I finally memorized my Nocturne in its entirety. I want to knock Nathan's socks off on Monday... or something.

Rufus Wainwright's website says that he and Ben Folds will be doing another tour. Which I so have to go to because I stupidly missed last year's date. Because I'm a moron. August 10th!!!! Who's in?


Last night I read Diary: A Novel by Chuck Palahniuk. It was pretty good. So far, of the three books I've read by him, Invisible Monsters is my favorite.


This? Quite possibly the best thing ever.

Last night I dreamt about not one, but two of my French professors. Here goes:
My civilization professor gave me 66% on my presentation about French New Wave Cinema, but my classmates had voted my presentation to be the best. I ended up with an average grade of 68%. I went up to ask my professor why I did so bad, and she said I gesticulated too wildly. She said that I probably would have faded into the background had we not gotten bright red carpet in our classroom a few months ago. I said, "So if I had gone in February, I would have gotten a higher grade?" And she replied, "Pretty much."
So I was kind of like half-crying, and Cassie was laying on the ground outside my classroom, and she was wearing a really glamourous dress. It was white and it had kind of a collar thingy that stuck up, and 3/4 sleeves, and like a really plunging V neckline. It was a dress that I'm pretty sure I've seen on some celebrity IRL, but I can't remember where. Anyway, she gave me some pennies to cheer me up. But then Laura came and took away some of my pennies, making me sad again.
Then I was on some weird game show, and Kevin and I had to run an obstacle course. My lit professor was the referee, which is weird cause she's like a sedentary oldish woman. Although I think she maybe runs, cause she's like really fit for how old she is.
Then my mom called Rob on the phone and asked me if I wanted to talk to him. I didn't really. So she hung up.

My obsessive songs of the moment are:
"Miracle Drug" - AC Newman
"Town Halo" - AC Newman
"35 in the Shade" - AC Newman
"The One You Love" - Rufus Wainwright


Last night I read Sickened: The True Story of a Lost Childhood last night. Normally I wouldn't read an entire book in one night, but I finished my French paper really early (cause I'm awesome), and I was really tired but I didn't want to go to bed at 8. I took some Tavist for my allergies, and that knocked me out. It was fabulous. But now I'm still tired.


I watched two episodes of Primetime Glick today. I love that show. Martin Short is brilliant.

Why I love Jacob at TWOP:
Also, though, [Constantine's] hair looks diseased, and the eyeliner makes him look like a palace eunuch in a period piece. You know, like Alexander the Great movies, or Caligula or whatever, where they want to say the guy was into dudes but then there's the Hayes code, so they just have some totally weird/creepy-looking andro dude with girly hair and a smoky kohl-eyed stare in the background as the standard catamite.
I wanna see Anwar and Clay do a duet of "Ebony and Ivory," because all my high school eschatology research would actually come into play at that point.
For her birthday one year I bought Anna a diamond tiara and a tight pink t-shirt that says "I Fucked Mick Jagger" and underneath, all blurry Sex Pistols stencil-style, is the cover of The Man Who Sold The World, and that's the story of the best birthday present I ever bought, and that's the effect we're creating here, in a nutshell.
So the cake is love, and she'll never love anybody in precisely the way that she loved this person, because this person left the love out in the rain. And I guess I've felt that way, like in junior high or something, but for Christ's sake I've not told anyone, because then I'd deserve what I'd get, which is: no love. Ever. I don't want my junior high haircut either, and for basically the same reason: lots and lots of feelings. Also: Depeche Mode.

I feel so sick. I hate spring. I hate the allergies and insomnia that it brings. I'm going to go to Walgreens later today and investigate getting Tavist and/or Nyquil so I can start sleeping.

The beginning of the end: 2.5 weeks left of school. I can make it.

Yesterday I had my last orchestra concert of the year. It...could have been better. Much better. The winds and piano had their heads up their asses for most of the Shostakovich. There were so many wrong or missed entrances. And these were mistakes that had never been made in rehearsal. They just weren't thinking. It was really embarrassing. It was my conductor's last concert ever--he's retiring at the end of this year. I hope he's not too mega-disappointed.


Last night I went to bed around 2. But I didn't fall asleep until after 5:40. I just wasn't tired at all. I hate spring and I hate the insomnia it always brings. This sucks.


Talia was talking about how she wanted to go to Japan, and I said that every time I think of Japan I think of that Sakura song, and then she and I started to sing it in perfect 5ths and we didn't even have to think about it. And we're awesome!


So it's 11 pm. And Talia has a 4-6 page paper due tomorrow. And she hasn't started. So I like mentioned how she's more courageous than me, cause I would have been too scared to procrastinate this long. And she said, "But I blog. A lot. And I haven't blogged in a long time. So I've been saving it up." And that's probably true. And one reason why Talia is awesome. You go, gi--no. I hate myself for even starting to say that.

New shoes! New shoes! These, which are like walking on clouds, and these, which are just plain awesome. And on sale! Both of them! So I have new shoes. Which should hold my shoe craving, oh, for another... let's be realistic, a month.


I finished Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk. It was such a good book. I'm kind of sad it's over. I think I really like Chuck Palahniuk.

So last night I was mega tired, cause terrible horrible allergies do that to you sometimes. So I went to bed at 10:45 and fell asleep like within seconds of my head hitting the pillow. But then I woke up at 12:30 because my nose was running. So I blow it. But then I can't get back to sleep. So I read for a while, but all of a sudden I'm not tired anymore. So I'm like "this sucks" and then at 2 am I take a Vicodin cause I figure that'll make me sleepy. And it does, eventually. Like after 3 am. And if you'll notice the time stamp, it's just after 7 am. Cause I have an 8:30 class. Stuff sucks. Tonight I'm going to try to hold out for a little later, maybe like 11:30, and then maybe I'll take a shot or two just so I can sleep through the night.


Wow, I was definitely a jerk to Angie when she IMed me the other night. And then she got mad and we fought, and I felt better because then I wasn't the only one being a jerk (although my jerkishness caused her to be mad). And now she's being nice to me and I feel terrible, like I don't deserve her being nice to me cause I was such a humongous asshole. Also I'm kind of embarrassed. And by kind of, I mean REALLY REALLY.

Last night it took me a while to get to sleep, so I ended up taking a Vicodin at 3 am cause I figured that might help, and if it didn't, well, no harm done. Then I had some crazy dreams.

I saved like three toddlers from drowning, and for some reason I had stripped off all my clothes to do so. Mrs. Hornick was holding a towel around my shoulders, and then a lady (a real-life friend of Mrs. Hornick's) asked why I was naked except for a towel, and I said it was because I was a member of the Campus Nude Recreation Club, as a joke. She shrugged, said "okay...", and started putting food out for lunch.
Then I dreamt I got a call from Steve. He decided he needed to go to Nebraska to "find himself". He said he'd probably never come back to Chicago. And he needed to leave like this weekend. I wouldn't be home until the weekend after that, so I realized I wouldn't get to say goodbye to him, and I'd probably never see him again.

I finished Smashed: Story of a Drunken Girlhood by Koren Zailckas, continuing my tradition? quest? love? of reading memoirs of people with kind of screwed-up lives. It was pretty good. I took umbrage with some of the quotes on the back, though. They were about how every mother who has a daughter should read this book, because it gives insight on the secret lives of teenaged girls everywhere. Except...I didn't like that generalization that all teenage girls have drinking problems. I know that my mom certainly wouldn't read that book and then immediately suspect me, since I've worked hard to earn her trust. But there are probably mothers out there who read the book, or skim it in a bookstore, and then immediately begin to suspect their daughters as having self-destructive lifestyles where alcohol is a huge contributor. I'd like to think that mothers across America would be more willing to trust their daughters, who they've known for umpteen years, but I know that the idea of alcohol abuse will be planted in some mothers' minds, and their daughters will have to own up to a crime they never committed. I dunno, maybe this is me being cynical again.


As of last week, my eyes and nose have started their annual rebellion against my face. What with the itching, and the not enough mucus, but suddenly too much mucus, and the dryness, and the frustration, and the GLAVIN! Anyone here ever rubbed your nose so hard (cause it itches) that you've given yourself a blister? A blister. Inside your nose??? Well, I have. I thought it was a cancerous growth but then I went to the doctor and he said I'm just a little too zealous with the nose-itching. But it itches, people! So I'm going through my own version of hell, where I want to claw my face off and start over with just a skull and some muscles and some saran wrap to keep it all in place. And also I want to sleep 23 hours per day, a goal that I started working toward by skipping French Civ today in favor of taking a nap. I'm going to go read some of my French Lit homework so that in the event that I poke out my eyes in frustration, I'll have it read before I have to find a Braille version of Les Femmes d'Alger dans leur appartement. (P.S. Louis Braille was French, so it would be cool to read a French book in Braille. Like how it's more pure if you read a French book in French as opposed to a translated English version, maybe Braille is more pure if it's in French. I wonder how they render the accents. There's really no need to render stuff like ê and î, stuff that doesn't change the pronunciation, but I wonder about é and è and ç and stuff. Note to self: Find out.)


I saw two guys holding hands today while I was walking around campus. It made me happy that they felt comfortable enough to hold hands in public.


Tonight Talia and I got Chinese food, and then we went to Target and I bought some stuff (including beads that look like katamari), and then we went to Borders and I bought some new books. So now I feel good.

I had a depressing thought today, and I'm going to try to say this without trying to sound like I'm being deep, cause I don't want to be all like fake deep. But it occurred to me today that all of the feelings I've ever felt have been felt before by hundreds of millions of other people, intensities far greater than I've ever experienced anything. I'm not different from anyone else. There's nothing in the pain or joy that I feel that makes me original. And it bummed me out, like why feel anything if I can't feel anything that hasn't been felt before? I dunno.


Tonight I finished Choke by Chuck Palahniuk. I liked it for the most part, although it got a little bit repetetive. The themes were very similar to those in Fight Club (the movie, at least; I haven't read the book yet).


Two things that have earned me my spot in the nerd hall of fame:

    -I own a Newsies piano book.
    -When I was 9 or 10, I played air cello to the string-only recording of "Eleanor Rigby". Multiple times.


My French civ prof gave me a grade of 'W' on my paper because it was so terrible. My interpretations were just flat-out wrong, and I didn't give any evidence. I was scared to ask what percentage constitutes a 'W'.

For 16 straight hours today, I was either in class or doing homework. Things that made the day more palatable:
pear soda
solitaire on my iPod
the random guy in the Union who was playing Radiohead on the piano


So in the midst of feeling like 99% workaholic allergic scum/1% human, this cheered me up, because kids can be so awesomely bizarre sometimes.

I so heart Jacob, who writes the American Idol recaps on Television Without Pity. Here's some of his awesomeness from last week's recap:

The best thing ever was when [Tori Amos] and Alanis Morissette were touring together and they'd be interviewed by Kurt Loder or whatever and he'd ask this straightforward question and Tori Amos would be all, "I really think you have to have tea with the devil in the dreamtime of our voodoo, you know?" and Kurt would just look over at Alanis and she'd go, "Because Sarah MacLachlan is Canadian, Kurt." And he'd thank her and move on.

Ryan's wearing the weirdest sweater; it's dark green and has all these confusing squiggles and ugly words on it and large pieces of negative space. It's like when you walk into Diesel and there's pieces of t-shirts stapled onto other t-shirts and first you think, "Björk made this!" and then you think "Oh.
I could make this."

It's as banal to say "I hate the 'People' song" as, like, I don't know. Yelling, "I'm Rick James, bitch!" or those refrigerator magnets they have in trailer parks that say things like, "This isn't Burger King! You can't have it your way!"

Which is still [Bo's] fault, because he decided it was more important to be so hardcore as to not pick a good song, because that would damage his cred. There's a whole lot of secret Nadia in that gesture, to go with what would make a cred story out of it instead of a good performance: "I'm so lost here I just had to drop my finger down on the page because they're all the same and I'm resigned to sucking this week because that's how much of a fag I am NOT, that my body rejects show tunes out of hand and I couldn't even look at the page or remember the words." And that is some dangerously un-hardcore behavior right there, because what I appreciate is you doing your best, and that includes thinking at least a little bit about the best song for your voice.


I finished Prozac Nation last night. I thought the title didn't really fit, except for the afterword where she kind of complained about how Prozac is being prescribed too liberally. She says that people are taking it who haven't been through the 10+ years of agonizing depression that she has. And my response to that is, well, do you want all of those people to be depressed for as long as you were? You want people to endure suicide attempts and pain and the loss of their normal lives as they knew it? You want people to suffer as much as you did, as some sort of basic initiation right?

Anyway, the rest of the book was good. Just skip the afterword.


It's been 5 weeks since I've spoken with Allie, and 3 since I've
spoken with Megan, Kirstin, and Angie. Time flies when you're
...alone and ...alone. Yeah. I just stopped initiating conversation
with them, and they've left me alone, so I guess I know where things
stand. In the past, it's felt like I've always been chasing them down
and nagging them to hang out with me. I don't like feeling like I'm
being annoying. It's also depressing as hell when they never do
anything with me because they're busy with other friends, or they say
they're busy with other friends because they don't want to hang out
with me. I'm sick of being upset over that. I've learned how to be
[mostly] alone, and it's working out alright for the most part. But
it's almost impossible for me to get out of bed in the morning, and
it's almost impossible to make myself do schoolwork, or study, or
practice piano, or go swimming. And it's so hard to go to class every
day with a fake smile plastered on my face, because no one likes it
when people are angst-y, and I don't want to alienate even more people
(although, really, at this point what does it matter?). So... yeah.
I can't wait until this summer when I can work 40 hours a week and
forget that everyone else on the planet exists, because it's hard as
hell to be at school and be constantly reminded of all the people who
aren't my friends anymore.


I had a terrible dream that I found a pedophile/ephebophile. Here goes:
I went to American Eagle, and I was perusing the store and walked towards the back. There was a TV screen, hidden for the most part by racks of merchandise that needed to be put away. I was just looking at the clothes, and then this old-ish Japanese man (the manager) came up to me. He was wearing a straw hat, a Hawaiian shirt, and orange swim trunks. He said that only 15-year-olds could see what was playing on the tv screen. I lied that I was 18 (I don't know why), and would he like to see my ID? He said no. Anyway, I never did see what was on the TV--I figured if there was an age limit, I probably wouldn't want to see it. I went to go pay for whatever I decided to buy, and he mentioned something to one of his co-workers about how 16-year-olds were sexy. I went home and went to the American Eagle website. You could look up individual stores, and I did, and on the site for his store, there was a motif at the top of the page. It was like artist mannequins split in half at the waist, and the tops and bottoms were scattered randomly across the top of the page. The bottom parts had penises, and I hovered my mouse on one. All of the store stuff faded away, and some videos came up. I became really scared, so I called my otolaryngologist to figure out what to do. I told him everything, and I thought he would call the police for me, but he didn't. He came over to my house, looked at the website (the videos were definitely evidence that the guy was a pedophile), and tried to exit the page. You needed a password to be able to exit that particular page. He told me he couldn't call the police because he was waiting for the results from some brain scan, but he would stay with me while I called.


So Talia and I randomly ran into our friend Justin who lives in our hallway and we briefly discussed Cannibal: The Musical. And then the following happened:
Justin: Okay, I'm gonna go pee, so you guys have a good night.
Talia, to me afterwards: I like it when people are honest.

Disappointing. But we had a good season. What a game to watch. Jeez. So close.

I overheard these two people having an argument in the hall outside. I guess it was a girl and her boyfriend. And the guy said "fuck" or "shit" like every other word, which is awesome and such an indicator of intelligence (lack thereof, actually). He's like "You said you were fuckin gonna change this shit" and she's all "sighhhh" and he's all "If you're gonna just fuckin walk away I'm fuckin leaving, word" and then I think she threw something at him, and then he walks away and she stomps after him. (I watched this through my peephole.) I love overhearing other people's arguments.

Update: They walked by again. He's like "come back, come back, so are we gonna fuckin take some time apart or what?" and she's like "I 'unno" and he's like "I don't wanna fuckin have to compete with the 15 fucking hundred other fucking guys" and now she's crying. And the guy has like a southern accent kind of, like North Carolina, and he's trying to do one of those BEV accents that he probably sees on MTV. And it's awesome. I love other people's drama.


So I have to write a paper for French civ analyzing two films about the French occupation in Algeria and the struggle for independence. And the minimum word requirement is 1600, which is about 5 pages. And I was feeling bummed cause right now I only have about 375 words (I still have more stuff to talk about though). But then I remembered that I got 100% on my last paper for this class, and I only wrote ~1150 words. So that cheered me up. I've always hated minimum length requirements, because I tend to write very succinctly (although the title of this blog would have you think otherwise) when compared to my peers. I get high-quality ideas across while not using a gazillion million words, and I think profs reward me for that ability. I think they also reward me for not making them read a friggen novel. Heh.