hysterical, naked.

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Dear Life,

Please stop pouring down on me.

A little breather here and there would be nice. Honestly, I will not be offended if you ignore me/forget about me for a while. Your 6.3 billion minions are getting pretty fucking annoying. Especially the arrogant youths.

Perhaps you could give me some place to hide? A dark shroud to conceal me so no one will see me as I traverse campus. Do you have anything so I can't see them either? That's the bigger problem.

Maybe you could fast forward time? Summer will be nice. Oh, but what to do about next semester? I don't suppose you could delete it all together... do you have the power to create alternate realities?

Yes, I've become quite jaded with your little charades. More than jaded, in fact. Down right peeved, if I may be frank.

I promise not to hurt you, but you must start giving me a little slack. I'm working 24/7 for you and you seem to be assigning me all the grunt work. Give me a handful more of the nice colleagues and better view and I'll be happy.


Friday, April 17, 2009

I Want to Live In the Pacific Northwest So Bad

I found a new school.

It's in Salem, Oregon and it's called Willamette University.

Yes, it's exactly like SU except ranked higher and in a prettier place.

It's in a city, but it's also in the middle of the un-rivaled Oregon wildlife. There are rivers running through campus and the ocean isn't too far away. Also, Salem is the capital so the city is very government-based.

I would get my love of urban political centers, trees and water.

Oregon has the most parks of any state. It's also the most bicycle friendly and most vegetarian friendly.

It's basically 50 degrees all year round.

It also has really good coffee.

Even WU's website, on the their Top 5 list of coffee shops in Salem, said Starbucks isn't real coffee. Evidence that everyone is cool in Oregon.

The Pacific Northwest also has strong Native American influences. Native American culture is clearly the most badass thing ever.

Case in point, I'm dying to live in Oregon. Or Washington.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

There a million things that I can't get over.

The fact that I'll never lie in his arms again, never kiss his lips again, never spend the night with him or even watch him write poetry.

One of the hardest things is that I don't know Southwestern without him. I never had a roommate to develop a close bond with. He was my close friend. Without him, Southwestern loses its magic.

Yet, whenever I think about how hard it is to come to terms with the fact that it's really over and that I've lost a sense of self...I think about my mom and how what she is going through/going to go through is a million times harder than this. I mean, try never knowing who you are without a person. To have gone through your formative years and the next thirty-five years of your life as a person that someone else wanted you to be. It makes my emotions so futile. I don't know how I'll begin to help my mom. This pain hurts so bad, how can it be a million times worse? I don't know that I would survive. I really don't. The tears, the heartache, the confusion, the disassociation...

Sometimes it helps to know that your problems aren't as bad as other ones in the world, but you never want the problems of someone you love to be worse than yours.

A Sign From Id

Last night, I dreamt of a living game of solitaire (Through the Looking Glass - esque) with the Gosselin family of Jon and Kate Plus 8 as the players.

I seriously need to get a life.

I have found (and watched) every episode from all four seasons of Jon and Kate Plus 8 online. In every other moment of the day, I play solitaire on my phone.

Currently, I am waiting for an episode to load while I eat pistachio-Cocoa Puff trail mix.

I need a change.

Monday, April 13, 2009

What I Have Learned Today

Always mix in vinegar with the water when dyeing eggs

Do not eat an entire bag of Whopper's Robin's Eggs in one sitting

Especially if all you've eaten that day is four cinnamon rolls, three pieces of pizza, a couple of hardboiled egg whites and two pairs of chocolate bunny ears

How to drive to the Domino's in Georgetown

The rule about breaking up with guys when they start regularly using hard drugs is NOT just a naive high school ideal

Live podcasts are a lot more fun than they may sound like

I actually can do homework while listening to music

In the Christian faith, today (meaning Sunday, Easter) is about renewal and beginning again

Ok, yes, I already knew that, but I woke up to a reminder of that from my mother and it helped me stay strong all day.

Being yourself is more rewarding than anything else. Ever.

Even if it takes 80s rock and a couple of cigarettes to get there.

"It happened, and I wish it didn't. That's just life, isn't it?"

Sunday, April 12, 2009

If I Ever Feel Better

They say an end can be a start
Feels like I've been buried yet I'm still alive
It's like a bad day that never ends
I feel the chaos around me
A thing I don't try to deny
I'd better learn to accept that
There are things in my life that I can't control

They say love ain't nothing but a sore
I don't even know what love is
Too many tears have had to fall
Don't you know I'm so tired of it all
I have known terror dizzy spells
Finding out the secrets words won't tell
Whatever it is it can't be named
There's a part of my world that' s fading away

You know I don't want to be clever
To be brilliant or superior
True like ice, true like fire
Now I know that a breeze can blow me away
Now I know there's much more dignity
In defeat than in the brightest victory
I'm losing my balance on the tight rope
Tell me please, tell me please, tell me please...


Friday, April 10, 2009

When I am upset, I get extremely anti-intellectual.

If it were the opposite, I would be swimming in classic tomes and excelling in the tasty delicious intellectual courses I have.

As it is, I've been slacking on my studies, spending my time watching every episode of Jon and Kate Plus 8 as well as reading Midnight Sun and wallowing in my own helplessness.

I've become so depressed that even The Colbert Report and Digg.com are too intellectual for me.

This coming from the person who regularly reads The Economist and watches CSPAN.

Music is even a problem. I can't listen to it. A week ago I turned to podcasts to fill the silence, but now I am angered by the panelists' cheery voices. Luckily, I discovered that "Heroin" by The Velvet Underground fulfills my need to listen to something as depressed, empty, confused and erratic as I am.

What radiant cool eyes have we here? None. And the pale blue ones have emptied. I am starving hysterical naked on the Mall beneath the bushels in the branches which drift lightly to my side as Bacchanalian hobgoblins and we dance through the frozen time while Jesus and his stuporous followers watch from their technicolor glass.

How have you lost touch with reality?
Do you hallucinate? Hear voices?

No, I am not religious. I want to tell her.
Only the ones I invent.
I settle for.
Leaving out the sprites for now.

Did you know that most suicides are accidental?
They want to be caught, but Fate catches them first.

Funny. I all of a sudden feel free from an obligation.

Things I Need

First, like the new background? Thanks to Joanna for tips!

Now, Things I Need:

Adobe Photoshop
A trip to Medieval Times
A trip to a spa
Summer vacation

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Student Blogging

I've just been accepted as a tour guide and -possibly- student blogger. I was asked to come in to discuss student blogging next week, but I'm still not clear on if that means I got the job.

Either way, I thought I'd post some of my ideas for student blogging as well as the sample blog I had to write for my application. Since my best friend, Kate, is a student blogger for Pace, I thought I could get some great tips from her *hint hint*

Currently, the student blogs for SU are pretty well hidden. I had a lot of problems finding them on the website. I know they aren't really for current students to read, but I still think they should be publicized a little more somehow. The blogs are also pretty dry. Some of the bloggers post pictures and they're all good enough writers, but even knowing the bloggers and all the events they're writing about...I'm still bored.

My sample blog is pretty boring too. So I guess I can't talk. However, I would really like to decrease the boredom level if I get to blog next year. Some of the current bloggers post pictures. I was obsessed with taking pictures in high school so this is something I would definitely like to do as well. But the current bloggers don't really take pictures that show SU life, in my opinion. Most of their pictures come from either events not on campus and hardly related to SU or of specific parties that don't really show the campus. As a prospective student, I would really want to see what the campus looks like --- not what some random student's sorority sisters did on spring break.

Another thing I think would be cool to incorporate is playlists or song suggestions. My favorites, professor suggestions and local artists. I really want to incorporate things like that to make the blogs more interesting...but so far that's all I can come up with.

Suggestions and tips are more than welcome. For you viewing pleasure, here is my sample application blog:

My favorite season isn’t really a season at all. My favorite season is the few weeks when the winter heats up into spring. The transition to spring (though it’s been back and forth for about a month with this crazy Texas weather) has been gorgeous on the SU campus.

It’s great walking out of class into the warm sun to see students picnicking across the Mall, Pirate Bikes zooming every which way and the entire campus a buzz with a renewed enthusiasm.
For the past week, a group of friends and I have been playing Frisbee out on the Mall every day after dinner. The great thing about living on a campus like Southwestern is that, as you play, random people passing by will join in the game. Typically at least one member of the group knows the person, but if not the whole campus is friendly enough that anyone is always welcome.

One thing to note here is that no matter how much I love being outside this time of year, I stink at Frisbee. In fact, I stink at any game that involves hand-eye coordination. So, one evening last week, when the group decided to turn our lackadaisical game of Frisbee into an intense round of Ultimate Frisbee, I called it quits.

Yet, despite my pleas, my team wouldn’t let me ditch. Luckily, just as the game was starting, I saw my RAs walking across the Mall towards our game. Noticing my dilemma, my RAs “saved” me by inviting me to go with them to scout out locations for the filming of their next movie.

For a project last semester, my RAs decided to employ all of their residents to film a re-enactment of the Paris Commune (part of the French Revolution). Since the movie had been so much fun to make, my RAs are planning on filming a sequel that we’re going to show at a surprise birthday party for our ex-First Year Seminar professor.

Even though I ditched a game of Ultimate, I had a really fun evening of hanging out with my RAs. Whether it’s a late night milkshake run or covering each other in fake blood while pretending to be French revolutionaries, they always know how to cheer up their residents. All in all, it was another fun (almost) spring night on campus.

He Says, She Says With Rooney Songs

He Says:

I told you before
I'm not looking for someone to hold me
Take your hand off my back
the weight is making me heavy
I don't like public affection
it belongs in the bedroom
Well I don't want to run around
I got plans in the afternoon

What did you expect?
Well I told you from the start
That I'm not your boyfriend

All the hope
All the pain
All the tears you cried
Every laugh
Every kiss
Every time I lied
Well I'm not what you think or dreamed of
It's all in your head

You need somebody nice
someone with patience
And a big fat wallet
to pay for all your expenses whoa
No compliment will ever
make a dent in your eyes
You're impossible to please even with surprises
I could never say all the things you need to hear
Well there aren't enough words that fit

Wake up you have to see
You can't go on this way
It's you who makes it hard
It's not real it's all in your head

All the hope
All the pain
All the tears you cried
Every laugh
Every kiss
Every time I lied
Well I'm not what you think or dreamed of
It's all in your head

She Says:
I can never win with you
I try but you don't let me through
What's the point in fighting when we're down?

I know I've been acting strange
But wait don't leave I know I'll change
We're wasting all our time together now

I don't know what to say
Every word just makes you turn away
And I don't know what to do
Every day I want to be with you
Well I've lost the battle and I'm losing the war
And I keep on asking myself what for
If you believe in fate and destiny
Then open your eyes and believe in me

I call up and apologize
But you just think its one big lie
Don't you know you're pushing me away?

We've been through so much together
You can't tell me the past will never
Mean a thing it's more than a memory

Cause everyone I see around
Tells me that I'm such a fool
For making you my punching bag
When things really weren't that bad

I've lost you now
I've lost you now
But I don't know how to get you back
I'm not myself
I'm not myself
I've gotta get us back on track

I don't know what to say
Every word just makes you turn away
And I don't know what to do
Every day I want to be with you
Well I've lost the battle and I'm losing the war
And I keep on asking myself what for
If you believe in fate and destiny
Then open your eyes and believe in me

Saturday, April 4, 2009


It just occurred to me that next year I will have, for the first time in my life, my own bathroom.

It's such a foreign concept to me that I can't even imagine what it will be like. A lot of responsibility, I imagine. I mean, every time the toilet paper runs out, I'll have to be the one to refill it.

My whole life until this year I've shared a bathroom with my older brother and it has always been the bane of my existence. Anytime someone marveled at how lucky I was to have Austin as my older brother, I advised them to try sharing a bathroom with him. Or when people bemoaned the shaving of his beard, I told them they could come see the beard on our bathroom counter for the next few months.

I have always been assigned responsibility for cleaning the bathroom. This is something I never understood because the biggest task was always picking his whiskers off of the counter and sink. If the biggest mess was his, why did I have to clean the bathroom?

This year, I've almost felt that I have a bathroom all to myself simply because it's clean and nice and I don't have to do anything. I share with my two suitemates and we have a housekeeper who cleans it twice a week.

The actual time restraints on sharing a bathroom have rarely ever gotten to me (even back home with my brother). Except for sharing one bathroom with a dozen and a half people (the typical case when I'm with my mother's side of the family), I've never really had any qualms with waiting to wash up.

So I'm having trouble envisioning what it will be like to have my own bathroom. I can take as long of a shower as I want, I expect. And I'll finally be able to put all of my hair and make up things in the bathroom. Never wanting to be forbidden access if someone is taking a shower when I need to get ready, I've always done my hair/make up in my room. That will definitely be a big change.

Maybe the bathroom is one of the strongest markers of independence for me. Next year, I will have my own room and bathroom and share a living room and kitchenette with a roommate. I've always had my own room and always shared a living room so, even though I'm excited about decorating those in a more adult fashion as if it were a real apartment, the bathroom is newest experience for me. I'll get to arrange it however I want and, for the first time, know that I'm only cleaning my own mess --- not anyone else's.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Things I Wish Part I

That networking sites listed "Favorite Poems" and "Favorite Plays." I feel so restricted trying to write only my "Favorite Books." So I'm not allowed to list my love of Ginsberg or Neruda or Colerdige or Keats or Shakespeare or Ibsen or Stoppard (oh god yes, Stoppard) or Williams? What about Simon and Marlowe and Oates? And musicals can be put there too because god knows how embarrassing it is for people to have Carousel or A Chorus Line listed as their favorite music. Or the other method of saying that Stephen Sondheim and Andrew Lloyd Weber and Jason Robert Brown are your favorite musicians. It's wholly awkward trying to accomodate our interests to the pithy subheadings on social networking sites.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Travel Blog

Wish I were abroad so I could use this as a travel blog/actually use this blog.

I also sometimes wish I could write this blog like Hipster Runoff......ya'll.


Saturday, January 31, 2009

Superbowl Sunday

Despite the fact that I haven't watched the Superbowl for years (not even the commercials or half time), despite the fact that I never know who's playing or where it is or how it works or even when exactly it is...I can't help being jealous anytime I hear about families getting together to watch the Superbowl.

When I was little (back when the Cowboys were really successful), my family used to go to my parents' friend's house for every single Superbowl and most of the other Sunday night football games. The family whose house we went to had an adopted son who was a few years older than my big brother and they had three different houses that I can distinctly remember (the first of which being across the street from ours' which is how we knew them).

I always brought a book or some toys with me because everyone there was an adult except for their kid and my big brother who always played with each other. Because we were the same size, the dog always thought we were playmates, but even then I wasn't a big fan of pets so I had no one to play with.

When the mom of the host family could tell that I was getting bored with the game, or if all of the other adults were picking on me, she would always let me have some Rocky Road ice cream while we sat in the kitchen, just the two of us. I hated Rocky Road ice cream because I don't like nuts or marshmallows, but I never told her this because I felt so special getting ice cream and didn't want to hurt her feelings.

Going to watch the game at their house was where I first discovered priceless things like beanie weanies, that you're not supposed to swallow gum, and that people who don't like the Cowboys wear giant foam pieces of cheese on their heads.

I also learned the words "breast cancer."

The mom of the family, Carla, had breast cancer for the third time. Her mom had had it too and she had died when she was three (this sentence, copied exactly how my mom told me, confused me for at least five years as I tried to figure out how Carla could've been born if her mom had died when she was three). Some of her sisters had it too and this was why they adopted their son so he wouldn't have it. Breast cancer was something that made you have no hair. Other than that, I couldn't figure out how it hurt you.

One night, when my parents had left my brother and I home alone for the night, Carla's husband left a message on the answering machine saying that Carla had died.

I remember my brother screaming as tears poured down his red face. He was nine. I was seven. I didn't cry. I wanted to, but I couldn't. I figured that being nine must mean that you understand something you can't understand when you're seven and that makes death more sad. I suppose I was right because, looking back on it, I didn't actually think Carla was gone. I knew she was dead, but I thought that meant she was my guardian angel now. A selfish thought, if you think about it.

Every year when the Superbowl rolls around or anytime a friend tells me that they're watching the game with their family, I get a little jealous. I miss that feeling of being around a bunch of people who (kind of) care about each other eating potato chips and home made salsa while the game plays on the television and the wives all gossip on the porch with the dogs running around their ankles and one lone kid (who never has and never will care about football) eats a bowl of Rocky Road ice cream in the kitchen.

Gabriela Garcia Medina

Last night, she performed at my school. She was awesome.

Earlier this week, a traveling Buddhist teacher (who holds a Masters from St. John's) came to speak and he mentioned how jaded college students get from professors always having to be politically correct. He said how people who don't give a fuck about being politically correct are very refreshing when you're in/just out of college. I'm not talking racial slurs or anything equally heinous. What I mean (and what he meant) is someone who just says what they mean without being concerned about offending someone in the room.

When he said this, I agreed about how the extent to which professors are PC is a bit bogus, but didn't really think I'd automatically enjoy someone just because they have an unadulterated way of thinking.

But last night I got it. I completely understood what he meant. Gabriela Garcia Medina (ps - for the past two weeks as her performance has been advertised on campus I keep mistakenly calling her Gabriel Garcia Marquez) says what she wants. I wouldn't even say that she's particularly un-PC, but her energy and her manner and her insistence that she is a revolutionary makes you feel that she is.

Here's my favorite verse of the poetry that I heard last night as well as the one that probably best sums up her style (and a style I aim for):

"Know that when the Revolution comes
I will be prepared in green fatigues, combat boots with a top of the line AK
And underneath it all….
my favorite set of matching lingerie"

Hahaha, great. Ok, that doesn't nearly do her rhyming and rhythm or energy any justice, but it's funny.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

I was thinking today about a group project I did freshman year in my theatre class. We had to create a film company and block a skit and advertise for it and such. We spent a whole six weeks on it and it was loads of fun. I got to know the people in my group pretty well. We decided to give ours a Star Wars theme. To open our presentation we turned out all of the lights in the black box and staged a duel with lightsabers we made out of flashlights and gels we jacked from the stage lights. Our group ended up winning best overall film company.

As I thought back on the project, I realized that out of the six of us in the group one is now in jail and another has died.

Guess we weren't such a winning group after all.

Or were we? The boy who died was an amazing guy who left behind ingenius art work and the guy in jail was arrested for playing paintball inside the school one night.