Domestic issues at home. My mother and I are both very stubborn*, so our arguments tend to go Cold War very quickly.

Other things are going good. We've got some writers and designers lined up for this new website, that music site I write for just won a regional prize, I've almost got enough work out the way to start on another pay piece, and, y'know - there's this weather.

I've got a crush on one of the barristas at this coffee shop, and she's like at least 30% of the reason I go there, but I haven't really done anything about it because I'm not comfortable with hitting on people who (at least in theory) earn their money by being nice to me. A few days ago she came over to chat on her cigarette break, and we mainly exchanged the sort of babble two people use to prove that they're:

1) weird
2) smart
3) hip
4) artsy

It was a stupid conversation, but I think we both enjoyed it... ironically.  As the conversation was ending she kept talking about stuff she was doing that weekend, and I was too dense to even say "I'll see you there," or something along those lines.  So then I ended up at one of the things she mentioned, because it turns out she's in a band I really like, but I hadn't realized it before because when she's performing she wears a falcon costume + mask + foot high heels.  It got awkward from there, and now I'm sitting at home trying to make a list of everything I hate about burlesque.

* more accurately, we're only very stubborn when we're arguing with each other.

So excited!

Three Great Things:

1) just came back from my favorite first date in weeks.

2) bike modification plans which involve both hacksaws and fiddly gear messing around.

3) new job on Tuesday.


Two Not-So-Great Things:

1) Eyeballs have been hurting all night. (dialogue from date, her: "are you asian?" me: "no, I just, squint a lot." We were both grinning, so this exchange was not weird.)

2) $16 to last me until my first paycheck.

"One day I wanted to explain myself to myself... And it struck me with a sort of surprise that the first thing I had to say was 'I am a woman.'"

-Simone de Beauvoir

I should point out that I am not a woman.

Is female the default sex on livejournal? I think there's 6 guys on my friends list, and maybe 20 or so regularly posting girls. Guys and girls... it's like a trip back to middle school. I'm always worried about what the hell to call each sex, and it gets worse when I'm comparing the two, and one side is guys... I'm tempted to call the other side "dolls".

Looking through this dictionary of 1920's underground slang, I count 10 or so nicknames for women, while all of the mens' nicknames are in reference to their role within the criminal hierarchy. A simple dictionary can say a lot about how a group functions. (80 years later, I'm still having trouble thinking of more than 4 words for "man")

I remember back in middle school, the major currencies between my brother and I were fireworks and porn. Though neither of these things were explicitly banned, we knew that any caches of porn or fireworks our parents found would be gone for good. So our nickname for fireworks was "fish", and our nickname for porn was "soap". Not very good nicknames, but we had realized that our parents didn't really listen to the content of our conversations, they only listened for certain key words - so, long conversations in the family car's backseat over trading a certain weight of fish for a few magazines of soap were never suspect.

(I live in Georgia, where it's illegal to purchase fireworks. Towards the end of middle school, our house got a computer with internet access, and the value of "soap" was devalued greatly)

So, which is a more effective title: the one I used, or "Fireworks and Porn"?

EDIT: I just went for a walk, and, I'm not sure if you've noticed this, but everyfuckingthing has turned orange. You should too. Do it. I have paint.

"The fate of an epoch that has eaten of the tree of knowledge is that it must... recognize that general views of life and the universe can never be the products of increasing empirical knowledge, and that the highest ideals, which move us most forcefully, are always formed only in the struggle with other ideals which are just as sacred to others as ours are to us."

- Max Weber, quoted in David Harvey's The Condition of Postmodernity


"Perhaps part of the reason a more sophisticated sociological analysis [of PMS symptoms in the workplace] is not done is that those who comment on and minister to these women do not see that the women's mental and physical state gives them trouble only given a particular kind of industrialized society.  For these observers it is the women who malfunction and must have their hormonal imbalances fixed, not the organization of society and work that might be transformed so that it could demand less constant discipline and productivity."

- Emily Martin, Blood Magic:  The Anthropology of Menstruation


In addition to the frequent use of the Spanish term sol ("sun"), the most common name for the sun in Misminay is inti.  These two terms, sol and inti, are used in most day-to-day contexts.  However, I also heard the following names used on various occasions:  Nuestros Dios ("our Lord"), Otuno ("autumn"), Taytacha (Jesus Christ and "[male] saint"), and Huayna Capac (the eleventh Inca king"

- Gary Urton, At the Crossroads of the Earth and the Sky: An Andean Cosmology

-

That's what I'm reading tonight.  Urton's book is for a paper I'm writing, and I'm reading the other two because they're really awesome.

I'm not sure if that girl and I were dating, as we had carefully avoided discussion of our relationship until yesterday, but, whatever we were doing, we quit doing it this Wednesday at noon.  It turned out to be the best possible time and weather to end even a short relationship, and we lay around under a tree after our opening statements had been completed, leisurely negotiating for the rest of the afternoon.

(A note for those who aren't used to my speech patterns: when I use legal sounding words to describe interpersonal communication, I am joking.  Also, when I use more than two commas in a sentence, I'm making my thoughts more complex as a parody of late 19th/early 20th century writers.  And, if I write a paragraph with several long sentences followed by a short one, I am more concerned about the audio flow of the paragraph than its actual content.  I talk almost the exact same way that I write, though you usually won't get more than a sentence out of me at a time in real life.)

Currently writing about this sentence:

One day you'd think misfortune would get tired, but then time is your misfortune father said.  A gull on an invisible wire attached through space dragged.

Before I ever read Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury, I heard the "bird on a wire" analogy in k d lang's Hymns from the 49th Parallel.  After a few years of hearing that version, I learned it was a cover of Leonard Cohen's Like a Bird on a Wire.

Of course, in both versions of the song, the bird symbolizes an image of freedom:

Like a bird on the wire,
Like a drunk in an old midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free. 

Cohen wrote his lyrics on a Greek island, watching a seagull sitting on a telephone wire, poised to fly.  Faulkner (aka the most depressing man in the entire world) uses "gull on an invisible wire" as a symbol of illusionary freedom, and, when I was younger, hearing the song, I had always assigned that same meaning to Leonard Cohen's "bird on the wire".

Though, really, whether freedom is illusionary or not, the tragedy of the bird is only visible to those who watch it's flight - the bird itself doesn't know or care whether it's freedom actually exists.

-

The air's been bracing lately; I'm considering gnosis85's Sarasota idea.  And my brother wanted to go canoeing down there around then, but I don't think he realizes that canoeing plans require both canoes, transportation, and identical school vacation schedules.  I also want to go to New Orleans, but I think I might leave that until winter break.

I was hoping the weather would improve so I could go swimming once more before fall hit, but it seems our current cold snap will last for the next few months.

-

A question:  I invited a young lady over to my apartment Monday night - we walked around a lot, drank beers on the porch, eventually shared a brief discussion over whether or not the night counted as a date, kissed goodnight, and she scampered.  My feelings towards her are ambivelant, and I expect them to remain undecided for at least another two weeks.  Was it a good idea to hang out with her again last night?  What I mean is, if you go on a sort of quasi-date with someone, is it strange to see them again the very next night?

I don't know if she likes me, though she laughs at my jokes, but everyone laughs at my jokes, so I'm not sure this indicates anything.  Also, she tolerates my company, but that's not particularly surprising, as my company is amazing.

Your thoughts?

It is my face.

The sky's been really weird over Atlanta lately. All the smog seems to have disappeared over the weekend, and been replaced by gigantic clouds that never become rain.

I was laying on the quad, reading some mad Faulkner, just waiting for rain, and it never happened.

-

I was at a party about two weeks ago, hanging out with this gal, walking around, etc. Sometimes I would take a break to shotgun beers with a violent guy named Jose, but mainly I hung out with the girl. I didn't entirely mean to - she occasionally hunted me down.

She had to leave early, and I asked for her number after escorting her out. So I got her number, and called the next evening, and it was not actually her number. I wondered if I had spent the entire party completely missing her "get the hell away from me" cues, and concluded, after consultation with a friend of hers, that I really might have been disastrously misinterpreting the night.

Then, a few weeks later, I met her roommate. The roommate was wondering why I hadn't called the girl, and I explained, and she seemed surprised. Apparently, the girl had actually meant to give me her number.

So there's a little concert happening in a few nights, and both myself and the girl will be there. It seems very awkward, and I don't know how to explain the whole thing, and I'm not sure if I was pursuing the girl out of genuine interest, or boredom. So I don't know if I should say anything at all. Additionally, I'm not sure I'd even recognize her. Sometimes I forget what even good friends look like, if they're not wearing familiar clothes/smiling in familiar ways.

Internet. Any advice would be appreciated.

Pretty drunk.

Was not aware that myself was responsible for other people's feelings.

Have always thought it kinder to assume various persons one encounters as independent from self.

Not sure why girls screech their tires when they drive away from my apartment.

Gonna play some video games, maybe eat some leftover tofu.

Goodnight goodnight, you internets and internats.


PS:  I understand why they decide to screech their tires, but I do not understand what prompts a person to see the world as they do.

I asked a friend why he was going out with this girl.  He said he didn't know, so I asked him why he didn't stop.  He said he did want to stop going out with her.  So, again, I asked him why they continued to date.  He said that the sex was good.  I remembered how much he'd been complaining about the sex lately.  He said that the sex wasn't horrible; it was comfortable.  I asked him if that was why he was dating the girl who made him miserable, and he said that wasn't the reason.  I asked him if he was too worried about her reaction to initiate a breakup.  He said that he thought she might actually want to break up, or at least just leave with a shrug.  I suggested that this might be a good way to end his current depression.  He said he loved her, and I had run out of questions.

So, that's one of the reasons I like dates, but not dating.

Reason 2:

I was walking through a neighborhood in Chicago.  I was lost, as the streets had switched from Chicago's normal grid to a dead-end-laden mess.  I saw a couple at their apartment, just returned from walking their dog.  I asked the two of them for directions to the concert I had misplaced, and the woman started explaining, followed by the man, who had his own directions.  The man said, in a loud firm voice, stop, and turned back to give me his directions.  The woman looked at the back of the man's head, then went inside.  The man's directions were fine, and took me to the same place as the woman's.

Reason 3:

A different friend is in a long distance relationship.  His girlfriend goes to school in Florida, and they occasionally vacation together.  They got back from a visit to my friend's family about three weeks ago, and the girl drove back down to Florida.  Then, my friend spent the week smoking weed, drinking, and not answering his phone.  She won't be in Atlanta for another few weeks, and he won't sleep more than three hours a night for any of those weeks.

I think I'm gonna go read in the sun for a few hours.  Maybe take a nap or go swimming.  I'll let you know how it goes.

EDIT:  Also, can we stop talking about burlesque?  It makes me really sleepy.

I guess.

Anyway, I can't sleep.

Things to do tomorrow:

1)  Meet teachers at Oglethorpe.
1.5)  Search Oglethorpe for signs of student life.
2)  Job hunt.
3)  Buy pants + shoes.  (With help from Heather?)
4)  More job hunting.
5)  Possibly a quick meeting with Jeremy and The Girl He Pines After at someone's gallery opening.
6)  Movie with Gal Who Made Sunday Interesting?
7)  Pack for family reunion in North Carolina.

In between these, I should email Land Trust guy about Deconform article, figure out what my grades were last semester, fix my brother's computer, and maybe write a few hundred words.

I have a feeling I'm gonna be staying up all night.

Send cookies?

Oh fuck.

The art world is a painful place.

Overheard at MJQ's Stupid Fucking Circus Themed Art Gallery:

Girl with one of those voices you hate:  Are you an artist?
Guy:  Yeah.
Girl who's skinny enough to fit inside two normal sized dames: Oh - I'm an art student!

Hipsters may make me bitter and old, but I still love Atlanta.

Other things:  Sat around house Tuesday and hung out with Jeremy's kids in the evening and was too lame to snort adderall, slept a lot Wednesday and played pool with Boris (the Other Russian) in the evening while the sky hari kari'd on us outside, finally got some new books Thursday and read them then Elizabeth (aka Tall Girl) was sick so I stopped by then met up with magazine I'm writing for and explored Land Trust and frowned at hipsters in the evening.

Now it isn't even late, but I think I have an early day tomorrow, so goodnight.

There is a girl here with "snake bite" studs below her lips, dreaded hair (pretty damn long too), who wears black skirts over those goth pant thingies.

It is hilarious.

I think, if I could read her tattoos, she would be even funnier.

It is like she is trapped between four different subcultures, all equally stupid.

I'm not sure if I was laughing at or flirting with her more.  Either way, hijinks should ensue.  If possible, I will videotape whatever physical violence happens.  It will be great.  Currently taking bets on back tattoos.

I'm thinking... angel/devil wings, at least five "anarchist" stars... and, if we're lucky, Bob Marley in a cloud of smoke.  Mebbe an ironic picture of an animal as well, though those are usually saved for shoulder/wrist.

Do any of you read Crooked Timber?

You should.

It's Tuesday night, and that means I'm writing.  This is my second to last week of classes, then I'm staying over for another week.  Maybe I'll hang around Dancer Girl's place in London?  I've only seen her twice, but, Elizabeth from back home told us we should be best friends, so I took that to mean it's okay for me to invite myself over for a few days.  That's what best friends do, right?  Make each other's lives miserable?  Make London flats seem even smaller?

Cocorosie on the 17th.

Oh, and the heel fell off my boot in the middle of Sainsbury's a few hours ago.  Tread?  The rubbery bit, you know, whatever you call that piece of shoe.  I guess I need to buy new shoes at some point, as my left no longer has an appreciable bottom.  These boots have lasted me seven years.  They were awesome.  Maybe I'll mail them back home.

Good places to get good shoes on a budget?

Do you guys have something like a "Big and Tall" store?  My body is on the short side of average, but my feets are fucking huge.  It makes shoe buying an ordeal.

I'm going to have to go to my tutorial tomorrow morning with my shoe sole duct taped on.  Right Fucking On.

Do Your Thing.

Like A Soul Machine.

EDIT:  There is nothing more inspirational than a fresh episode of Doctor Who sitting on your desktop, just waiting to be watched.  As soon as this damn paper is finished.

Dear Girl Who Immediately Looks Away Down At The Ground And Smiles The Last Three Times We've Past,

It's not that the situation's awkward - I enjoy wondering what the hell's going through our heads every time we pass and don't say anything.  I'm just feeling that my behavior's been a bit rude - I am supposed to say something to you, right?  I'd be happy to chat about the weather, or rivers, or climbing things, etc, but, you keep surprising me by showing up just as I'm rounding a corner.  Not even in my neighborhood, either - we've met three separate times, each time in a different corner of the city. 

I say "met", but it's really been the opposite.

I normally don't realize if people are or are not looking at me, as I'm busy looking at the sky, bodies of water, or trees and buildings.  The only reason I noticed you - and I don't mean this as an insult, because, from the little I've seen of you (head, back of head), you seem quite attractive - but your most noticeable trait is the tendency to look down at the ground and smile slightly but markedly when you see me.

Anyway.  I have many things to talk about.  I may not seem a good person to talk to, as I tend to slightly frown even when I'm happiest, but that is a look of concentration, and I enjoy breaking that concentration to talk with mysterious strangers.

I have provided a sample script, in case I do not introduce myself when next we pass:

You: Hi, you must be Ben.
Me:  Yes I am - have we met before?
You:  I believe we've passed on the street a few times.  Tell me - what are your thoughts on the Oxford uniform/freshly mown grass phenomenon?

There.  I'm sure we'll both be better prepared when next we fail to meet.

Sincerely,
Ben

I have a strange urge to scare away all the new people.  I'm sure, if you search my archives, you can find a detailed essay presenting my views for and against shaving genitals.  I may have included a graph in that post.

Yeah, that should do the trick.

It was windy yesterday, continues to be windy today.  Maybe I'll go look at some swans?

It was my roommate's birthday last night, so she's doing the hungover thing today.  Very qute.  She has setup camp on our couch.  The only part of her visible under that mass of blankets, laptop, and tea paraphernalia is her hair and one ear.

Maybe I should give in to my own (slight) hangover.  I found an interesting girl to talk to at the party last night, but she scampered to assist a drunk friend home.  I grabbed my own posse shortly after, and we went to find cheaper booze, not inside a noisy club.  I don't think I should have to pay more money just to drink bad booze and listen to horrible music, but I find myself in the minority these days.

A question for club going girls: if a guy asks you to step outside with him while at a club, what do you assume his intentions to be?

I was just getting tired of talking in sign language.

Ex:

"You're sleeping with Annie and that guy?"
"No!  No, we sleep under the same roof!  We are roommates!"

I think I will consult a used clothing shop, and perhaps run into Nathaniel, The Christian.

A good sign you've had a bit much to drink:  You are talking to friends, including The Christian, about how "fucking lame" Jesus was.  In a loud voice.  It's probably a good thing he does the "turn the other cheek" thing.

Wooo!  Finished my fourth Joyce paper.  Professor said it was "good" - high praise from an Englishman.

I think, tonights activities are:

1) Drink.
2) Teach Christians to drink properly (Whiskey).
3) Go salsa dancing?
3a) In a retrofitted church?
3b) Pants optional?
4) Take off shoes, rest of clothes.
5) Sleep.

A not too exciting day.  I think I've watched 3 hours of Deadwood so far, and I might watch another hour or two before I sleep.  I had meant to write or draw or photograph something for Mother's day, but I procrastinated.  Now I'm grumbling about made up holidays to make myself feel better.

I was sitting with coffee and laptop and stack of books at the cafe this afternoon, and these two twenty-somethings were talking about boyfriend dumping techniques.  I was amazed - girls are strangely mercenary about these things.  Also, unlike similar conversations I've had with my own guy and girl friends, nothing was ever said about the physical aspects of the whole deal - though I guess you would avoid that sort of talk in a crowded cafe.

[dame quoting some guy]
“if you have a dinner party of more than 5 people, you just have to just have to have people [hired help] in"
[immediately after the quote]
“oh yes, I don't know how you could get on without help” [/sarcasm]
[discussing own boyfriends]
“and of course Tim's from Manchester, so, common”
[...later...]
"...we're sitting on a really British day...”

I like hearing scraps of conversation with no context around them.

I think, next time I do one of these "day in pictures" things, it will be in London.  I'm supposed to be heading down in a few weeks to watch dancer girl's performance, and I'm hoping to wrangle a spot on a spare bed or comfy patch of floor - make a weekend of it, maybe see some of the things I'm supposed to see.  Actually, I think I may be going down even earlier than that, some sort of WISC sponsored trip.

I am listening to the audio track of an Israeli porn movie.  All I hear is Hebrew, moaning, and stereotypical porn music.

I think I just heard a bom-chika-wow-wow.

Anyway.

Why am I sitting at home on a Friday night, listening to porn, as opposed to watching or making it?

Good fucking question.

I miss warm bodies and sympathetic brain-pans.

Also: The Claremont Lounge.

If ever there was a time to watch ugly strippers and drink cheap whiskey with a crew of my closest friends, this is it.

I got this message on Wednesday:


I emailed her back, explaining that I was out of town, asking what awards I won, and whether she could mail them to my parents in Atlanta.  Still no response.

Background for newcomers:  Linda Taylor was my creative writing teacher a few years back.  We didn't get along very well, mainly because I thought her class was boring and her instructions silly.  Also, she kept telling me to write poetry, and I kept telling her I wasn't go to write poetry because poetry sucks and I hate it.  Also, poetry is completely pointless, as there's really almost no distinction between prose and poetry.

I believe someone once defined poetry as: "A column of words.  Left side justified, right side unjustified."  That's not the exact quote, but you get the gist, right?

So I emailed Ember after the ceremony, and she told me I had won the prize for best fiction and shared the title of poet laureate with another student. 

Is this Dr. Taylor's sick revenge?  WTF?  I've written three pieces of poetry in my life, and none of them were submitted to the school's literary magazine.

My history of poetry:

Haiku about a videogame in High School.

Also in High School:

Existentialism is the shiznit
izn't?

And I submitted a poem entitled "List of Things I Don't Like" as my required poetry for that Creative Writing class.  It was a list of things I didn't like, including lines like:

fluorescent lightbulbs
poetry
airplanes
meeting important people

England's what, two days now?

My parents bought me a camera for my birthday.  I don't know why - I didn't actually want a camera, or any present (expect maybe a ticket from England to Turkey).  I don't know what I'm supposed to do with it.  Suppose I'll take a few pictures of the dorm room when I get there, but it seems silly, as my memory is much more a function of words than images.  Any pictures I take will be more to show you people back home how I'm getting along.

I'm interested in what it takes for a person to actually want to read a piece of writing.  I'd like to write something which a complete stranger finds in the street and starts reading.  Not just starts reading, but makes some effort to continue reading, maybe even reading while walking to the bus, bumping into people and stepping into traffic.

When I was still in high school, I would walk home through the park everyday reading.  It would be a different book each day, and I'd divide my attention between the trees and the pages.  I never had to look down because I had memorized every contour of the path between school and home.

Elizabeth tells me I should meet one her friends in London.  She described her as "the only other person that, after talking to, every time, you think, 'this girl is deeply strange'."  I would be the other person who prompts this thought.

So, hurray.  I'm meeting another tall skinny artist's model.

I forgot how orange this cat is, and how loud it purs.